Nardine

I think I have never known how to hate people properly. I’ve tried. I’ve sat with betrayal in my lap. I’ve replayed conversations until they lost all warmth. I’ve listed every reason I should be angry, every reason I should walk away and never look back. Yet somehow, without fail, I always end up remembering the good parts. The way they laughed. The way they once showed up when I needed them. The things they carried that I never fully understood. The wounds that existed long before I arrived. And suddenly, the person who hurt me becomes human again. That is the problem. Or maybe it is the gift. I don’t know. I still haven’t decided. We often talk about seeing the good in others as if it is a virtue or sign of kindness or proof of a soft heart but then, what nobody tells you is that sometimes it can become a form of self-abandonment. Because there is a difference between understanding why someone hurt you and excusing the fact that they did. For years, I confused the two. I thought compassion required me to make room for every explanation. Maybe they were struggling. Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they did not know any better. Maybe they were carrying pain I could not see. And perhaps all of those things were true. But none of them changed what happened. A storm can have a reason for forming but the house is still destroyed. I think that is what people like me struggle to learn. We become archaeologists of other people’s behavior. We dig and dig and dig until we find the broken pieces that explain them. And once we find those pieces, we hesitate to hold them accountable. Because how can you be angry at someone when you understand where their anger came from? How can you blame someone when you can see exactly what made them the way they are? The answer, I've learned, is that understanding someone is not the same thing as owing them access to you. A person can be wounded and still wound you. A person can be hurting and still hurt you. A person can have good intentions and still leave damage behind. Both things can exist at once and that realization felt strangely heartbreaking. I mean, it’s not because it made me see people differently, but because it made me see myself differently. I began to notice how often I extended grace outward while withholding it from myself. How quickly I defended people who disappointed me. How slowly I defended myself when I was disappointed. I could write entire essays about why someone else deserved another chance yet struggle to explain why I deserved peace. Maybe that’s why this question has always followed me: Is it a blessing or a curse to always see the good in people? On my better days, I think it is a blessing. The world already has enough cynicism. Enough suspicion. Enough people eager to believe the worst about one another. There is something beautiful about refusing to let pain make you cruel. There is something beautiful about believing people are more than the worst thing they have done. But on harder days, it feels like a curse. Because seeing the good in people does not erase the bad things they did to you. It does not make betrayal hurt less. It does not make disrespect easier to carry. It does not stop you from bleeding. Sometimes it simply means you remain standing at the scene longer than you should, admiring the flowers while pretending not to notice the fire. Maybe the answer is that it is both. A blessing when it keeps your heart open. A curse when it keeps your boundaries closed. A blessing when it allows you to understand people. A curse when it prevents you from understanding what you deserve. These days, I am trying to learn a different kind of compassion. The kind that does not require me to ignore myself. The kind that can acknowledge someone’s goodness without volunteering for their damage. The kind that can say: Yes, you are hurting. Yes, I understand. Yes, there is still good in you. And no, that does not mean I have to stay. Because sometimes loving people means seeing the light in them, and sometimes loving yourself means realising that light is not yours to carry. Not every lighthouse is a home. Not every good person is good for you. And not every door has to remain open simply because you can still see something beautiful standing on the other side.