I used to give people so many chances.

Chances to show up.

Chances to care.

Chances to treat me like I had always been told people should treat one another.

Once upon a time I couldn’t count how often someone had let me down, or run over me, or stabbed me in the heart, or ruined my character for their own ambitions.

I’ve found myself waiting impatiently in the hopes they would prove me wrong, this time. If I told you all the stories where I sat, waiting, you would be embarrassed for me. I always believed they would show up like they promised.

I know all too well that moment of being so disappointed in yourself that you hope no one ever knows how far you went to let them make you look foolish. It’s okay, Susie, maybe next time. Maybe next time you can believe them.

I’ve had “friends” decide a stranger was more eventful to be with on my birthday than me. I’ve had “family” who shredded my growing soul into pieces sowing brokenness for my future.

I could write an anthology of the multitudinous ways I’ve made myself feel small because “this person will show up.” It would be a sad collection of all my moments of utter loneliness. I wouldn’t want for anyone to read it, or to pity me.

I used to give people chances to treat me in the ways I always start off with others. Show up and on time. Be honest. Embody loyalty. Defend them with everything you can.

I think I gave these chances in part because I wasn’t given the option to defend myself when I was younger. I was told the adults were always right even as they beat me in the closet. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone. I’m in charge.” The chances I gave were because some part of me hoped the other would value me, would see me, would care for me. The chances I gave were graceful, patient, understanding… of them.

But with every chance I gave away, I stole a chance from myself. I erased my voice. I suffocated my choice. I deleted my identity and devalued my future. Those chances I doled out so unselflessly always cost me more than I understood. Maybe I knew, maybe I didn’t think I deserved those chances. I hadn’t been given them so I couldn’t understand how much they could mean for me.

My chances are selfish these days. They lap up every ounce of liquid like a grain of sand in the Sahara. Sucking all of life back in to nourish me so I can thrive. My chances are sparsed out after I recognize a kindredness that comes from deep honesty, utter vulnerability, and self assured awareness. My chances are for those who understand immediately without context, explanation, or allusion.

You may not see my chances coming, you may not know you’ve had one. You may even think you can have as many as you like. You’d be wrong.

Every day of our lives we are gifted chances. Some days the world around us challenges our resolve and makes it hard for us to be deserving. Those days we all deserve grace and compassion. But when we show someone who we are, we shouldn’t expect them to brush what we’ve told them aside.

I’ve been brushed aside and I’ve ignored how hurt my heart was because it’s easy to make excuses for everyone but yourself. I deserved better for me from me. I have grown immovably determined to do what doesn’t hurt my heart.

These days, oh these empowered and confident days, I have no patience for anyone who doesn’t value me. I have no care for anyone who twists who I am to fit their narrative. I have no worry that I’ll be misjudged, because I know I will be. I often am. After all, I am intimidating, I am vocal, I am disagreeable. I am visible.

I know the value I hold for those I love. I am proud of my loyalty, my fierce ambition to uplift others AND myself so that we can all find success, and my neverending passion to make life worth living.

I’m done giving people too many chances. It’s time I gave myself everything no one else ever gave me.

Besides,

You’ve had your chance.