Learning When To Walk Away

There’s a lot the Bible tells us about how we are to behave. Titus 2 lays it out plainly:

“Older men are to exercise self-control, be worthy of respect, and live wisely. Older women must live in a way that honors God. They must not slander others or be heavy drinkers. Instead, they should teach others what is good. These older women must train the younger women to love their husbands and their children, to live wisely and be pure, to do good, and to be submissive to their husbands so they will not bring shame on the word of God.” - Titus 2:2-5

I didn’t know these verses when I was younger. Or if I did, I didn’t know how to apply them.

What I knew was pain. I knew rejection. I knew rage masked as survival.

I came into adulthood like a stray animal, all scrappy, defensive, and feral in my spirit. When I met Calen, I was 19 years old, just a wild thing trying to outrun my childhood. I had enlisted in the Army. I was running from my hometown, from the identity branded into me like cattle. White trash. Unwanted. Unworthy.

I thought I could bury that by pretending to be someone new.

It didn’t work.

First Impressions

When Calen first brought me home to meet his family, I felt like I was stepping into someone else’s dream. Their house was beautiful. The lawn was green. The kitchen was full. There were home videos and the evidence of a family that loved one another enough to remember each other.

And I was scared to death.

I had no blueprint for that kind of life. I didn’t know how to be in that environment without feeling like a fraud. I probably didn’t make a good impression. In hindsight, I don’t blame them if they thought I didn’t belong. But that moment would be the beginning of a more than decade-long wound.

When Calen and I got married, we chose his hometown so his family could be there. Mine didn’t come. I got ready alone. I was surrounded by strangers, really, his people, and I tried to tell myself I wasn’t hurt. But I was. I was always alone. Always the outsider.

That night on the back porch, I had one of the most traumatic confrontations I’ve ever experienced. My new mother-in-law lit into me.

She said I wouldn’t be around long enough to matter.

She said I didn’t belong around her grandchildren.

She said more things I won’t repeat. And my new husband, my new stepfather-in-law, they said nothing and eventually, they just went to bed. And I sat there, hollow and raw, trying to defend myself to someone who had already made up their mind about me. Still, I was alone against the world. I didn’t realize that this was normal behavior and so the family saw nothing wrong with it.

Years of Trying to Be Enough

That confrontation set the tone for the next thirteen years.

I tried so hard to win favor. I thought if I could just do more, be better, then I would finally earn love. Acceptance. Peace.

But I didn’t understand then that God never asked me to carry that burden.

I made a thousand mistakes. I reacted poorly. I lashed out when I should have kept quiet. I didn’t have the maturity or spiritual discipline to model kindness. But I wanted to be loved so badly, and I didn’t know how to give grace or set boundaries. So I burned bridges to defend peace. I scorched the earth around me to protect the tiny spark inside me.

Eventually, Calen and his mom had a final, explosive falling out over me. He told me we were leaving. And we did. We packed up our lives and hit the road, traveling the country with our kids in a camper.

Trying to find peace.

Trying to find God. Trying to start over.

Scripture and the Shift in My Soul

The Word has taught me so much since then.

We are not called to endlessly turn the other cheek to someone who keeps slapping us. That’s not what Jesus meant. Boundaries are not unholy. Accountability is God’s.

“Warn a divisive person once, and then warn them a second time. After that, have nothing to do with them.” - Titus 3:10

“Don’t throw your pearls to pigs! They will trample the pearls, then turn and attack you.” - Matthew 7:6

“Remember, the sins of some people are obvious, leading them to certain judgment. But there are others whose sins will not be revealed until later.” - 1 Timothy 5:24-25

I used to think it was my job to fix people. To help them see what they were doing. To hold them accountable. But that’s not my calling. That’s God’s job. And when I step into His role, I’m not being holy.

I’m being controlling.

What I Learned From the Fire

The years of struggle, the distance, the heartbreak: they were refining fires. God revealed something beautiful through all of it.

That I am not the person I was.

That I am not called to keep myself small to make others comfortable.

That I don’t have to contort myself into someone else’s mold to be worthy of love.

That I am not white trash. I am not a burden. I am not the role others assigned to me.

I am His daughter.

My Prayer and My Peace

Today, I am a woman trying to live out Titus 2. Trying to model what it means to walk in forgiveness. To be self-controlled. To be worthy of respect. Not by force, but by grace. To teach younger women by my actions. To check my own character daily. To be gentle, to avoid slander, to slip up less.

I fail often. But I try again the next day.

I forgive my mother-in-law. I release her and every other person who couldn’t love me because they didn’t know how. I pray she finds peace and rest in God. I pray our families find healing. I pray we all live out the beautiful invitation Paul gives us in Philemon:

“It seems you lost Onesimus for a little while so that you could have him back forever.” — Philemon 1:15

Let us lose what needs losing. Let us find what’s eternal.

Let us be women who honor God.

Let us love fiercely without needing to be loved back.

Let us live wisely, speak gently, forgive fully and never again carry burdens we were never meant to hold.

—Candice Mother, Daughter, Forgiven & Free