Welcome to the Apology Tour

If there’s one thing you should know about me if you’ve been following Stories from Tina for a while, it’s that I am the resident reality check. I speak my mind, I value authenticity, and I don’t sugarcoat the truth. But today, the reality check is being cashed on my own front porch.

I was sitting around the other day, just thinking about where I am in life right now in 2026, and I had this sudden, overwhelming realization: the old me would absolutely hate the new me. And honestly? Thank God for that.

Let’s take a little trip down memory lane, back to when I was younger and, frankly, an absolute menace to society.

Reflecting on My “Crashing Out” Era

Back in the day, I used to crash out. A lot.

If I even felt for a slight second that you were lying to me or hiding something, it was over for you. I didn’t just get mad; I turned into a hybrid of the FBI, the CIA, and a private investigator with a vengeance. I would have an entire binder of receipts ready just to prove that I was right and you were wrong. You couldn’t get anything past me.

But it didn’t stop at just proving a point. The old me was, by my own admission, bat shit crazy. If you crossed me, I wasn’t above showing up at your home. I would key your car, slash your tires, break your windows, and so much more. I was vindictive. I held grudges like they were Olympic gold medals. If you hurt me, I made sure you paid for it, even if it took me years to get my revenge. I needed you to feel at least a little bit of the pain that you made me feel.

Why Hurt People Break Things

Looking back, I am still thanking God (and honestly, my lucky stars) that I never went to jail and that no one ever pressed charges against me for any of it. I know people hated the old me. Hell, there were times I hated the old me.

The truth is, I was always losing my shit because I was so deeply misunderstood. No one would listen to me. I was alone, I was hurting, I was damaged, and I was still trying to process the heavy, traumatic things that I had gone through in life.

When you’re broken, you tend to break things around you—including people. I was a fuck-up when I was younger, always up to something, always operating from a place of deep defensiveness. I accused so many people of so many things (some true, some my own paranoia) because I didn’t know how to handle my own internal environment.

Choosing to Protect My Peace at 33

I am 33 years old now. I am a mom to two beautiful kids, Noah and Maureen. I have fought so hard to be where I am today, crawling out of the dark hole I used to live in.

I’ll be damned if I lose everything I worked so hard for because of someone else’s drama. I am not living like I’m part of a glitchy Sims game anymore. I have calmed down tremendously, and my entire life now revolves around one central theme: protecting my peace.

Even if I think you’re lying to me today, or keeping things from me, I wouldn’t even bother doing a background check on you. It’s just not worth my energy. If you want to run a smear campaign against me, go right ahead—but you will be the only one participating in it. I simply don’t have the time or the energy to go back and forth with anyone. I have a lot of health issues, I’m still dealing with the damage from my past, and while I have done plenty of work to heal, I am still a work in progress. I’m not completely healed, and I’m okay admitting that.

Making Amends and Owning My Truth

Because I’ve been doing the work, I’ve reached a point where I am actively trying to make amends. I have been reaching out to people from my past, admitting my wrongs, owning my faults, and straight-up apologizing for the things I did to them.

Honestly, I look back and I don’t even know how half of these people were friends with me or put up with me during my “crashing out” era. I caused a lot of issues in their lives. Yet, some of them stayed by my side until they just couldn’t anymore—until my chaos was too toxic for their mental health and their peace. I get it now.

The Reality of Seeking Forgiveness

When I reach out to these people, I don’t want anything from them. I don’t want to be friends again. I’m not trying to reopen old wounds or force my way back into their lives. I just want to say my peace. I want them to know I am truly sorry, and I want to thank them for everything they ever did for me when I needed help.

But here’s the kicker: nobody believes I’ve changed. Every time someone from my past sees my name or my phone number pop up, they either block me immediately or curse me out. And you know what? That’s fine. It doesn’t surprise me. They remember the old, bat-shit crazy Tina who would go to all ends—physical or spiritual—to get her lick back. They think I have an ulterior motive. They think there’s a catch. They think I’m setting them up just to screenshot their response and post it online to control the narrative or get a rise out of them.

It stings, but I understand it. But my heart is pure now, and my intentions are good.

