What Is Character
Character isn’t what you post, preach, or promise.
It’s who you are when no one’s watching.
It shows up in those uncomfortable moments when being honest costs you something.
Reputation is what people say about you.
Character is what’s left standing when everything falls apart.
And trust me, life has a way of showing you both.
When People Show You Their Character
My life has been a front-row seat to people showing me exactly who they are.
Addiction, betrayal, emotional immaturity, abuse, avoidance, pride — I’ve had them all parade through my life like unwanted teachers.
My ex-husband was one of the first lessons.
He was the man who said sorry often but never actually changed. My famous phrase was “Til Next Time.”
When we broke up, he’d apologize to me, while tearing me down to anyone who’d listen. He built the fire and then blamed me for the smoke.
And I wasn’t quiet about it. I went crazy. I was loud. I shouted. Because when your world falls apart, silence feels like suffocation.
People made fun of me for it. They pointed fingers and laughed while I was just trying to survive. But when no one wants to hear your pain, volume becomes your only language.
His character showed up in how he spoke about me, how he turned heartbreak into a story to tell. That was my first real lesson about character. It’s not in what people say. It’s in what they do next.
The Man Who Never Said Sorry
Few wanted me with him. “He was mean to me” “Didn’t treat me right.” But, I saw a different side when we were alone and I believed it.
My ex-partner didn’t apologize at all. He did for the small little things, which shows the amount of abuse he took in his life. He ignored the big things when sober. When he drank though, there was no I’m sorry.
He grew up believing you accept whatever comes your way and don’t ever give it back. If you did, you would be discarded and ignored by all. Accountability wasn’t something he learned. Reflection, to him, was weakness. Saying sorry meant surrender.
That’s how emotional immaturity gets passed down. When people mistake silence for strength and pride for power, they never learn how to love properly.
How Generational and Marital Trauma Affects Character
A few months before he left me, his mother was in the hospital for a full week. No one told him for a full week. Not even his daughter, because she wasn’t allowed to. I was furious!
“That isn’t love. That’s control!”
Even then, just months before his ex reclaimed her undying love for him, she didn’t respect the mother-son bond. She didn’t tell him. Most importantly, she didn’t consider the innocence of her daughter caught in the middle. She wasn’t putting out fires out of love. She was part, if not all, of the fire.
He went back after the Mom thing, the dog thing and writing “I will not talk in class” notes on the fridge to appease her. There were many other incidents of emotional abuse. I don’t try to understand it anymore. It is what it is, and I’m free from her abusive character.
That’s when I learned another hard truth. People don’t always return to what’s right. They return to what’s familiar. The creepiest part of it all is that he visits every night on this website. When he’s home alone or with his ex-wife. It’s actually romantic that he does this. It shows that time with her is still, to this day, enveloped in talking and thinking about me. Like they have nothing else left in common, and they both still haven’t figured out how love properly.
Or, he’s now realizing who did a little too late.
When Their Character Affects Yours
When you love someone who lacks character, it starts to chip away at yours. You doubt yourself. You shrink. You make peace with things you shouldn’t have to tolerate.
That’s when your own character gets tested. Do you get bitter, or do you get better? Do you mirror their cruelty, or do you rise above it?
It’s not easy. The first time I got burned, I mirrored their cruelty. I went full-on unfiltered chaos. It was betrayal trauma actions at its finest. But in therapy, I learned something — I wasn’t angry anymore. I was just embarrassed and felt rejected all this time. I felt toss and thrown out. I know that their actions had nothing to do with me.
I was even more so embarrassed by my second relationship. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I ever dated and loved a man that weak. He never loved because he didn’t know how! He was never shown properly (An Elton John theme in his movie.) Any man who would return, after that much abuse, is weak. I wish he would have faced himself and opened himself up to new love. Of course, new love didn’t have to be with me. He deserved to sober up, heal and learn what real love is. I know that their actions had nothing to do with me.
These experiences forced me to grow. They also reminded me I need someone strong enough to love themselves, scars and all. I need someone who doesn’t love only when it’s convenient.
Writing about it helps me, and maybe it helps someone else who’s been through emotional abuse too.
My reaction wasn’t weakness. It was human. I cared too deeply, believed too much, and stayed too long. Am I embarrassed I aligned myself with people like that? You bet. But staying kind after all that — that’s real strength.
The Cost of Emotional Immaturity
People who can’t apologize or take responsibility always rewrite the story. They twist it until you start believing you’re the problem.
Their lack of self-awareness forces you into emotional adulthood long before you’re ready. You become the one managing emotions, saying sorry first, explaining what love should already mean.
They hand you their emotional debt and call it balance.
But once you see it, you can’t unsee it. That’s when your character kicks in and says, this isn’t about me anymore. This is about who they are.
I’ve learned that how someone treats you is their character. How you respond is yours.
Their deceit, their silence, their cruelty, their need for control — that’s them.
My ability to still choose truth, boundaries, and empathy — that’s me.
Every time you choose honesty over comfort, you build your character. Each time you walk away, you avoid losing yourself. You strengthen a character that doesn’t depend on anyone’s approval.
That’s what I want to leave behind. Not bitterness. Just understanding.
Why I’m Writing This, Not Recording It
I was going to make this a podcast episode. But as I sat with it, I realized I didn’t want to say these words out loud anymore.
These are words I needed to release quietly. No dramatic music, no performance, just truth.
I’m ending the relationships of my past here, in writing.
I’ll only revisit these stories when they’re needed to explain a personal experience. I do this not to reopen wounds. I want to show how far I’ve come.
I don’t live there anymore. I visit for reflection, not residence.
Peace isn’t pretending the past didn’t happen.
It’s knowing you don’t have to carry it into your future.
I tell my story because I’ve earned that right. I’ve survived what should have broken me and turned it into something that helps someone else.
Character isn’t what life gives you. It’s who you decide to become after it all.
If you’ve ever been called crazy for reacting or weak for forgiving, remember this. You’re not broken. You’re becoming.
And that’s what real character looks like.
