The Oake Raven

I hold back all judgments of others until I know facts because truth is subjective and the decisions one person makes with their life is dependent on their own experience of life.

I wasn’t a bad kid—just haunted and quiet. By extension, that made me misunderstood.

I never got into drugs. My first alcoholic drink was at 28. I was a virgin when I got married. By the time I was twelve, I had read the Bible cover to cover seven times. I respected my parents.

Sure, I had a phase at sixteen where I experimented with my style—secretly, behind my parents’ backs—because I didn’t want to worry them. I cared about my family and the community.

So when I got married, I was surprised by the criticism that came my way.

Once, I wore a lacy shirt over a camisole and was scolded by a woman in the church for being “too sexy.” I spoke too loudly at lunch and was scolded. I read fantasy novels and was scolded again—because the youth found out and wanted to swap books and talk about them.

I can’t count how many times I sat in the car alone after church, questioning myself. Wondering why my existence felt so threatening to them. I was the only person my age in that church—eighteen, surrounded by ten-year-olds, with the next age up being a woman in her thirties who didn’t speak much English. It put me in a strange place: young, but married—carrying expectations and responsibilities I wasn’t ready for.

I know what they think of me now, and honestly? I don’t care anymore. Half believe I was a good kid who went bad, and the other half think I’ve proven them right all along—that I was never good to begin with.

I’ve made peace with it. Their opinions aren’t really about me; they’re reflections of their own experiences. Two people can sit side by side in the same church pew and see the world entirely differently.

We all carry our own perspectives—of the world, of others, and of ourselves. Those perspectives shape our opinions, but in the end, they belong to us alone. And I’ve come to realize my life—my choices, my growth, my consequences—belongs to me alone.

So why should I waste my energy worrying about what others think?

I have my own soul journey, my own life lessons, just as everyone else has theirs.

Why am I sharing this? Because this was one of the biggest lessons in my healing from religious trauma: to truly heal and thrive, you have to let go of the emotional weight of other people’s opinions.

Diana Cael Robertson