What I Value Now: Emotional Intelligence and Accountability

Nowadays, I am all about having adult, mature conversations. I want people in my life who have emotional intelligence. If we fell off in the past and you reach out to me, and I see you’ve truly changed and aren’t on any funny mess, I’m open to talking.

What I Look For in My Circle:

• A Backbone: I want people around me who aren’t easily influenced or controlled by others. I can’t stand when people let outside voices dictate how they treat me.
• Accountability: Take responsibility for your fuck-ups. Apologize for what you did instead of playing the victim.
• Progress over Perfection: Let’s fix what went wrong and ensure we don’t repeat the same mistakes.

I’m really not a bad person. I have a good heart and I mean well. Yes, I will still speak up when I am being done wrong or when I see others being mistreated—I’m always going to be the resident reality check—but the delivery has changed.

Welcome to the New Era of Stories from Tina

I’m all about God, Allah, wanting peace, and wanting growth. I just want to be surrounded by people who actually believe me when I tell them things, who don’t constantly question my motives.

I did the work to become the person I am today. I am proud of the 33-year-old woman, mother, and writer sitting here typing this. So, to anyone from my past reading this: I’m sorry, I thank you, and I wish you the best.

And to everyone else? Welcome to the new era of Tina. We’re keeping it peaceful, we’re keeping it honest, and we are leaving the tire-slashing in the history books where it belongs.

The Lost Keepsake

1,282 words, 7 minutes read time.

The late afternoon sun dappled through the thinning leaves of the oak trees behind Ethan’s house, painting shifting patterns on the moss-covered stone wall. A cool breeze whispered down from the nearby foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Ethan, a boy of ten with a mop of sandy brown hair and eyes that held a perpetual spark of curiosity, was on one of his usual explorations. He loved the quiet solitude of the woods, the way nature held tiny treasures for those who looked closely enough.

Today, his keen eyes spotted something glinting amidst the tangled ivy clinging to the old wall. He carefully pulled back the vines and there it was: a delicate, heart-shaped locket. It was made of tarnished silver, its surface etched with swirling floral patterns that hinted at age. A tiny hinge allowed it to be opened, and inside, nestled against faded velvet, were two miniature photographs. One was of a young girl with serious, wide eyes, and the other showed an older woman with a kind smile etched with wrinkles. The locket felt cool and smooth in Ethan’s palm, radiating a sense of history and personal significance. A thrill of discovery, mixed with a faint unease, ran through him as he slipped it into his pocket.

The next afternoon, the usual boisterous energy was missing from their gathering spot beneath the sprawling oak. Caleb, ever the restless one, was kicking at loose acorns with unusual quietness. Sarah, typically the most composed of their small group, sat perched on a low-hanging branch, her shoulders slumped. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and a palpable sadness hung in the air around her. Billy, the youngest, sat silently beside her, his brow furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, Sarah?” Ethan asked, his stomach tightening with a premonition.

Sarah’s voice trembled as she spoke. “It’s my grandmother. She’s lost her locket.”

Ethan’s heart lurched. The image of the silver heart in his pocket flashed through his mind.

“Her locket?” Caleb echoed, his usual enthusiasm replaced by sympathy. “The one she always wears?”

Sarah nodded, tears welling in her eyes again. “Yes. It was her mother’s. She’s had it since she was a little girl. She wears it every single day. She’s just… lost without it.” Sarah explained that her grandmother had visited the stone wall area the previous afternoon, enjoying the last warm rays of the sun. They suspected it might have come loose and fallen off there.

A wave of guilt washed over Ethan. He could feel the weight of the locket in his pocket, a tangible representation of his secret. He mumbled something about being sorry and avoided Sarah’s gaze.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a desultory search around the stone wall. Caleb, usually full of playful antics, was uncharacteristically focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he peered through the undergrowth. Billy, eager to help, diligently turned over fallen leaves. Ethan participated, pretending to search, his eyes scanning the ground while his mind wrestled with the growing turmoil within him.

