Some people grow up with family dinners, hugs, bedtime stories and others, grow up tiptoeing through tension, watching love turn into silence, confusion, or chaos. And some of us — we grew up somewhere in between. In my house, it was passive-aggressive comments, side-eyes that said more than words, guilt trips disguised as advice. Some nights were loud with laughter. Some nights were just… loud. Tough love was the default. Tenderness felt rare, almost awkward. You never knew which version of home you were walking into.

It was enough love to stay. Enough pain to leave a mark.

This post isn’t about blame. It’s about becoming.

It’s about what happens when the people who were supposed to guide us… didn’t. It’s about the question so many of us carry: Can people really change?

Because if you’ve been hurt by someone you love — a parent, a partner, a friend — you’ve probably wrestled with that question at 2 a.m. Will they ever be different? Can I? Or is this just who we are?

Let me be real with you.

Change is hard. I mean — really hard. But it’s not impossible. Not through force. Not through begging. But through awareness, choice, and courage.

I say that as someone who’s working through it myself. There are things I’ve said, ways I’ve acted, patterns I’ve repeated that I’m not proud of. Maybe I hurt people I care about. Maybe I didn’t show up the way they needed. But I’m choosing change — not because I’m perfect, but because I’m done carrying what isn’t mine. And because I want to leave something better behind than what was handed to me.

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WHY PEOPLE DON’T CHANGE (AT FIRST)

Let’s talk science for a second.

Our brains are wired to protect us — not necessarily to grow. When we experience emotional trauma (especially in childhood), the brain adapts in survival mode. We develop coping mechanisms that may have helped us then — like shutting down, lashing out, denying responsibility — but they become destructive as we grow up.

To be real, in my community, you grow up fast. Therapy’s taboo. And emotions? We never really talked about them. It wasn’t a topic of discussion. Honestly, it’s not shade, it's just how we were raised.

According to Dr. Bruce Perry, a renowned trauma expert, “The more chaotic your early life was, the more rigid your stress response becomes.”

Translation? The more you were hurt as a kid, the harder it is to trust, connect, and change as an adult — unless you intentionally break that cycle.

This is why people like your father or your mother (or maybe even you) may feel stuck. Because underneath the behavior is a wound — and no one ever taught us how to treat it.

We’re not born cold. We’re made that way — little by little. Maybe by yelling. Maybe by abandonment. Maybe by the feeling that nothing you did was ever enough. And when that becomes your internal compass, it’s not just “pain” — it becomes your personality.

But trauma isn’t your identity. It’s just what happened. And healing? That’s what you choose.

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WHAT REAL CHANGE LOOKS LIKE

Let’s kill the fantasy. Let’s be real. 

Change is not some cute glow-up or overnight epiphany. It can sometimes suck. It’s ugly. It’s frustrating. It’s slow. It means facing the mirror, catching yourself in the act, and still choosing to do better.

These days, I’m learning to sit with silence, hear people fully, and speak without that old pressure to make everyone okay.
Psychologist Dr. Lisa Firestone talks about something called the “critical inner voice” — a subconscious script formed from past trauma and family dynamics.

It’s the voice that says: “You’ll never be good enough.” “You always mess things up.” “This is just who you’ll always be.”
But here’s the good news: that voice isn’t truth — it’s memory. And with therapy, support, and reflection, we can rewrite it.
That rewrite doesn’t look like perfection. It looks like pausing mid-argument. Like apologizing first, even when you’re scared. Like holding yourself accountable without collapsing into shame.

It’s not clean. It’s messy. But it’s real.

It starts with one choice: I refuse to become what hurt me.

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WHEN THE PEOPLE WE LOVE DON’T CHANGE

This part stings. But I’ve got to say it.

Sometimes the ones who hurt you… don’t get better. They don’t go to therapy. They don’t apologize. They stay stuck, defensive, or cruel — and maybe they genuinely believe that they did nothing wrong. Which can really suck. 

