I hope I'm not too late to set my demons straight

I got some regrets

This post is a tough one. I know you’re used to me being vulnerable. I share pieces of myself here often, and while those parts are honest, they’re usually the things I’ve made peace with. I share what I’m okay with people knowing about me. There’s no shame in that. But this post feels different. This one has shame attached to it. A sense of embarrassment that’s hard to shake. And yet, here I am trying to write through it anyway.

A few days ago, my mother, who’s a subscriber to this Substack, called me. She said I sounded so much happier and kinder to myself in my recent posts. I thanked her. And I reminded her that what I share here is a reflection of my journey, the journey I’ve been on since starting this Substack two years ago. If you go back and read my very first post, I Am Writing Again, you’ll notice a weight. You’ll feel the sadness and despair sitting in every sentence. That was me, grieving. That was me, hurting and lost, and unsure how to find my way back.

For a long time, I kicked myself over past mistakes and poor decisions—some that hurt me and others that hurt people I cared about. Some that made others question my character, and that’s not something I’m proud of. Not even a little bit.

We all got enough to lie about.
My truth too complicated to hide now.

For those that have known me for a while, then you probably remember how visible I was in my 30s. I was everywhere, doing everything, showing up to every space, every conversation, every opportunity. And then something shifted. In the last five years, I’ve made what feels like a complete 180. I retreated. Disappeared from the public. I went inward because something was wrong, and I couldn’t quite name it. I just knew I wasn’t okay.

I was making bad choices, both professionally and personally. I was spiraling. And I struggled deeply with being accountable for any of it. And I get now why people run from accountability. It’s easier. It hurts less. There’s something about being able to move through your day without carrying the weight of your wrongdoings that feels like relief. Ignorance truly is bliss. You don’t have to think about the ways you’ve disappointed others, or how your actions have left ripple effects in other people’s lives. But the thing is, that ignorance always catches up with you.

There are people out there who don’t think very highly of me because of how things went down. Experiences that left them with a tainted view of who I am. I can’t change that. But it eats at me. It haunts me sometimes. There’s a kind of shame that comes with truly seeing yourself through someone else’s hurt and realizing you were the cause of it. And that kind of shame doesn’t just go away. It stays. It lingers. It whispers to you in quiet moments and keeps you up at night.

The truth is, my truth is too complicated to hide now. Can I open up? Is it safe?

Will my truth only cause more damage?

I’m not a murderer or a sociopath, but some days, it really does feel like I’m the worst person in the world. There are days I wish I could turn back time and do things differently. There are people who deserve apologies. People who deserve an explanation from me. But I’ve never given it to them because, in all honesty, I’m scared. I’m still too much of a coward to face them and admit the full weight of what I did.

I did something wrong. I own that. But full accountability means facing the people I’ve hurt. And I haven’t done that yet. I thought time would make it easier. That maybe I could somehow grow into that “it is what it is” mentality. You know the one, the “I don’t give a f*ck, the past is the past” mindset. But that attitude has never fit me. I can’t run from myself or the things I’ve done. I haven’t figured out how to neatly box up those mistakes and shove them onto a shelf in my mind. They find their way back every time.

So here I am. Still struggling to take action. Still fearful that the things I’ve done will haunt me forever. That this is my karma. That this is the punishment I deserve.

The title of this post is a line from Kendrick Lamar’s song Die Hard, off his album Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers. That album means everything to me. When it came out, I was spiraling. That year was the worst of my life. Everything was falling apart, and nothing made sense. Later that same year, I was officially diagnosed with a mental health disorder, and it gave a name to the storm I’d been fighting for years. That album became the soundtrack to my lowest moments. It helped me sit with myself, even when that was the last thing I wanted to do. It held up a mirror and forced me to look.

I got some regrets but my past won’t keep me from my best. Subtle mistakes felt like life or death.

That lyric hits so deep. It reminds me that while I’ve made mistakes, I don’t have to be defined by them forever. I’m trying. Really trying to make amends—not just with others, but with myself too. And maybe that’s the harder part. I’m learning how to forgive myself. To make peace with the fact that I didn’t always get it right. That sometimes I got it very, very wrong. I still have to gather the courage to reach out to the people I’ve hurt, to take accountability and say the words they deserve to hear. I haven’t done that yet, but I want to.

I get why people avoid this part. The shame alone will make you want to stay silent. There are still places I avoid because I’m afraid I’ll run into someone from my past. I still hide. I still cringe at the thought of being seen by the people I’ve let down. Most days, I can distract myself long enough to not think about it. But it always creeps back in. Guilt has a funny way of doing that.

Still, I hope you can see the good in me. I hope you can see that I’m trying.

I hope you see the God in me.

Life is never all good or all bad. People aren’t either. We’re all trying. I like to believe that most of us want to be good people. That we’re all just doing the best we can with what we have and what we know at any given time. That’s what I want for myself. To be better. To move through life with intention and with grace. To accept my past—not with shame, but with understanding. To hold my failures with compassion instead of cruelty. They were lessons. They were hard, messy, painful lessons. But they helped me grow.

I am not who I used to be. And I’m not who I want to be just yet. But I’m on the path. I’m getting closer.

And if nothing else, I hope it’s not too late to set my demons straight.

---

Recommended Listen