Sleeping My Way Into Shame, Forgiving My Way Out

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The Party Girl Years: Escaping Teenage Chaos and Empty Nights

Sex, Drugs, and Rock n Roll! In high school, I was the party girl. I had my seven girlfriends—my ride-or-die crew who are still in my life today, which I’m incredibly grateful for. But even with them, I was the lone ranger, the one who drifted in and out, chasing whatever felt good in the moment. Selfish as f*ck!

Older friends, late nights, wild weekends. Drinking too much, experimenting with drugs. Whatever was clever—it felt like neon lights buzzing through my veins. The nights were chaotic but intoxicating, and in the middle of it all, I thought I was unstoppable.

But the truth is, I was empty. When the music stopped and the lights came on, I was left with silence that I couldn’t stand. So I filled it. I filled it with people, with parties, with sex, with chaos. If the devil had a party, I was a part of it.

I slept around like I was trading pieces of myself just to feel seen. I thought sex was power, but in reality, I was giving my power away. I always had a boyfriend—because I hated being single, hated being alone. To this day, I’m not exactly sure where that comes from. Maybe I was afraid of what I’d find in the quiet. Maybe I thought my worth only existed when someone else validated it.

But here’s the saddest part: even though I was always in a relationship, I was never faithful. Not once, not until my later 20s. I cheated. I lied. I hurt people who were good to me. I slept with their friends. I betrayed my own friends (not my core 7, although there was a circumstance that fractured me and 1 of my 7’s relationships and it gutted me.) It’s like I was smashing glass with bare hands—breaking everything around me but bleeding the most myself.

Toxic Cycles: Why I Stayed in Abusive Relationships

By the time I moved to San Diego at 19, all that shame was like a heavy backpack full of rocks. I couldn’t take it off. I thought punishment was what I deserved.

And punishment is exactly what I found.

My first California boyfriend was a human storm. Born and raised in Huntington Beach, living in San Diego, he was an alcoholic whose moods changed like weather. When he drank, he was physically abusive. When he was sober, he was emotionally cruel. And whether drunk or sober, he was sexually abusive.

From the first flash of lightning, I should have run. But I didn’t. I stood in the storm, letting the thunder shake me to my core, convincing myself the lightning strikes were mine to endure.

I stayed because I believed I deserved it. Every shove, every scream, every betrayal—I told myself it was the price for the damage I had caused in my past.

That relationship lasted two and a half years. When it ended, I stepped straight into another toxic relationship. And then another. And another. It was like quicksand: the more I struggled, the deeper I sank.

Every time something good came along, I sabotaged it. Good felt foreign. Good felt too safe, too quiet. I craved the chaos because I thought that’s where I belonged. I thought love was supposed to hurt.

For years, my life was a cycle of brokenness: find the storm, get destroyed by it, crawl out, then run back into the next one. A broken carnival ride I couldn’t get off.

The Turning Point: Learning to Forgive Myself

It wasn’t until I met my husband that I finally began to believe I deserved more. But even then, it didn’t happen overnight. How did I get this lucky? Why now and why me?

I had to dig. Deep. I had to sit in the wreckage of my choices and stop pointing the finger only outward. I had to look in the mirror and admit how much I had devalued myself. That was harder than any toxic relationship I had survived.

Forgiveness was the only key. But it wasn’t about forgiving those men first. It was about forgiving me.

I had to forgive myself for the way I treated my body like it was disposable. I had to forgive myself for hurting people who never deserved it. I had to forgive myself for every lie, every betrayal, every night I confused chaos for love.

I had to apologize to my self-worth, to my dignity, to the version of me who thought she was only worthy of pain. I had to remind myself that just because I harmed others in my past didn’t mean I needed to keep harming myself in the present.

And slowly, I began to believe that I deserved love that didn’t destroy me.

The New Standard: Choosing Faithfulness and Honesty in Love

I’m 44 now. And today, the most important thing to me in a relationship isn’t excitement or chaos or distraction. It’s faithfulness. It’s honesty. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t keep me guessing, the kind that makes me feel safe.

That’s how I know I’ve changed. That’s how I know forgiveness did its work. Because what I value now—truth, loyalty, consistency—would have terrified my younger self.

The Lesson of Forgiveness: Healing From Toxic Love

That’s why this post is called forgiveness.

If you’re in a toxic relationship right now, telling yourself you deserve it—because of your past, because of your mistakes, because of the shame you’re carrying—I want you to hear me: you don’t.

Staying in pain won’t fix the past. It only keeps the wound open. Forgiveness is the stitch that closes it.

You deserve to put down the backpack of shame you’ve been carrying. You deserve to step off the broken carnival ride. You deserve to walk out of the storm.

You deserve love that doesn’t hurt. You deserve peace that doesn’t feel like punishment. You deserve to breathe like you’ve been underwater for years and finally came up for air.

And it all begins the moment you forgive yourself.