Life has a way of leaving scars. For those of us who’ve weathered storms, faced setbacks, and made mistakes that left their mark, the road to self-trust is already difficult. But what makes it harder—what can make it nearly unbearable—is the noise of others who doubt us. Not strangers, but the people who are supposed to be the closest to us, the ones who should be in our corner cheering us on.
Instead, they become our biggest skeptics.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this—how the people you expect to unconditionally love and support you often fail to do so. Whether they mean to or not, they wield doubt like a weapon, disguising it as concern. “We’re just looking out for you,” they say. Or, “We just don’t want you to make another mistake.” But it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like fear.
Fear they’re projecting onto me. Fear they’ve inherited from generations of people who played it safe, who second-guessed every step, who lived lives so small and cautious that they suffocated under their own hesitation. Fear that insists I stop, reassess, and never leap unless I can guarantee the landing is soft.
But life isn’t lived that way. It can’t be.
For every setback, every poor choice, every failure I’ve endured, I’ve also grown. Those moments didn’t bury me; they elevated me. I am not who I was years ago, or even months ago. My mistakes didn’t define me—they refined me. Yet, to some, all they see is a pattern of missteps. They measure me by my lowest points instead of the strength it took to rise from them.
It’s exhausting. And it’s infuriating.
What stings the most is knowing that these people—these naysayers cloaked in familial duty or longstanding friendship—are the very ones who should trust me. They should believe in me, not in spite of my past but because of it. They’ve seen how far I’ve come, how much I’ve fought to build myself back up, brick by painful brick. But instead of standing behind me as I take bold strides toward my future, they hold me back with their doubts, their lectures, their “advice.”
And let me be clear: not all advice is bad. But there’s a difference between counsel rooted in love and support and counsel rooted in fear and control. I see the difference now. Too often, what people call “guidance” is nothing more than a desire to keep me small, to keep me still, to keep me in a box they feel safe labeling.
I refuse to stay in that box.
What I’ve come to realize is that some of the most unconditional love and support doesn’t come from those who are bound to you by blood or obligation. It comes from those who choose you. People who see you—not as a compilation of your past mistakes, but as someone capable of greatness, someone who’s already proven they can survive the worst and keep moving forward. These are the people who celebrate your dreams, who root for you when you’re unsure, who remind you that every step forward is progress, even if it’s not perfect.
Family, on the other hand, often carries the weight of generations. Their voices are heavy with the fears they’ve inherited, the caution they’ve learned to live by. They think they’re protecting you, but in truth, they’re shackling you. They need everything to be 100% certain before they can support your choices—but life doesn’t work in certainties. It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. And that’s where the beauty lies.
What if things go wrong? Sure, they might. But what if things go right?
That’s the question I choose to live by now. I’m done letting others’ fears dictate my steps. I’m done trying to prove myself to people who’ve decided my past is the only measure of my worth. I’m done apologizing for being bold enough to believe in my own vision.
Yes, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve faced setbacks. I’ve fallen harder than I ever thought I could. But I’ve also learned. I’ve also risen. And I will keep rising, whether others believe in me or not.
To anyone else feeling this frustration, this anger at the ones who should trust you but don’t: remember this. Their doubt says more about them than it does about you. They’re not the ones living your life. They’re not the ones dreaming your dreams. And they’re not the ones who have to live with the regrets of paths not taken.
Someone once said that you shouldn't trust just anyone with your vision because it isn't theirs to understand (or something like that). Your vision of what you want for your life may not always be understood. I am starting to believe that it's not supposed to. God gave that vision to you, not them, so how can they see it? Take the leap. Trust yourself, even when others don’t. Especially when others don’t. Because life isn’t meant to be lived in hesitation. It’s meant to be lived fully—mistakes, triumphs, and everything in between.
Moral of the story: trust that the fear of the fall will always be there, but it won't always kill us even when we do. The leap can be scary but rewarding too. Life isn't meant to be measured in careful steps but in the boldness of trying, because, again, hesitation isn't living, and success only greets those who dare to move.
And if they can’t see that, let them watch from the sidelines while you soar.
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