There’s a kind of silence in families like mine that protects dysfunction — as long as no one talks about it, it doesn’t exist. But even in that silence, we’re expected to forgive. The thing is, forgiveness was never really modeled for us. So now, I’m learning how to teach myself.

And that can be one of the hardest parts of healing — the grief of what will never be. The apology that won’t come. The relationship that won’t mend. The parent who will never be nurturing. The sibling who won’t change.

But here’s the hard-earned truth: Your healing does not depend on their growth. You don’t need their permission to move on. You don’t need their transformation to build your peace.

Let that sink in.

It’s okay to outgrow people who raised you. It’s okay to walk away from family if that’s what you need to feel safe. You can love someone and still choose distance. Forgiveness doesn’t always mean reunion — sometimes it just means release (and honestly, that’s still something I’m learning to accept).

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TO THE TEEN OR YOUNG ADULT IN A FRACTURED FAMILY

If you’ve got an absent parent, a toxic household, or a family history that feels more like a burden than a blessing — you are not alone.

If you feel like you had to be the adult when you were still a child… If you were the one covering up arguments and trying to make peace between grown-ups. If you were the one trying to fix it all, hold the peace, protect your siblings… If you feel the weight of someone else’s unhealed pain on your back…

I see you.

You’re probably exhausted. You might even be angry. Maybe you don’t want to forgive them. Maybe you want nothing to do with them or maybe you're stuck between anger and guilt — torn between walking away and wishing things were different.
Or maybe(like me)part of you still hopes they’ll change. That one day they’ll just get it.

Here’s the truth: They might not. But you still can.

You can change the way you love, speak, show up, care for yourself, trust others. You can learn boundaries, emotional regulation, and how to rest without guilt. You can unlearn the chaos — even if you were raised in it.

You can give yourself the childhood you never had — now, as an adult. That might look like soft blankets, watching cartoons, journaling, or just letting yourself cry without shame. That might look like reparenting yourself, setting rules for how you will be spoken to, and choosing friends who feel like home — not like survival.

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TO ANYONE WHO’S HURT OTHERS WHILE TRYING TO SURVIVE

This part’s personal.

If someone reading this has ever felt hurt by me — know this: I am not who I used to be. And I am not done becoming.

Sometimes, survival makes us hard. Cold. Closed off. We say things we don’t mean. We disappear when we should stay. We think we’re protecting ourselves — but really, we’re bleeding on people who didn’t cut us.

If you’ve been there… If you’re ashamed of how you acted, how you shut down, how you hurt someone you love — You’re not beyond redemption. The first step is owning it — not with excuses, but with honesty. Then comes action.

You don’t get to change the past. But you do get to rewrite the pattern. It’s not about perfection — it’s about catching yourself sooner. Pausing. Trying again. That’s growth. That might mean making amends. Or maybe it just means living differently now. Consistency. Growth. Silence when you used to scream. Listening when you used to deflect.

That’s what healing looks like — not loud, but deep.

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CHANGE ISN’T A DESTINATION — IT’S A DIRECTION

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still in it. Still working on me. Still healing parts of myself I didn’t even know were wounded. Still learning how to be gentle with myself. Still learning how to stay when things get uncomfortable — instead of shutting down or walking away.
But what I do know is this:  Change is real.  It’s possible.  And it starts with a choice.

It’s not about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming more of who you were always meant to be — before the pain, before the silence, before the trauma told you otherwise.

This Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m not sharing my full story — not yet. One day, I’ll talk about the guilt I carried. The things I wish I said. The version of me I had to bury to become who I’m becoming.
But if you’re trying to grow, trying to unlearn, trying to be better — just know: You’re not alone. And you’re already further along than you think.

For the ones who were hurt — and for the ones trying to heal — this letter is for you. We’re breaking cycles over here. We’re not broken. We’re rebuilding — one hard, beautiful choice at a time.