Sometimes I want to hurt the people who hurt me. There. I said it. Not physically, obviously. I’m talking about knowing exactly what to say to make someone feel as terrible as they’ve made you feel. The kind of response that would leave someone staring at their phone, questioning every decision that led them to that moment.
And before anyone starts questioning my healing journey, let me explain. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time working on myself. Therapy, reading, faith, healthier communication, taking accountability for my mistakes. Somewhere along the way, I developed this ridiculous expectation that becoming a healthier person meant I’d eventually stop having unhealthy thoughts. Well, that was adorable.
Recently, I discovered that deeply personal things had been discussed about me behind my back. Things involving my character, my relationships, and parts of my life that weren’t anybody else’s business. And let me tell you, I was an Instant Pot about three seconds away from exploding. I wanted to defend myself, correct every assumption, address every accusation, and make absolutely certain the people involved understood how hurtful their words had been. But if I’m being completely honest, I also wanted them to hurt. Not just understand my pain. Experience it.
I had what could only be described as a ninety seven chapter Stephen King novel ready to send. Every paragraph more devastating than the last. By the time I finished writing it, I’d practically earned myself a publishing contract. And the worst part? I knew exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t simply trying to explain my side anymore. I was looking for the words that would cause the most damage.
It’s uncomfortable admitting that, especially when you’ve spent so much time learning about forgiveness, compassion, and emotional maturity. But being hurt doesn’t automatically make every reaction to that hurt justified. Somewhere between drafting chapter ninety eight and mentally preparing for battle, I finally asked myself one question: What will this actually accomplish?
Would sending that message change anyone’s opinion of me? Probably not. Would it make them understand my intentions or suddenly recognize my character? Unlikely. Would it repair the relationship or make future conversations healthier? Absolutely not. If anything, I’d probably just be providing fresh material for the next edition of Lady Whistledown’s society papers.
And that’s when I had to acknowledge something I didn’t particularly like about myself. Part of what I was calling accountability was really revenge dressed up in nicer clothes. There’s a difference between defending ourselves and deliberately trying to make someone suffer. There’s a difference between wanting someone to understand our pain and wanting them to experience it themselves. But when we’re angry, those differences can become uncomfortably easy to ignore.
I wonder how often we convince ourselves we’re seeking accountability when what we really want is the satisfaction of watching someone else hurt. How often do we tell ourselves we’re simply standing up for ourselves when we’ve already crossed into trying to get even? We talk about healing as though it’s supposed to make us permanently calm, compassionate, and emotionally mature. But maybe personal growth isn’t about never having ugly thoughts. Maybe it’s about recognizing them before they become actions we’ll have to take responsibility for later.
I didn’t send the message. Not because I suddenly felt peaceful, forgave everyone involved, or ran out of things to say. I simply realized that causing someone else pain wasn’t going to undo mine. And I wish I could tell you that realization made everything feel better. That I put my phone down, smiled, and went about my day feeling like the picture of emotional maturity. Absolutely not. I was still furious. Still hurt. Still mentally editing chapter ninety eight.
I knew I made the right decision. But damn, I really wanted to send it.
With love and a little grace,
Ashton ♡
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