There’s something I’ve had to face in my own heart more than once, and it’s not easy to admit.
When I know I’ve wronged someone and I’m not willing to make it right, something begins to tighten inside of me. At first, it’s just a quiet awareness. I know what I said and did. Deep down, I know I should address it. But I don’t.
And when I don’t, something else starts to grow.
I begin to avoid that person. Not in an obvious or dramatic way. I can still be polite, still carry on a conversation if I have to. But there’s a distance now. A hesitation. A subtle holding back that was not there before.
If I’m being completely honest, it does not stop there. Over time, I can even start to feel frustrated with them. That frustration can quietly turn into something deeper—something closer to resentment. Not because they’ve done anything wrong, but because every time I see them, I am reminded of something I do not want to face.
It’s strange how the heart works. The very person I should move toward becomes the one I gradually move away from. The relationship that could be healed starts to feel strained, and if I am not careful, I can even begin to convince myself that the problem somehow sits on their side.
But that is not the truth. I’m not running from them; I’m running from what’s going on inside of me.
And the longer I leave it there, the more it starts to change me. Something begins to dull. My spirit isn’t as soft as it once was. I become quicker to defend myself and slower to listen. Something in me stays guarded. Conversations stay on the surface because I do not want to get anywhere near what is underneath. It’s easier to keep things light than to deal with what is heavy.
So I learn how to live around it. I can smile, talk, and go about my day, but underneath all of that, there is a tension that never really goes away. It is like something is slightly off inside, and no matter how much I ignore it, it does not fix itself.
This isn’t just something we experience now. It’s been there from the beginning.
When man first sinned, his instinct wasn’t to run toward God—it was to hide. Adam, who once walked openly with God, suddenly found himself doing something he had never done before: hiding, avoiding, ducking behind trees.
When God asked, “Where art thou?” it wasn’t because He did not know where Adam was; it was because Adam no longer knew where he stood. For the first time, Adam wasn’t standing open and unguarded. Sin had created distance, and instead of closing that distance, he tried to live with it.
That’s what we do. We do not always run far away; sometimes we just step back enough to avoid dealing with what is wrong. We stay close enough to appear fine, but not close enough to be honest. And over time, that space grows—not just between us and others, but inside of us.
Most of us don’t set out to live that way. It’s just that taking the first step back feels harder than carrying the weight. Pride gets in the way, and fear starts whispering: What if it makes things worse? What if they don’t respond well? What if it costs me something I don’t want to lose?
So we stay where we are—unsettled, but unwilling.
But the truth is, the longer we avoid it, the heavier it becomes. Not just in the relationship, but in us. There’s a weight that comes with unresolved wrongs, and time does not lighten it. If anything, it presses deeper, showing up in the way we withdraw, the way we guard ourselves, and the way something inside never quite feels at rest.
There is a way forward, but it’s not as easy as ignoring it and hoping things improve. It starts with honesty—not carefully chosen words or explanations that soften the edges, but simple, direct honesty. Owning what we have done. Stepping out from behind the place we’ve been hiding and facing it.
Facing God. Facing the person.
It is humbling, and it can feel exposing in a way that’s hard to put into words. But something happens in that moment that does not happen any other way. The tension begins to loosen. The distance starts to close. And that place inside, the one we’ve been trying to live around, finally begins to heal.
Not all at once, and not without resistance, but genuinely.
If you have been carrying something like this, you already know how it feels. You have felt the distance and the weight, and maybe you’ve been telling yourself you can just keep going like this.
But peace does not come from avoiding what needs to be faced. At some point, the question is not whether it’s hard—it’s whether you are willing to be honest.
Because on the other side of that, honesty is something you won’t find any other way.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
When I know I’ve wronged someone and I’m not willing to make it right, something begins to tighten inside of me. At first, it’s just a quiet awareness. I know what I said and did. Deep down, I know I should address it. But I don’t.
And when I don’t, something else starts to grow.
I begin to avoid that person. Not in an obvious or dramatic way. I can still be polite, still carry on a conversation if I have to. But there’s a distance now. A hesitation. A subtle holding back that was not there before.
If I’m being completely honest, it does not stop there. Over time, I can even start to feel frustrated with them. That frustration can quietly turn into something deeper—something closer to resentment. Not because they’ve done anything wrong, but because every time I see them, I am reminded of something I do not want to face.
It’s strange how the heart works. The very person I should move toward becomes the one I gradually move away from. The relationship that could be healed starts to feel strained, and if I am not careful, I can even begin to convince myself that the problem somehow sits on their side.
But that is not the truth. I’m not running from them; I’m running from what’s going on inside of me.
And the longer I leave it there, the more it starts to change me. Something begins to dull. My spirit isn’t as soft as it once was. I become quicker to defend myself and slower to listen. Something in me stays guarded. Conversations stay on the surface because I do not want to get anywhere near what is underneath. It’s easier to keep things light than to deal with what is heavy.
So I learn how to live around it. I can smile, talk, and go about my day, but underneath all of that, there is a tension that never really goes away. It is like something is slightly off inside, and no matter how much I ignore it, it does not fix itself.
This isn’t just something we experience now. It’s been there from the beginning.
When man first sinned, his instinct wasn’t to run toward God—it was to hide. Adam, who once walked openly with God, suddenly found himself doing something he had never done before: hiding, avoiding, ducking behind trees.
When God asked, “Where art thou?” it wasn’t because He did not know where Adam was; it was because Adam no longer knew where he stood. For the first time, Adam wasn’t standing open and unguarded. Sin had created distance, and instead of closing that distance, he tried to live with it.
That’s what we do. We do not always run far away; sometimes we just step back enough to avoid dealing with what is wrong. We stay close enough to appear fine, but not close enough to be honest. And over time, that space grows—not just between us and others, but inside of us.
Most of us don’t set out to live that way. It’s just that taking the first step back feels harder than carrying the weight. Pride gets in the way, and fear starts whispering: What if it makes things worse? What if they don’t respond well? What if it costs me something I don’t want to lose?
So we stay where we are—unsettled, but unwilling.
But the truth is, the longer we avoid it, the heavier it becomes. Not just in the relationship, but in us. There’s a weight that comes with unresolved wrongs, and time does not lighten it. If anything, it presses deeper, showing up in the way we withdraw, the way we guard ourselves, and the way something inside never quite feels at rest.
There is a way forward, but it’s not as easy as ignoring it and hoping things improve. It starts with honesty—not carefully chosen words or explanations that soften the edges, but simple, direct honesty. Owning what we have done. Stepping out from behind the place we’ve been hiding and facing it.
Facing God. Facing the person.
It is humbling, and it can feel exposing in a way that’s hard to put into words. But something happens in that moment that does not happen any other way. The tension begins to loosen. The distance starts to close. And that place inside, the one we’ve been trying to live around, finally begins to heal.
Not all at once, and not without resistance, but genuinely.
If you have been carrying something like this, you already know how it feels. You have felt the distance and the weight, and maybe you’ve been telling yourself you can just keep going like this.
But peace does not come from avoiding what needs to be faced. At some point, the question is not whether it’s hard—it’s whether you are willing to be honest.
Because on the other side of that, honesty is something you won’t find any other way.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
