Losing my lens of perfection

I had a lot to reflect on about myself today. I spoke to a friend, and I found out how something I did a year ago affected them entirely—how it shook their core existence and made them question their beliefs.

I’ve always considered myself a good person—someone kind-hearted and genuine, who never wishes bad for others. But though it was unintentional, I spoke ill about someone behind their back, and it soul-crushed them.

Imagine them having to see me so many times, biting down the bitterness in their mouth because they still wanted to give me another chance. Imagine me being so oblivious to it all, taking them for granted—and hurting them even more. I don’t even know if I could’ve survived that. I made this person protect my feelings from my own truth, forcing them to carry that weight alone without ever letting me know how I hurt them.

This stirred a lot in me. I wondered how many times I might’ve done this to the people around me. How I could’ve taken pride in being a nice person, only to shatter that image myself by doing something so foolish, without even a second thought. I was guilty. I was angry at myself. The self-image I had built over the years crumbled to the ground. I stare down at the ruins—and don’t even pity it.

Then I spoke to my mom. We talked for two hours over the phone, and like always, she helped me see things clearly. I know I was wrong—I can take accountability and do what’s needed now, instead of sitting there letting guilt eat me up. That does nobody any good. I ruined it for that person, but I’ll spend my life trying to fix it rather than crying over it with guilt.

This was a slap to my face—a reminder that I’ve made countless mistakes myself, and expecting others to be flawless is insanely ludicrous and ironic. That’s what my mom told me—losing this lens of prejudice through which I viewed people who make mistakes might just be one of the greatest lessons life decided to teach me today.