There’s a funny thing that happens when people say:
“We know what’s going on. We’ve heard the story.”
Most of the time, what they actually mean is:
“We listened to the person who got to us first,
talked the longest,
and sounded the most certain.”
That’s not “the story.”
That’s one perspective.
And when you only ever listen to one side—especially the loudest, most wounded or most controlling side—you’re not walking in truth.
You’re just walking in agreement.
One-Sided Stories Are Comfortable
One-sided stories are easy to believe because they come pre-packaged:
- There’s a clear villain.
- There’s a clear victim (usually the person talking).
- There’s a clear “problem” (usually the person who isn’t in the room).
- There’s a clear solution: “Side with me.”
You don’t have to wrestle with complexity.
You don’t have to sit in tension.
You don’t have to ask uncomfortable questions.
You just have to nod.
And honestly? That’s what a lot of people want:
- Clean categories.
- Simple villains.
- Easy loyalty tests.
- A way to feel righteous without having to actually investigate anything.
But that’s not wisdom.
That’s laziness dressed up as discernment.
If You Never Ask Me, You Don’t Know Me
People have absolutely formed opinions about me and my relationship based on:
- secondhand stories,
- third-hand retellings passed along like they’re facts,
- emotional versions of events,
- heavily filtered “prayer requests,”
- and long monologues where I was not present and not invited.
They’ve decided:
- who I am,
- what I’m doing,
- what my motives are,
- what my fiancé must be like,
without ever sitting down and saying:
“Hey, can I hear from you too?”
If you’ve only ever heard about me from people who are upset with my choices, you don’t know my story.
You know their pain.
You know their discomfort.
You know their version.
But you don’t know me.
“We Tried to Help” (From People Who Never Really Listened)
There’s also this classic line:
“We’re just trying to help her.”
Here’s the thing about real help:
It usually starts with a conversation, not a conclusion.
Real help sounds like:
- “Can I ask how you’re doing?”
- “How did you get here?”
- “What are you seeing that I might be missing?”
- “Is there anything you need from me right now?”
It doesn’t sound like:
- “Here’s what’s wrong with you.”
- “Here’s what’s wrong with the person you love.”
- “Here’s what God must be saying about your situation.”
- “We’ve already decided where you went off the rails.”
If you’ve never asked me a single curious question, you didn’t “try to help.”
You tried to correct, from a distance, based on a script you didn’t write with me.
And for the record, I have never asked anyone to agree with me or approve of every choice I’ve made. I’m not looking for a fan club. What I’ve been asking for is far simpler than that: basic respect — even if you don’t fully understand or agree.
Questions That Were Never Safe
Some people will say, “But I did ask questions. I tried to understand.”
Let’s be honest about what those “questions” actually sounded like:
- “This is what happened… how could you do that? I don’t understand. Help me understand why you would do that.”
- “I heard you did ____. Why would you do something like that?”
And when I calmly said, “I didn’t do that,” the response wasn’t:
- “Oh, okay—can you walk me through what did happen?”
It was:
- “Oh yes you did. I heard you did.”
That’s not a safe conversation.
That’s not curiosity.
That’s not discernment.
That’s cross-examination with a verdict already written.
Some asked “questions” just so they could poke holes in whatever I said, prove me wrong, or drag the conversation back to the version they’d already chosen to believe.
Then, when I stepped back, ended the conversation, or refused to sit through more of it, the story became:
“See? She doesn’t want to be corrected.
She just walks away. She’s the problem.”
No. I’m not the villain for walking away from a conversation that was never actually safe, kind, or open to the truth in the first place.
The Bible Even Warns About One-Sided Stories
Even Scripture hints at this:
“The first one to plead his cause seems right,
until his neighbor comes and examines him.”
— Proverbs 18:17
God literally knew we’d be tempted to believe the first person who sounded convincing.
So if your “biblical” response to a situation is:
- hear one side,
- believe it without checking,
- repeat it to others,
- and judge the absent person harshly…
you’re not being more spiritual than everyone else.
You’re doing exactly what the Bible warned against.
One-Sided “Discernment” Isn’t Discernment
A lot of what gets called discernment is just this:
“I deeply trust the person who talked to me first,
and I am going to adopt their view as my own.”
