When Hate Won’t Let Go
And You Don’t Want to Pretend You’re Over It Yet
I know you hate them.
Maybe not every moment.
Maybe not all the way.
But I know the way it grips your body.
The way your heart hardens when they walk into the room.
The way your mind spins when you remember what they said, or didn’t say, or said again after promising they’d never say it again.
The way you tighten when you hear their name.
The way you wish you didn’t feel anything at all—but you still do.
And I know sometimes you hate me too.
Because I see it.
Because I don’t flinch.
Because I remind you of something you’ve been trying not to feel.
And that’s okay.
I’m not afraid of your hate.
But I won’t stay there with you.
Because I know what it does to you.
I know how it steals your softness.
How it robs you of sleep.
How it poisons your spirit and makes it hard to trust your own love.
And I want more for you than that.
When I was sixteen, my father broke my hand with his fist.
At eighteen, I found the words to tell him what that did to me.
I didn’t hold back. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t angry.
I told him everything. I let it rise and move and leave.
And something broke open in me that night—not just a wound, but a release.
That conversation saved my life.
Because that’s the night I stopped carrying hate.
It didn’t happen because he apologized.
It didn’t happen because he changed.
It happened because I let the truth be bigger than the performance.
I didn’t need him to fix it.
I needed to speak what was mine.
I needed to stop protecting the version of him I was trying to love while hiding the truth of what I’d survived.
And after I spoke it, I felt clean.
That was 31 years ago.
And I still love him.
Genuinely.
Freely.
Not as a martyr.
Not with a scar hidden under a smile.
Real love.
Real peace.
And I’ve loved my husband too, even after violence.
Even after betrayal.
Not because I’m holy.
Not because I’m perfect.
But because I’ve learned how to transmute hate into love without losing myself.
And if I can do that, I know you can too.
But you can’t skip steps.
You can’t plaster love over rage and call it healing.
You can’t pretend to forgive while your jaw is still clenched.
You can’t say “we’re fine” while holding resentment.
You can’t talk about compassion while avoiding your own pain.
You have to name it.
You have to get honest about what you feel, even if it makes you uncomfortable.
Even if you think it makes you unlovable.
Even if part of you wants to hold onto the anger because it’s the only thing that ever made you feel powerful.
But hate isn’t power.
Hate is buildup.
It’s accumulated pain that never had a place to go.
You don’t have to perform forgiveness.
You don’t have to force anything.
But you do need to get to neutral.
If love feels too far away right now, that’s okay.
Just stop faking peace.
Stop pretending that what you feel is not there.
Stop trying to outrun what wants to be witnessed.
If you’re willing to sit with it—not explain it, not dramatize it, just be with it—you’ll start to feel the tightness shift.
You’ll start to hear your own voice beneath the noise.
You’ll stop blaming, and start choosing.
Not all at once.
But moment by moment, you’ll feel yourself come back online.
And when you do, love will be there.
Not forced.
Not rushed.
Not branded.
Just clean.
Just yours.
And I’ll still be here.
Even if you hate me.
Even if you don’t believe it’s possible.
Even if you’re not ready today.
I’ll be here.
Because that’s what love does.
It stays.
Forever.