A New Year's Eve View From a Pew: Lessons Learned the Hard Way

I learned it the hard way—with busted knuckles, a broken heart, and a prayer I didn’t even know how to finish. The kind of prayer that starts with faith and ends in tears. The kind you whisper when pride is gone and all you have left is truth. This view from a pew is for anyone questioning their relationship.

See, life has a way of teaching you lessons you tried to skip. And love—misplaced love—will school you every single time.

Let me tell you something plain, something honest, something unpolished: If somebody refuses to put you first, it is not because they don’t know how. It’s because they have decided you don’t require the effort.

And that hurts—not because you’re weak, but because you cared. Because you believed. Because you showed up with a full heart in a half-hearted situation.

When a person truly loves you—really loves you—you don’t have to beg for consistency. You don’t have to remind them you exist. You don’t have to negotiate your importance or perform emotional gymnastics just to feel valued. Love does not require you to shrink, stretch, or suffer in silence.

Love doesn’t need ultimatums. Love doesn’t need you explaining your worth like it’s a courtroom argument. Love doesn’t make you compete with friends, habits, addictions, egos, or comfort zones. Love doesn’t leave you confused, exhausted, or constantly questioning your own sanity.

And if you are always coming in second…third…or dead last— behind their convenience, their fear, their excuses, and their refusal to grow—hear me clearly: that may not be love at all.

Now this is the part where folks get uncomfortable. This is where the pew gets quiet and the air gets heavy.

If they wanted to, they would. Yes, I said it. And no, I will not apologize.

Because effort is never accidental. Presence is intentional. Consistency is a choice. You cannot heal someone who is comfortable watching you bleed. You cannot love somebody into accountability. You cannot sacrifice yourself on an altar they never planned to kneel at.

Let me tell you something real—something ugly, but holy: Sometimes the reason they don’t choose you is because you are choosing them too hard.

You’re out here pouring when they’re barely sprinkling. You’re sacrificing while they’re settling. You’re explaining while they’re avoiding. You’re holding space while they take up all the air.

You’re patient. You’re understanding. You’re loyal to a fault.

And they’re giving you crumbs— treating you like a pigeon in the park, grateful you stayed hungry.

So get up. Get off the ground. Dust your knees and your spirit.

A person who won’t put you first is already preaching a sermon with their actions. They are telling you exactly where you rank in their life. And sometimes the truth is brutal: you don’t rank at all.

The most disrespectful thing you can do to yourself is argue with reality. Stop debating what they’ve already demonstrated. Stop spiritualizing what is clearly dysfunction. Stop calling endurance “love” when it’s really just neglect dressed up in hope.

And here comes the revelation—the gasp—the Lord have mercy moment: You don’t lose people who don’t choose you. You lose the illusion of who you thought they were.

And illusions can be deadly if you cling to them long enough.

So walk away. Not bitter—better. Not broken—brave. Not ashamed—awake.

Walk away with your dignity loud. Your boundaries firm. Your peace protected.

Because anybody who won’t put you first does not deserve front-row access to your heart. They don’t deserve your body, your prayers, your energy, or your future. They don’t get to benefit from your love while refusing to honor it.

And let me say this for the ones who think walking away means you failed: Sometimes leaving is the miracle. Sometimes letting go is the answer to the prayer you couldn’t finish. Sometimes God removes people by giving you clarity instead of closure.

And if this hit you in the chest, that wasn’t offense—it was truth making room. That was your soul standing up inside you, saying, enough.

So as you walk into 2026: Enough begging. Enough waiting. Enough bleeding quietly.Enough begging. Enough waiting. Enough bleeding quietly.

You deserve to be chosen without convincing. Loved without performing. Honored without reminding.

And trust me when I tell you this— I didn’t learn it from a book. I learned it the hard way.