The Weight of Change

Change is hard. Some people can smoke for years, then wake up one day and quit cold turkey. Others try every single day and never succeed.

So what is it about change—what makes some of us succeed and others struggle?

I always knew I had some ability to implement change in my life, but I never imagined I could make such remarkable changes so quickly. Discipline has always been my driving force. When I wanted to be in the best shape of my life, I disciplined myself to go to the gym every day. When I wanted to give up ice cream, I just quit and swapped it out for something better.

But changing who you are as a person—that takes more than discipline. It takes great motivation and a deep desire for the end result. For me, that motivation was survival—not just for myself, but for my little person. Like I’ve shared in earlier blogs, every step forward I’ve taken has been for them.

And in only 11 months, I’ve become non-reactive, patient, loving, kind, forgiving (even when most wouldn’t forgive), and deeply aware of others’ emotions.

I had hoped these changes would be recognized by the ones I hurt in the past. But what amazed me was that someone I’ve grown incredibly close to noticed them first—not my person. It wasn’t until I faced all those small, everyday tests—moments where patience, forgiveness, or kindness were required—that I began to see the change in myself as real. Not just survival. Not just for my little person. But as who I truly am becoming.

I became more confident in how I was handling these “tests,” wondering if I had truly changed—or if it was just an act during a painful season. Just like I’ve written before, my mind can play games, protecting itself while also tempting me to question if my growth is real.

I am deeply grateful for these changes, but it’s not always easy when others don’t see them. It’s even harder when you and your person are both trying to heal from past mistakes, but your timelines don’t match. That was the case for me. I was told that the speed of my transformation is rare—something only a handful of people could ever do. That sounds amazing, but it doesn’t make the loneliness of changing alone any easier.

Still, I pressed on. My change felt like swimming a hundred meters with a weight vest on. Hard. Unfair. Exhausting. But look how strong I’ve become mentally. Strong enough to inspire others to lead with love, forgiveness, and the courage to keep choosing the next right thing.

But what happens when you’ve done all this work, yet someone who hasn’t witnessed it still judges you by your past? What happens when the judgment is based only on the first two chaotic months of your world being turned upside down? Or what if someone does see the changes, is grateful for them, even wants reconciliation—but fear whispers louder than belief?

I was faced with the truth of having to prove my changes to someone who didn’t know the full story, and it hurt. I found myself thinking, How am I judged so harshly when other behaviors have been so easily accepted?

The answer came quickly: I shouldn’t have to wear a weighted vest to swim back 100 meters—but I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Maybe, just maybe, my persistence will inspire them to live more forgivingly. We can’t forgive one person but then choose not to forgive another. Forgiveness is an all-encompassing trait. You either live in it, or you don’t. God calls us to forgive. He forgives us, so we must forgive others. Yes, the fear of being hurt again makes forgiveness feel impossible at times, but if I hadn’t swum with the vest the first time, how would I know I could do it again?

Then the “what ifs” about the future set in. When they miss me and see these changes, they know they love me—they’re in love with me—but after dipping a toe in the water, they’re still afraid they’ll drown.

And yes, drowning is a possibility. But I’ve been practicing swimming with a weighted vest. I’m strong now. I can help. I can take that vest off, hold their hand, and swim beside them while they heal their hurts.

Transitions are hard. Learning how people feel about the choices you’ve made is hard to ignore when you naturally want to please everyone. And yes, we should try to bring joy to others—but not at the cost of our last chance to save our family, heal our hurts, be a role model for change, and build a life where we die with the love of our life beside us.

Making a life-changing decision can be thrilling, but the reality of it takes time to process. And processing doesn’t mean backing up or giving up. It means sitting on the edge, naming your fears, comforting me with your actions by not leaving, which lifts the weight I’ve been carrying. Then you can ease in, lean on me, and I’ll show you how to navigate this pain. I’ll sit with your tears, stay silent and breathe with you, and help guide you toward truth, unconditional love, and forgiveness.

So even though our timelines for change aren’t the same, I believe God made it that way on purpose. He knew I would change faster and that I was strong enough to endure everything coming my way so I could grow into the kind of partner you’d need to heal.

If we had healed on the same timeline, you wouldn’t be able to see that this heart has been waking up for the last 365 days—softening, loving, and waiting for you to come home to your person.