Have you ever been told you have a chip on your shoulder?
I have.
Or maybe no one ever actually said the words.
Either way, I eventually realized I was carrying a few chips of my own.
For a long time, I wore them like they belonged there. To me, they represented strength—or so I thought.
But they didn’t all belong in the same bag.
Some reminded me to be careful and not to be fooled twice.
Some reminded me of the people who had been cruel to me—and of the times I had been disappointed in myself for allowing it to happen in the first place.
I’ve realized I can be very unforgiving. Not only toward the people who hurt me, but toward myself.
I carried those chips right into my everyday life. They became part of my personality.
I wore them like badges of honor.
And in some ways, they were.
Some chips represent survival. They remind me of the strength and resilience I discovered along the way. Those chips deserve a place in my story.
But somewhere along the way, life got busy, and it never occurred to me to take a proper inventory of the ones that no longer served or protected me.
I’ve always been an introspective person.
Thoughts come and go all day long, and most of them aren’t worth chasing. I let them pass. Years ago, I started writing morning pages just to clear the chatter in my head. Most days, I’d tear them up and throw them away.
But every now and then, the same thought would keep returning.
I learned those were the ones worth paying attention to.
Those are the thoughts that became my essays.
I’ve realized I don’t write because I enjoy living in my head.
I write because sometimes I stumble across something that feels like it’s quietly shaping my life. If I can understand it, maybe I can choose more intentionally how I show up.
How I show up at work.
How I treat the people I love.
How I treat myself.
I’ve spent much of my life trying to become more fully myself.
I’m a middle child of five and a very competitive person by nature. If I’m playing cards, I want to win. If I’m golfing, I want to make par. I enjoy becoming better.
But somewhere along the way, I discovered that some of life’s greatest victories aren’t won at all.
Some victories come from laying something down.
Nobody ever explained forgiveness in a way I truly understood.
People would say, “Just forget it.”
Or, “Drop it.”
I heard the words frequently, but they never landed.
It’s like learning to tie your shoes.
Someone can show you over and over again. They explain it. They demonstrate it. They even guide your hands.
But nothing clicks.
Then one day, you wake up and simply know how to do it.
Not because the instructions changed.
Because you did.
Maybe forgiveness is one of those things.
Maybe it can’t be fully explained.
Maybe we have to live long enough to discover what it means for ourselves.
For me, forgiveness isn’t about forgetting and moving on.
It isn’t pretending something didn’t hurt.
It isn’t saying what happened was okay.
For me, it’s looking honestly at the weight I’m carrying and asking whether it still belongs on my shoulder.
The lesson can stay.
The wisdom can stay.
The strength can stay.
The unnecessary weight doesn’t have to.
Sometimes all it takes is a good, long look in the mirror.
We all carry things that once served a purpose.
The question isn’t whether you have chips on your shoulder. Most of us do.
The question is whether any of them are still earning their keep.
I used to think the chips made me stronger.
Now I think the strength was already there.
The chips simply stayed longer than necessary.
For years, I thought “drop it” was just a figure of speech.
Now I think I finally understand what they meant.
And maybe that’s what forgiveness has come to mean for me.
Just setting down what no longer belongs, so I can be more fully myself.