Growing up, my mother always said I had rose-colored glasses on. I viewed the world as much better than it was. I saw the good in people. I focused on their potential rather than their actions. I believed I could see their hearts. Some people say that’s a dangerous way to live. It leaves you vulnerable. And they weren’t wrong — I was hurt a lot. I created safe spaces for people. I gave money from my wallet just to prove kindness still existed. I overextended myself because the guilt of knowing I could have helped was always louder than the “no” I should have said.
Somewhere along the way — maybe through toxic boyfriends and fair-weather friends — my view of the world hardened. It became less rosy and much harsher. I still smiled all the time, but it was a mask. Underneath it was anger. Disappointment. Exhaustion. I started to resent being around people. I resented being asked for things, knowing I would give even when I shouldn’t. Eventually, I turned into a little hermit — afraid of building relationships. Not just because I feared being hurt again, but because I feared hurting others with the sharp edges of my now-cynical heart.
But this post isn’t about martyring myself.
It’s about asking: How do we get our innocence back?
Sometimes I turn off all the TVs, silence my phone, and lie on my bed staring at the ceiling so I can think about the big, heavy questions. Recently, I asked myself why I no longer wonder about the world. Why do I keep allowing myself to see it as smaller than I know it is?
My immediate answer… because the world is going to shit.
We’re all just trying to stay afloat. No matter what proverbial channel you turn to, the story is the same — people being terrible to other people. Scroll through TikTok or Instagram and you’ll see violence, betrayal, heartbreak. Women telling stories about the partners they trusted most hurting them in irreversible ways. Dating isn’t dating anymore; it’s just fucking in a long-term way. Friendship isn’t wholesome; it’s a contract that crumbles under the slightest pressure. We live in a world where people can call women subhuman and strip away their rights without pausing for nuance. it’s all madness, and just trying to make sense of it.
If you can’t tell, I spiraled.
I sat in the middle of my bed and cried — not just for myself and my isolation from this horrible world, but for the people out there crying themselves to sleep. The ones losing hope that the world will ever be kind again. I wished I could reach through the dark and hand them a piece of myself so they could feel some kind of comfort.
And then it hit me.
Yes, the world might be going to shit in a soon-to-be irreversible way. But I don’t have to keep thinking about the world. I can think about the people I encounter on my path. How do I give them the tiniest shred of hope? How do I brighten their day? How do I offer them the version of me that once wore rose-colored glasses? Why can’t I see the world as it is and still choose to be a light in it? Why does the terrible way I was treated have to be passed on?
I don’t want that.
I have forgiven many people in my life. Many people have forgiven me. So why do I have to keep embodying the phrase “hurt people hurt people”?
I don’t.
So I won’t.
I’m not going to pretend the world is mostly good. At this point, I genuinely don’t know — and that is 100% okay. But I can still reach out my hand. I can still be a good person without pressuring myself to be the sunlight.
A flickering candle will do just fine most of the time.
I don’t need to be someone’s light. Just a flicker to help them find their own.
The world sucks, and then we die.
But before the inevitable end, what are you going to do to make it suck just a little less — for the people around you, and for yourself?
Because you are just as important as the person in need of the kind hand you’re offering.