Why I Still Believe in People

There was a time I should’ve stopped believing in people.

Not because they were cruel — cruelty I can understand.

Cruelty has edges you can brace for.

Cruelty announces itself like a storm rolling over the horizon.

No — what breaks a man isn’t cruelty.

It’s absence.

The hollow space where support was meant to be but never appeared.

The silence that follows a promise.

The slow fade of people who swore they’d stay.

You can prepare for a blade.

You can’t prepare for the sound of someone letting go.

I’ve seen friendships evaporate the moment the room got dark.

I’ve seen family shrink when I needed them to expand.

I’ve seen people clap when you’re rising and disappear when you’re drowning.

And still —

still —

I believe in people.

Not blindly.

Not ignorantly.

Not with the soft naivety I had years ago.

I believe in people because I learned to see through them.

Because somewhere beneath the panic, the numbness, the shame, the masks, the addictions, the bravado, the silence, there is always a small flicker —

a pilot flame —

that refuses to die.

I believe in people because I lived inside those shadows myself.

I’ve felt the weight of debt crushing my ribs.

I’ve had mornings where the ceiling pressed harder than the sky.

I’ve battled substances not because I was weak, but because I was tired of fighting alone.

I’ve looked in the mirror and seen a version of myself I wasn’t proud of, but still refused to abandon.

People don’t fail because they’re evil.

They fail because they’re overwhelmed.

They break because no one taught them how to hold themselves when everyone else lets go.

And somewhere in that chaos —

somewhere in the middle of late-night battles and early-morning regrets —

I realized something:

Most people aren’t malicious.

They’re just unhealed.

They’re trying.

They’re scared.

They’re drowning quietly.

They don’t know how to hold others because they barely know how to hold themselves.

And that’s why I still believe in people.

Not because they’re perfect.

But because they’re possible.

Because I’ve seen what one genuine moment of kindness can do to someone on the edge.

Because I’ve watched strangers show more loyalty than blood.

Because I’ve seen lives change from a single conversation, a single chance, a single spark.

Because I’ve watched people transform.

Break patterns.

Rise out of their own ruins.

Because I did.

And I know if I could, then anyone can.

Believing in people isn’t about trusting everyone.

It’s about refusing to let the darkness convince you that no one is worth trusting.

It’s about keeping the door open —

just enough for the right ones to walk in.

It’s about understanding that every hero you’ve ever loved was once a mess,

a contradiction,

a half-broken thing that decided to rebuild.

So no — I don’t believe in the masks.

I don’t believe in the excuses.

I don’t believe in the versions of people that disappoint.

I believe in the versions they haven’t grown into yet.

I believe in the fire they forgot they have.

I believe in the potential they don’t see.

I believe in the moment they finally choose themselves.

I believe in people

because somewhere, somehow,

people believed in me —

even when I didn’t deserve it.

And that changed everything.