“Not Yours to Tell”

There’s a certain kind of hurt that cuts deeper than most—the kind that comes from someone taking your struggles, your healing, your most vulnerable parts… and using them against you.

Let me be blunt:

No matter how angry someone is at you, they do not have the right to weaponize your mental health. Ever.

I don’t care how messy things got. I don’t care what was said or done. Your trauma, your coping, your healing journey—that is not ammunition for someone else to use when they’re upset.

And yet, people do it.

They take the parts of you that you trusted them with… and they twist them. They share your story with people who didn’t earn the right to hear it. People who don’t know you. People who don’t understand you. People who will judge you without ever seeing your heart.

And that kind of betrayal? It lingers.

Recently, I experienced this firsthand. Someone took my truth and spread it out of anger. Not out of concern. Not out of love. Out of spite. And if I’m being honest—it broke something in me for a moment.

I started shrinking.

I avoided people.

I missed out on time with friends.

I stayed home because I didn’t know who knew what… or what version of me they had been told.

That’s the power of this kind of hurt—it isolates you. It makes you question yourself. It makes you feel exposed in a world that suddenly doesn’t feel safe anymore.

But this morning, something shifted.

I woke up and realized something I needed to hear:

I gave them too much power.

I let their actions undo parts of me that I have fought so hard to heal. I let their words dictate my peace. I let their choices control my life.

And I’m not doing that anymore.

Because here’s the truth—one we all need to remember:

Not everyone understands mental health.

Not everyone understands coping.

And not everyone will approve of how you survived what tried to break you.

But survival doesn’t need approval.

Healing doesn’t need permission.

And your story is not something anyone else gets to tell for you.

People who weaponize your mental health are not operating from a place of healing—they’re operating from their own hurt, their own brokenness, their own lack of accountability. That doesn’t excuse it, but it explains it.

And instead of letting that pull me down into anger and bitterness, I’m choosing something harder.

I’m choosing to let go.

That doesn’t mean I’m opening the door back up.

That doesn’t mean I’m pretending it didn’t happen.

And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m giving them access to me again.

It means I’m choosing peace over poison.

I’m choosing to pray for them, even when it’s hard.

I’m choosing to ask God to handle what I no longer need to fight.

I’m choosing to believe that their actions do not define me.

Because if Jesus could endure betrayal, judgment, pain, and still show compassion… then I can choose not to let this turn my heart cold.

Do I want to wish ill on them sometimes?

Yes. I’m human.

But I also know that living in that place will only destroy me, not them.

So I’m letting it go—not for them, but for me.

And if you’re reading this and you’ve been through something similar, I need you to hear this:

You are not what they said about you.

You are not the version of you they shared.

You are not defined by how you coped in your hardest moments.

You are someone who survived.

You are someone who is healing.

And you are allowed to keep moving forward without shame.

Don’t let someone else’s bitterness steal your progress.

Don’t let their actions make you shrink.

Don’t let their voice become louder than your truth.

Stand back up.

Go out again.

Laugh again.

Show up again.

Take your life back.

And let God handle the rest.