18. Why I Still Believe in People

 I have been disappointed by people.

More times than I can count.

I have watched promises become silence.

I have reached out and received nothing back.

I have learned that sometimes the person you hoped would understand simply does not.

There are moments when disappointment becomes so familiar that cynicism begins to feel like wisdom.

You start believing that expecting less is a form of intelligence.

You stop being surprised.

You stop being hurt.

At least, that is what you tell yourself.

And yet...

I still believe in people.

I am not sure why.

Perhaps that is what bothers me most.

After everything, why do I still look for kindness?

Why do I still notice the person who holds a door open?

Why do I still remember a stranger's gentle words years after they were spoken?

Why do I continue believing that people are capable of being better than the worst things they have done?

I do not have a perfect answer.

Maybe I simply refuse to let disappointment become my entire understanding of humanity.

That does not mean I trust everyone.

It does not mean I ignore cruelty.

It does not mean I believe every promise I hear.

I have learned to be careful.

But careful is not the same as closed.

There is a difference between protecting your heart and burying it.

I think many of us confuse the two.

After being hurt, we build walls and call them wisdom.

We stop reaching out and call it independence.

We stop hoping and call it realism.

Sometimes those things are necessary.

Sometimes distance is the kindest thing we can give ourselves.

But I do not want to spend my entire life mistaking isolation for strength.

The truth is, people have also surprised me in beautiful ways.

A message arriving at the right moment.

A person listening without trying to fix everything.

Someone remembering a detail I had forgotten I shared.

A hand extended without asking for anything in return.

These moments are often small.

Almost invisible.

But they stay.

I think that is the strange mathematics of humanity.

One cruel moment can make us question everyone.

One kind moment can quietly restore something we thought was permanently lost.

I do not believe people are naturally good all the time.

That would be too simple.

People are complicated.

They can be generous and selfish.

Tender and cruel.

Brave and afraid.

Sometimes all within the same day.

Perhaps believing in people does not mean believing they will never hurt us.

Perhaps it means believing that they are capable of change.

That they can learn.

That they can apologize and mean it.

That they can look at the damage they have caused and decide not to repeat it.

I want to believe in that possibility.

Maybe because I need it for myself, too.

I do not want to be defined only by the worst things I have done or the worst moments I have lived through.

So how could I deny other people the possibility of becoming more than their past?

There is a certain hypocrisy in asking for compassion while refusing to believe anyone else can grow.

I am still learning how to hold that contradiction.

I still fail.

I still become tired.

There are days when the world feels too cruel to defend.

On those days, I do not force myself to feel hopeful.

I simply try not to become cruel in response.

Maybe that is enough.

Maybe believing in people does not always feel like optimism.

Sometimes it is a quiet refusal.

A refusal to let the worst person I have encountered become my definition of humanity.

A refusal to believe that every act of kindness is secretly a transaction.

A refusal to stop being moved by tenderness just because tenderness has sometimes been used against me.

I still believe in people because I have seen what they are capable of.

Not only the terrible things.

The other things, too.

The person who stays.

The person who listens.

The person who notices.

The person who chooses kindness when no one is watching.

The person who has every reason to become hard and decides, somehow, to remain gentle.

I know people can disappoint us.

I know they can leave.

I know some wounds are created by the very hands we trusted.

I know all of this.

And still...

I believe.

Not blindly.

Not perfectly.

Not without fear.

But enough to keep the door slightly open.

Enough to continue looking for the good.

Enough to believe that somewhere, in some ordinary moment, a human being will choose tenderness over indifference.

Maybe that is not naïve.

Maybe it is defiance.

Because the world has given me many reasons to stop believing in people.

And yet I continue to look for them.

I continue to write about them.

I continue to hope that, beneath all the noise, we are still capable of reaching for one another.

I still believe in people.

Not because they have never hurt me.

Because they have also reminded me that humanity is capable of so much more.

— Jean T. Hatoum

Author of I Wrote So I Would Not Fade and J’ai Écrit Pour Ne Pas M’effacer

Thank you for giving my silence a place to land.

If these words felt like home, the rest of the map is in the book.

And if you are able to, supporting my journey helps me afford the medication that keeps my own fractured ember burning.

http://linktr.ee/Jean.Hatoum

I’m not finished surviving out loud. 🕊️



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