STORY TIME
Sandra, a mother of five, began her life with hope; the kind of hope that feels solid and sure. The father of her children proposed, promising forever. He was hardworking, loving, and kind; everything she had ever wanted in a man. Life felt aligned. Like it was finally making sense.
Then he got a job in the city.
The commute was long. The hours were brutal. After many conversations, they made a practical decision: he would rent an apartment closer to work. It was cheaper. Less exhausting. For the first year, it worked. He came home on weekends. Their family still felt intact.
But slowly, the weekends stopped coming.
His visits became less frequent until one day, they stopped altogether.
Two and a half years later, Sandra’s world collapsed. She discovered that he had fallen in love with a coworker, married her, and they were expecting a child. As if the betrayal weren’t enough, he filed for full custody of their children. He argued they would have better opportunities with him.
Sandra wanted what was best for her kids, even if it broke her. And so, with a shattered heart, she let them go.
WHEN PAIN GOES UNHEALED
Left alone in an empty house, Sandra tried to survive the only way she knew how: by getting into another relationship. But this time, it was with someone else’s husband.
When that relationship ended, she found herself in the same situation again; this time with another married man.
Being single was never an option for her.
Sandra, once devastated by infidelity, somehow became the source of that same pain for other women. The very betrayal that nearly destroyed her quietly became her pattern. The cycle she despised had slowly become her own.
THE MIRROR WE AVOID
Sandra’s story may not be ours, but how often have we done the same thing?
How many times have we replicated the behavior we hate?
How many times have we passed on pain that was never meant for the people who received it?
A boss who consistently belittles and condescends you leaves you simmering all day, suppressing the urge to crash out. Then you get home, and that same tone shows up in your marriage, with your children, with your friends. The wound you absorbed at work becomes the weapon you use at home.
Why do we replicate the very things we detest?
BROKEN LENSES
I remember being consistently bashed from the pulpit by a leader. I crumbled under the weight of constant criticism. Though my name was never mentioned, it was often obvious I was the one being addressed.
Now, let me say this clearly: not every message spoken from a platform is about you. When we are hurting, everything feels like an attack. Every sermon, every story, every statement from someone we’re at odds with can begin to feel like a personal vendetta.
And sometimes, it isn’t.
But when our lenses are cracked by pain, clarity is hard to come by.
That said, let us not be naive. Sometimes those messages are underhanded. Sometimes they are directed. And if you are discerning, if you have common sense, you can tell.
BECOMING WHAT I HATED
Here’s the part that took years for me to admit.
During my healing process, I did not realize that I was slowly becoming the very thing I despised.
While I never spoke from behind a pulpit, I rebuked my students publicly. Sometimes it was aimed at one student. Sometimes at a few. But instead of pulling them aside and addressing matters privately, I made underhanded comments in public spaces.
I failed to give others what I desperately wanted when I was hurting.
And that’s when it hit me.
I, the unhealed victim of a past experience, had become the perpetrator in someone else’s story. The villain I never intended to be.
BREAKING THE CYCLE
The first step is simple, yet difficult: acknowledge the hurt. It is okay to admit that you are hurt. It is okay to admit that you are disappointed. Do not lie to yourself. What happened was painful, and it wounded you deeply.
The next step is to talk it through, not with just anyone, but with someone levelheaded, unbiased, and morally upright. Someone who is healed in the very area where you are hurting. This is critical.
A person who is broken in the same place you are will advise you out of their brokenness. Because they cannot see clearly, their counsel, though well-intentioned, can do more harm than good.
But someone who is whole where you are wounded can help you process the experience in a healthy way, reframe it with clarity, and exit the season better than you entered it.
Then comes the work of forgiveness.
As you begin to reframe the experience, you may realize that those who hurt you were hurting themselves. More often than not, they were simply replicating what had once been done to them. In many cases, the harm was not intentional; they just hadn’t healed.
When you understand the dynamics of hurt, compassion becomes possible. And with compassion comes release; release for them, and release for you, from the prison of unforgiveness.
Finally, one of the most important lessons I’ve learned through years of reconnecting with people who hurt me is this: forgiveness does not require access.
It is okay to forgive and not grant the same level of closeness that once existed. In fact, it is unwise to allow an unhealed person the same access they had when they wounded you.
You can forgive. You can love deeply. You can heal.
And still establish boundaries.
AN INVITATION TO HEAL
Hurt does not disappear on its own. It looks for an outlet. And if we are not intentional, it will come out sideways; toward the safest people, the closest ones, the ones who had nothing to do with the original wound.
This is how cycles continue; not through malice, but through unhealed pain.
But awareness is power.
And healing is how cycles end.
We do not have to become what wounded us.
We do not have to rehearse pain simply because it is familiar.
We can pause. We can reflect. We can choose differently.
The moment we take responsibility for our healing is the moment we stop replicating hurt and begin rewriting the story.
So the question is this: What cycle ends with you?
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