Life is strange. It gives us relationships like fragile threads—beautiful, intricate, but delicate. And sometimes, no matter how tightly we hold on, the threads break. Today, I crossed paths with one of those broken bonds, an old friend whose presence in my life once felt as constant as the sun. But now, that light has dimmed, replaced by cold shadows of misunderstanding, pain, and unspoken words.

When I saw them, I smiled—a tentative “hye”—an olive branch, perhaps, or a quiet acknowledgment of our shared history. But instead of warmth, I was met with hostility cloaked in indifference. “Why did you come?” they asked, as if my existence itself was a burden. They walked away from the group, leaving me behind, embarrassed and confused.

And I wondered: Whose fault is this?
Was it their unkept promise that broke the bond? Or was it my expectation that magnified their mistake? Who was truly angry here? Them, for being reminded of the rupture, or me, for the sting of rejection all over again?

The truth is, we don’t always get answers in situations like these. Pain doesn’t come neatly labeled with explanations or justifications. It just… exists. And when it festers, it often turns people into versions of themselves they don’t recognize. Some of us build walls, others wield swords. But why, when a simple “sorry” could heal, do we so often choose to hurt?

I’ve asked myself this countless times. Why do people become mean when they feel vulnerable? Is it easier to act out in anger than to confront the vulnerability of regret? Perhaps, in walking away, my old friend wanted to prove they had moved on—that my presence was insignificant. Or maybe they were shielding themselves from their own guilt, deflecting pain with cruelty.

But what about me? Standing there, humiliated and hurt, I felt like the victim, yet I couldn’t shake the guilt of being part of the wreckage. It’s an impossible tangle of emotions—anger, sadness, confusion.

So, what should we do when we’re the victim but still subjected to humiliation?

1. Acknowledge Your Pain
   First, it’s okay to feel hurt. Your feelings are valid. Don’t let anyone tell you that your reaction is “too much” or that you should just “move on.” Healing starts with acknowledging that you’ve been wounded.
2. Let Go of the Need for Closure
   Closure is a gift, not a guarantee. Sometimes, people won’t give you the answers or apologies you deserve. And that’s hard, but it’s also reality. Letting go of the need for their validation is liberating.
3. Don’t Mirror Their Behavior
   It’s tempting to lash out, to match their meanness with your own. But anger doesn’t heal—it corrodes. Respond with grace, even if it’s just for yourself. Hold onto the dignity they might have let go of.
4. Reflect Without Blame
   Relationships, even broken ones, are rarely one-sided. Take a moment to reflect on your own role—not to assign guilt, but to understand. Sometimes, understanding our actions gives us peace, even if we can’t change the outcome.
5. Choose Forgiveness
   Forgiveness isn’t about them; it’s about you. It’s about releasing the weight of resentment so it doesn’t consume you. Forgive, not because they deserve it, but because you do.
6. Remember Your Worth
   Humiliation can make us question our value. Don’t let their behavior diminish your self-esteem. You are more than this moment, more than their perception of you.

Why do people fight instead of saying sorry?
Because vulnerability is terrifying. Admitting fault feels like exposing a wound. But here’s the truth: vulnerability is strength. It’s the bravest thing we can offer one another in a world that often rewards callousness.

So, to anyone who’s been humiliated, hurt, or rejected, I say this: Don’t let someone else’s pain turn you into something you’re not. Stay soft, even when the world feels sharp. And remember, sometimes the people who hurt us the most are the ones hurting the deepest themselves.

And to my old friend, if you’re reading this, know that I forgive you—not because it’s easy, but because I choose to let go of the pain. I hope one day, you find the courage to do the same.

Until then, I will hold onto the lesson you’ve taught me:
That we are all flawed, that we all stumble, and that our true strength lies not in perfection, but in how we rise after the fall.

Warmly,
Butter