Dear Reader,

October 9th, 2026

I made a big decision.

This Sunday, I’m going to be baptized.

And with that decision, I feel like there are some things I need to acknowledge about myself. If you’ve read my blogs over the last 6 months, you know I’ve written a lot about the people who have hurt me, the things I’ve experienced, and the ways those experiences have affected my life. I’ve written about betrayal, abuse, broken relationships, and the nights I’ve cried begging God to change my circumstances.

But today, I want to talk about myself. The things I’m not proud of. Because if I’m going to write about how other people have hurt me, I need to be willing to acknowledge the ways I’ve hurt people, too.

And goodness, that’s not an easy thing to admit.

I haven’t always been a nice person.

I struggle with depression and PTSD. I can be bitter, defensive, impatient, and downright unpleasant to be around. I have a terrible attitude sometimes, especially toward people who have caused me a great deal of pain. I overthink absolutely everything. I guard myself so heavily that sometimes even people with good intentions have a difficult time getting close to me.

And I hate confrontation. I mean, I absolutely hate it. When someone confronts me about something, I often need time to process what they’ve said before I can respond. Sometimes I shut down. Sometimes I feel attacked when that wasn’t even their intention. And sometimes, when I finally do respond, I’m not nearly as kind as I should be.

I also have this terrible habit of overexplaining myself, especially when someone hurts me. I’ll explain my feelings over and over, desperately hoping they’ll finally understand why something affected me the way it did. And sometimes, in trying so hard to make someone understand my pain, my words become hurtful.

But here’s something even harder to admit.

I’ve hurt people who had absolutely nothing to do with what I was going through.

I’ve hurt friends because I was hurting in my marriage. I’ve been unkind to strangers because I was carrying anger from something that happened behind closed doors. I’ve allowed my pain to come out through my attitude and my words, sometimes toward people who were simply trying to be kind to me.

And those people didn’t deserve that version of me.

There was a time when I was probably one of the angriest people you could have met. I was angry at life. Angry at people. Angry that everyone else seemed to be living while I felt like I was barely surviving. I even struggled being around genuinely kind people because I had become so bitter that their happiness and kindness irritated me.

Can you imagine being so consumed by hurt that someone else’s kindness bothers you?

I can. Because I lived it.

And I could explain why I became that person. I could tell you what was happening in my marriage, what it feels like to constantly live in survival mode, and how exhausting it is to wake up every day wondering what hurtful thing might happen next. I could explain how years of emotional pain changed the way I viewed people and the world around me.

And every bit of that would be true.

But just because someone hurt me doesn’t mean I had the right to hurt someone else.

I can acknowledge that some of my reactions came from being mistreated without pretending every reaction was acceptable. I can recognize that I was surviving circumstances I never should have been placed in while still taking responsibility for the things I could have handled differently.

And I think that’s important. Because taking responsibility for my behavior doesn’t mean taking responsibility for someone else’s cruelty. It doesn’t mean that people who repeatedly hurt me get to blame me for reacting to their behavior.

It simply means I’m willing to acknowledge that I have things I need to work on, too.

And for the last year, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

I’ve had to learn to stop myself before responding out of anger. I’ve had to recognize when my attitude is coming from something that happened years ago rather than what’s happening in front of me. I’ve had to apologize when I was wrong, even when my pride wanted to defend myself. I’ve had to admit that sometimes I was the one who needed to do better.

And I’ve made progress. Real progress.

I show kindness more often. I help people whenever I can. I care about how my words affect someone. I don’t lash out nearly as much as I used to. I try to recognize when I’m overwhelmed and need to walk away rather than continue an argument.

But I’ve also had to recognize something else.

There are people and situations in my life that bring out parts of me I’ve worked incredibly hard to change. Situations where I find myself becoming defensive, bitter, and emotionally exhausted all over again. Where I spend hours explaining why something hurt me, only to walk away feeling worse than I did before.

And I’ve had to ask myself why I continue allowing those things to have so much access to me.