That’s not discernment.
Discernment:
- slows down,
- listens,
- checks fruit over time,
- asks God and asks questions,
- is willing to be wrong.
One-sided “discernment” is just loyalty to one narrator.
And loyalty, while noble, can still be ignorance.
Some people only ever hear and believe one side of the story, I assume, out of loyalty. But even loyalty doesn’t magically turn half a story into the whole truth. It doesn’t stop it from still being ignorance.
When you build your opinions off only one narrator, you usually end up:
- misjudging people you’ve never truly listened to,
- defending behavior that shouldn’t be defended,
- and calling it righteousness.
If You’re Going to Judge, At Least Be Honest About It
If you’ve decided I’m deceived, rebellious, unstable, blinded, whatever else—
and you’ve never once sought out a calm, direct conversation with me…
That’s your right.
But at least call it what it is:
- a choice,
- based on one angle,
- filtered through your own fears, biases, and loyalties.
Don’t call that “truth-seeking.”
Don’t call that “protecting.”
And please don’t staple God’s name onto it like a label that makes it holy.
If you didn’t want to hear my side, say that.
Don’t act like there was no other side to hear.
The People Who Actually Know the Story
Do you know who I trust most right now?
Not the ones who:
- heard one side and ran with it,
- joined the whisper chain,
- or treated me like a crisis to manage instead of a person to know.
I trust the ones who:
- listened to me and acknowledged the pain on the other side,
- asked real questions instead of delivering verdicts,
- didn’t demand a front-row seat to every detail in order to show love,
- admitted, “I don’t know everything, but I’m here.”
Those are the people who get to speak into my life.
Not the ones who could write a dissertation on one person’s version of events but never bothered to ask me, “Hey… what actually happened for you?”
I appreciate the people who genuinely wanted my side of the story.
The people who stuck by me.
The people who sat with me in the quiet, the tears, the confused laughter, and even the anger I was learning to handle.
The ones who didn’t have to agree with me or every choice I’ve made to keep showing me love without ridicule.
Those are the ones I carry close.
Living in Ignorance Isn’t Neutral
Honestly, it’s been a little humorous to see how many people are willingly living in ignorance.
Rest assured: I’m beyond the point of being offended. I’m not raging in a corner somewhere. I treat every turned back, every whisper, every cold shoulder, and every verdict as exactly what it is: information. And information I don’t need to be told twice.
They say actions speak louder than words, and sometimes silence says more than actual spoken words ever could.
Have I been hurt by it? Yes.
I’ve been dumbfounded by what makes a lurid story so believable.
- Is it because it was already what you wanted to think of me?
- Is it because it’s more entertaining and scandalous?
- Is it because it’s less trouble than asking real questions?
But to be clear: it wasn’t just a distant story being mishandled.
It was a person’s life.
It’s especially surreal knowing that the same man some of you treat as your “reliable source” is the one who spent years venting to me about each of you behind your backs—I wish you knew what he really says when he doesn’t need your agreement.
There have been moments where it honestly felt like I was watching my own life as a reality show I didn’t sign up for—me sitting with popcorn and Coke, hearing the latest episode:
“NO!! I did what? Wow. I’m having a blast this year.”
Like I’m the lead character in a drama where everyone but me gets to write the script.
I’m over it.
I’m not invested in their stories anymore.
I like the real version better.
I no longer pre-assign people places in my life just because of history, blood, or shared memories.
I let them sit exactly where they’ve earned themselves, for now.
For some, that means I’m very done handing over the same access I used to.
For others, it simply means you’ve moved a few rows back in the stands instead of staying front-row.
If you didn’t want my side…
If you didn’t want to ask questions…
If you didn’t want to invest in my safety and my life…
If you’d rather hear and believe a tale about me…
That is not my loss.
That’s simply the reality of what you chose.
This New Year, not everyone has the same seat at the table that is my life anymore.
I’m figuring myself out—and I’ve already learned a lot about who some of you really are with me.
I know now that I bring value to the places, lives, and ministries I enter.
And I’m realizing my time, my heart, my story, and my access are pearls. Jesus talked about not throwing pearls to swine—I cannot keep giving and giving myself to people who trample what’s precious and then staple God’s name on the mess.
