People are really interesting. The complexities of a human being — why we think the way we do, behave how we behave, and make the choices we make — are endlessly fascinating. What’s even more striking is how deeply interconnected we all are. Whether we realize it or not, every interaction affects us: strangers you walk by, new people you meet, the constant pull of social media and trends, and most importantly, the influence of family and friends.
Those closest to us carry titles that give them a special place in our lives — “mom,” “dad,” “sibling,” “best friend.” Because of these titles, we naturally rank them higher in importance, cherishing their presence more than that of a stranger. Yet, at the end of the day, they too are just people — individuals with their own minds, their own flaws, their own contradictions.
Take your mother, for example. She is “mom,” but she is also her own person. There are parts of her you might love, admire, and even want to carry into your own life. And then there are other parts — choices, attitudes, behaviors — that you’d never want to mirror. That duality can be hard to grasp.
What really shakes us, though, is when those closest to us hurt us in ways we expect only from strangers. A stranger doesn’t care about your heart; they may act out of self-interest, dismissing your feelings without a thought. But when the people you love act in those same ways, there’s a particular sting to it — a kind of disillusionment that’s hard to put into words. It leaves you questioning how someone you’ve been nothing but genuine with could still betray you, and even somehow position themselves as the victim when they hurt you.
Life has a way of bringing these situations around again and again. And each time, you’re reminded of that saying: there are three sides to every story — yours, theirs, and the truth. The unsettling part is that sometimes we never fully know what the truth really was. Maybe they were right, maybe you were. Maybe both of you were wrong in different ways. But what lingers are the words left unsaid, the stories unfinished, and the weight of not always knowing.
I Am Alina: Living in Unpunctuated Grace 