Because I cannot keep praying for peace while repeatedly placing myself in situations that destroy it. I cannot keep asking God to change my heart while holding onto relationships that constantly reopen the same wounds.

That doesn’t mean I blame other people for my behavior. It means I’m finally recognizing that protecting my peace is part of taking responsibility for my life.

And I am tired. I am so incredibly tired of carrying anger.

I’m tired of feeling like I have to defend every emotion I have. I’m tired of overthinking conversations and wondering whether someone is being genuine. I’m tired of carrying bitterness toward people who may never acknowledge the pain they’ve caused.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being an angry woman because of what other people have done to me.

I don’t want to become the kind of person who caused me so much pain.

And I know I’m changing because I can see the difference in myself. I don’t react to things the way I did a year ago. I have more patience. I recognize when I’m wrong. I genuinely care about becoming a better person, not just appearing to be one.

There are people who have hurt me who haven’t made those same efforts. People I’ve begged to recognize the damage they’ve caused. People I’ve desperately wanted apologies and accountability from. But I’ve had to accept that I cannot make another person change simply because I love them or because their behavior hurts me.

I can only take responsibility for myself.

And I want my children to see that. I want them to have a mother who can admit when she’s wrong. A mother who knows how to apologize. A mother who doesn’t allow bitterness to consume her. I want them to understand that experiencing pain doesn’t give us permission to inflict it on someone else.

I want the pain I’ve experienced to end with me, not continue through me.

And that’s part of why getting baptized this Sunday means so much to me.

I’m not getting baptized because I’ve suddenly figured it out. I’m not doing it because I have my life together or because I’ve overcome every struggle I have.

I’m doing it because I know how badly I need Jesus.

I need Him when I’m angry. When I’m bitter. When depression makes even the simplest things feel impossible. When I want to respond to cruelty with cruelty. When I can’t seem to let go of something someone said or did to me.

I think about Peter, one of Jesus’ closest disciples. Peter was impulsive, emotional, and sometimes reacted out of anger rather than thinking before he acted. He even pulled out a sword and cut off a man’s ear when Jesus was being arrested. Yet Jesus still loved him, corrected him, forgave him, and used him for something incredible. Peter wasn’t perfect, and Jesus never expected him to be. But He did call Peter to grow and change. And that reminds me that God doesn’t need me to be perfect to work in my life. He needs me to be willing to let Him change the parts of me that still need work.

So when I get baptized this Sunday, I’m not going into that water pretending I’m perfectly healed. I’m not pretending I have everything figured out. I’m not pretending that I no longer struggle with anger, bitterness, depression, or the emotional wounds I’ve carried for years.

I’m going into that water knowing exactly how much I need Jesus.

I’m going into that water as someone who has made mistakes, hurt people, been hurt by people, and spent far too much time allowing those experiences to control how I feel about myself and the world around me.

But I’m also going into that water as someone who has spent the last year fighting to change.

And I believe God has been working on me throughout that entire process, even during the moments when I couldn’t see it.

I still have a lot of growing to do. I still have things to work through. I still have moments when I react in ways I’m not proud of. But I can look back at the woman I was a year ago and recognize that something has changed.

God is changing my heart. He’s changing my mind. He’s changing how I respond, what I tolerate, and what I allow to have access to my peace.

I am not perfect. I am not always kind. I do not always respond the way Jesus would want me to.

But I’m trying. I’m taking responsibility. I’m doing the work.

And that means something.

Because the woman I was a year ago and the woman who will walk into that water on Sunday are not the same person.

And I thank God for that.

So I’m praying that God continues to change me. That He continues to work on my heart, my mind, and the parts of me that still need healing. I pray that He removes the people from my life who continue to hurt me or stand in the way of the progress I’ve worked so hard to make. God, please remove access to me and my children from those who refuse to change the way they treat me, love me, or speak about me. Show me the boundaries I need to establish and give me the strength to stand firm in them, even when it’s difficult. I pray that You provide for me and my children, protect our peace, and allow us to experience Your love in every area of our lives. Let me see Your goodness in the life I’m trying so hard to rebuild.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Love always,

Kelsey