So I’m choosing more carefully who gets to stay in my inner circle,
and who I love more safely from a distance.
Where This Really Leaves Me
Underneath all the sharp edges of this, here’s the real truth:
This has been one of the biggest hurdles in my forgiveness journey.
It is not fun being the one whispered about and decided for. It hurts on a level that’s hard to explain. But I don’t want to build my life around chasing everyone’s approval or correcting every rumor.
I’m sad about some of what I’ve seen.
I’m disappointed in some people I never thought would handle my life this way.
I’m also deeply grateful for the ones who stayed curious, kind, and steady.
And somewhere in all of this, I’ve made peace with something big:
I am okay not being liked.
I am okay not being agreed with.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that some people are going to hold on to their version of events no matter what I say. They can keep it, if that’s what they need. If their story about me makes them feel safer, more right, more settled—I’m not fighting that anymore.
They can keep their version of events if it seems to make them happy and be what they need.
Just don’t expect me to sit there in the front row, play the part they wrote for me, and clap along while the actors perform.
In all of this, I am laying this down at God’s feet—over and over again.
I genuinely pray for everyone who has hurt me, spoken against me, or misjudged my life. I’m asking God to work in their hearts, but also in mine. I’m giving Him room to heal what’s been broken in me, to soften what’s been hardened, and to show me where I still need to grow.
I’m learning to grieve certain events, people, and relationships I never gave myself space to grieve before. And I’m committed to keep growing and learning, even when the process is uncomfortable or heartbreaking.
I thank God that He guards my heart and mind against despair and hate.
I thank Him for the lessons I’m continuing to learn through every step.
I thank Him for His Son, for salvation, and for a love so deep that it covers my sins and shortcomings while I figure out what healthy love looks like in the middle of toxic “love” from others.
I’m still open to real conversation with people who genuinely want to hear, not perform a verdict.
But I’ve stopped begging to be understood by people who already decided they didn’t want my side.
And I’m walking this out with God.
He sees every version of the story, every hidden conversation, every motive — including mine.
I’m asking Him to keep my heart from hardening, even as I hold stronger boundaries.
To grow me into someone who can live in truth without needing everyone to approve it.
I’m not missing the old me who never questioned anyone’s narrative.
I’m getting to know the me who can tell the difference between love and control—
and who’s finally brave enough to live like it.
If This Hits You
If you realize people have decided who you are from one side of the story:
- you are not crazy,
- you are not overreacting,
- and you’re not obligated to keep handing them access.
You’re allowed to say:
“If you ever want my side, I’m here.
If you don’t, I’m done defending myself to an audience that isn’t listening.”
Try This
- Stop over-explaining. You can offer your side once. If someone rejects it immediately, that’s information.
- Pay attention to who asks questions. Trust the ones who are genuinely curious more than the ones who are certain.
- Guard your circle. People who only want to hear about you, not from you, don’t need front-row seats to your life.
- Let go of the imaginary jury. You don’t need a unanimous vote to live your actual life.
- Challenge your own assumptions. Just like others need to do their work, you get to do yours: noticing when fear, old patterns, or past wounds try to write the whole story.
Words You Can Borrow
- “You’ve heard a story. You haven’t heard the story.”
- “If you ever want my side, I’m willing to share it. Until then, I’m not going to keep defending myself against rumors.”
- “I’m not going to correct secondhand narratives for people who never wanted to hear from me in the first place.”
- “My life is not a group decision.”
- “You get to choose what you think and what you believe. That’s not up to anyone else but you.”
Gentle Note
This isn’t about hating anyone or pretending other people’s pain doesn’t matter.
Sometimes the person telling their side is genuinely hurting, scared, or confused. Their feelings are real. Their experience matters.
But so does yours.
Hearing one person’s pain doesn’t erase another person’s story.
Love doesn’t demand that you disappear from your own life so someone else can stay comfortable as the only narrator.
So here’s my little New Year suggestion—not just about me (I’m done explaining), but about life in general:
Don’t walk in ignorance on purpose.
Ask thoughtful questions.
Be curious.
Listen with open ears, minds, and hearts.
You don’t know the whole story if you’re not invested in hearing it.
You’re allowed to tell your side.
You’re allowed to live your story.
Even if some people decided they were done listening a long time ago.