He kept replaying the moment of discovery, the way the locket had felt in his hand, the glimpse of the faded photographs. He thought of Sarah’s grandmother, a kind woman with a gentle smile who always had a Werther’s Original candy for him. He imagined her distress, the empty space where the locket usually rested against her chest.

That evening, the weight of his secret became unbearable. He sat on the edge of his bed, the silver locket lying heavy in his palm. He thought of the Sunday school lessons his mother had always emphasized – the importance of honesty, of treating others as you would want to be treated. He remembered a story about finding something valuable and the inner peace that came from returning it.

He considered keeping it. It was a beautiful object, a piece of history. No one had seen him find it. But the thought of Sarah’s sad eyes, the image of her grandmother’s worried face, gnawed at his conscience. He knew, deep down, what the right thing to do was.

The next morning, Ethan walked to their usual meeting spot with a knot of anxiety in his stomach. He clutched the locket tightly in his hand, its cool surface a stark contrast to his sweaty palm. Sarah was already there, her face still etched with worry. Caleb stood beside her, offering quiet words of comfort. Billy trailed behind, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked, a silent offering of sympathy.

Ethan took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Sarah,” he began, his voice a little shaky.

All three children turned to look at him.

He opened his hand, revealing the tarnished silver locket.

A gasp escaped Sarah’s lips. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Ethan! Where… where did you find that?”

Ethan’s cheeks flushed. He explained how he had found it nestled in the ivy by the stone wall two days earlier. He mumbled about being distracted by his exploring and not realizing its significance until Sarah had mentioned it was missing.

A wave of emotions washed over Sarah’s face – surprise, relief, and then a deep gratitude. Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they were tears of joy. She rushed towards Ethan and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, Ethan! Thank you! Thank you so much! You don’t know how much this means to my grandmother.”

Caleb clapped Ethan on the shoulder, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wow, Ethan! You found it! I knew it had to be around there somewhere.”

Even Billy beamed, holding out his wildflowers towards Ethan as a silent gesture of appreciation.

Sarah pulled back, her eyes shining. “I have to tell her right away! She’s been so upset.” She took the locket from Ethan’s outstretched hand, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings. “She wears this every day. It’s like a part of her.”

Later that day, Ethan saw Sarah again, her face radiant. She told him how overjoyed her grandmother had been to have her locket back. The older woman had held it close to her heart, her eyes filled with tears of relief. She had insisted that Sarah bring Ethan over to thank him personally.

When Ethan went to Sarah’s house, her grandmother greeted him with a warm hug and a gentle smile. “Ethan, you are a very honest and kind young man,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “This locket… it holds so many memories. I thought it was lost forever. Thank you for bringing it back to me.” She pressed a Werther’s Original into his hand, her familiar gesture now carrying an extra layer of heartfelt gratitude.

As Ethan walked home that evening, the setting sun casting long shadows across the fields, he felt a quiet sense of peace settle within him. The initial thrill of finding the locket had been fleeting, but the feeling of doing the right thing, of returning something precious and easing someone’s worry, was a warmth that lingered. He understood then that true value wasn’t found in possessions, but in the integrity of his actions and the connections he shared with his friends and his community. The lost locket, worn close to a grandmother’s heart, had not only been found but had also revealed a deeper truth about honesty and the quiet blessings it brings.

D. Bryan King

Disclaimer:

The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

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#MakingAmends by #NisiShawl is featured in today's #NewBooks wrap ! Watch the whole thing on YouTube here: youtube.com/@LocusMagazine and buy the books at bookshop.org/shop/locusmag

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What am I doing this evening? Watching a debate, thinking of lost friends and cancer.
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Dundas Square in Toronto is to be renamed Sankofa Square, due to Dundas Street having been named for Henry Dundas. He helped delay the abolition of slavery in the British Empire in the 18th century.

Sankofa, “originating in Ghana, refers to the act of reflecting on and reclaiming teachings from the past which enables us to move forward together.”

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New blog post: An open apology to Cara Cunningham.

#TakeASelfish #LGBTQBlog #CaraCunningham #MakingAmends

https://www.letstakeaselfish.com/post/an-open-apology-to-cara-cunningham