Unfiltered

We blame fate for everything bad that has happened to us. We blame the people around us. We blame circumstances. We blame timing. We blame anything but ourselves.

Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. A way to tell ourselves that people didn’t leave us because they hated us, betrayed us, or simply didn’t want us anymore. They left because we weren’t meant for them. It sounds better that way, doesn’t it? Like there was some invisible force deciding who stays and who leaves, like everything was already written before we even had the chance to change it.

Life hurts. It wounds you in ways you don’t always notice at first. Some wounds heal. Some don’t. But scars stay. You remember the hurt—the sharp sting beneath your feet, like walking over thorns and pretending you don’t feel them. The ache in your chest. That hollow sensation in your heart where something used to be. And somehow, we call it meaningful pain.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Pain means hurt. Hurt that breaks you. Hurt that changes you. Hurt that makes you question everything you once believed. But then we give it meaning. We call it a lesson. We call it growth. We call it necessary. And maybe sometimes it is. Maybe pain teaches you things comfort never could. Maybe losing someone teaches you how deeply you can care. Maybe betrayal teaches you that trust isn’t something you can hand to just anyone. Maybe failure teaches you that being good at something doesn’t mean you’ll always succeed. Maybe pain is a part of surviving.

But if learning to live requires hurt, does that mean we’re supposed to keep hurting?

Because sometimes we don’t just experience pain. Sometimes we choose it. We hold onto people we know are bad for us. We return to things we’ve already outgrown. We replay conversations over and over, wondering what would’ve happened if we’d said something differently. We overthink. We take risks. We give second chances. We stay. And then, when everything falls apart, we look at the pieces as though the consequences had never crossed our minds.

Like an insolent child playing with something dangerous and being surprised when it hurts.

Maybe that’s the strange thing about being human. We can know something will hurt us and still reach for it. Not because we want to suffer. Sometimes we just want something badly enough to convince ourselves the pain will be worth it. We mistake wanting something for needing it. We mistake attachment for love. We mistake suffering for proof that something mattered.

People are meant to leave sometimes. Love can break. Things can go wrong. Some pain is completely out of our hands. But not everything is fate.

Loving someone is a choice. Holding on is a choice. Taking a risk is a choice. Forgiving someone is a choice. Going back is a choice. Even letting go is a choice.

And maybe that’s the part we hate admitting.

Because it’s easier to blame fate. It’s easier to say, It was meant to happen. It’s easier to believe everything was already decided because then we don’t have to wonder what would’ve happened if we’d chosen differently.

Maybe life isn’t entirely about what happens to us. Maybe it’s also about what we choose after it happens.

We can’t choose every wound. We can’t choose every goodbye. We can’t choose who stays.

But some things are choices.

Some things are optional.

Optional, by the way.