Red Flags, True Colors, and a Little Grace

The Kimberly Diaries - Archive 005

Spend enough time on TikTok and you’ll notice something interesting about people.

Everybody seems to have an opinion about everybody else’s character. Someone says something questionable, handles a situation poorly, or shows a side of themselves people don’t like, and suddenly there’s a conversation about red flags, patterns, true colors, and who should be removed from whose life. And sometimes those observations are absolutely right.

But sometimes I wonder if we’ve gotten so good at recognizing people’s flaws that we’ve forgotten to consider where those flaws came from. Because there’s something I’ve noticed about myself. I’m usually the last person to recognize the patterns everybody else claims they saw months ago. And there’s a reason for that.

I’m not looking for them.

Not because I’m incapable of seeing them. Not because I’m naive. And certainly not because I think everyone is a wonderful human being. The truth is, I don't spend my time looking for reasons to question someone's character. Especially on TikTok.

These are people I interact with online. Most of them have absolutely no direct impact on my everyday life. If I spent my time examining every interaction, analyzing every questionable decision, and keeping a mental record of everyone’s character flaws, I’d probably have about 100 followers left. And I’m being generous with that number.

Because here’s something we tend to forget when we’re busy deciding who deserves a place in our lives. Everybody has character flaws. Some are minor. Some are serious. Some are incredibly damaging. But everybody has them. And I have a hard time believing that every negative behavior we see tells the entire story of who someone is.

Where Did the Pattern Begin?

When I do eventually notice a pattern in someone’s behavior, my first instinct isn’t necessarily to label them a bad person. I wonder where it came from.

Was this something they learned growing up? Was it a response to being hurt? Did they learn to manipulate situations because, somewhere along the way, manipulation was the only way they knew how to maintain control? Did they learn to lie because telling the truth once came with consequences they weren’t equipped to handle? Did they learn to push people away because everyone they trusted eventually left? Or is this genuinely a reflection of the person they’ve chosen to become?

Those are very different possibilities. And the truth is, from the outside, we don’t always know which one we’re looking at. That doesn’t excuse harmful behavior. Understanding why someone does something doesn’t erase the damage they cause.

But I believe there’s a difference between explaining a behavior and excusing it. And I think that difference matters.

Someone Gave Me Grace Once

Here’s the part that probably influences my perspective more than anything else.

I have character flaws. I’ve had behaviors, reactions, and ways of handling situations that weren’t always healthy or fair. Some of those things I learned long before I was old enough to understand what I was learning. And some took years to recognize.

But you know what allowed me to start changing some of those things?

People who gave me grace.

People who didn’t decide that a flaw, a reaction, or a pattern was the entirety of who I was. People who allowed me to be imperfect while I figured out how to be better. That doesn’t mean they accepted everything I did. It means they didn’t automatically decide I was beyond becoming someone different.

And I haven’t forgotten that. So when I recognize something troubling in another person, I try to remember how much it mattered when someone looked at me and saw more than my worst qualities.

Grace Doesn’t Mean Unlimited Access

I think this is where people misunderstand my approach. Giving someone grace doesn’t mean I ignore what they’ve done. It doesn’t mean I continue trusting them in the same way. And it definitely doesn’t mean I volunteer to be hurt repeatedly just to prove I’m understanding.

When I recognize a pattern that concerns me, I step back. I pay attention. I adjust how much access that person has to me, how much I share, and how much trust I’m willing to extend.

But I don’t always close the door. Because I want to know whether that person is capable of recognizing the behavior themselves. Whether they take responsibility. Whether they make an effort to change. And whether that change lasts.

If the behavior continues, I move on. Not necessarily with anger. Not with a public announcement. Not with a campaign to convince everybody else to see what I’ve seen. I simply change the place that person occupies in my life.

I can wish someone well without giving them the opportunity to hurt me again. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.

I Believe People Can Change

This is probably where I’ll lose a few people. I believe everyone is capable of redemption. Not everyone will choose it.

Some people will spend their entire lives repeating the same destructive behaviors, blaming everyone else, and refusing to look inward. Some will never apologize. Some will never take accountability. Some will be offered opportunity after opportunity and waste every single one. I understand that.

But I also believe there are people walking around today who are nothing like the people they were ten years ago. And some of them got there because somebody gave them a chance to become different.

What happens when we decide a person’s worst behavior is their permanent identity? What happens when someone finally recognizes what they’ve been doing and wants to change, but every door has already been slammed shut?

Now, nobody is obligated to reopen a door for someone who hurt them. Nobody owes another person forgiveness, friendship, or access to their life. But I don’t think we have to make redemption impossible simply because we no longer want to participate in someone’s life.

Sometimes grace is giving someone another opportunity. Sometimes grace is walking away without trying to destroy them on your way out. And sometimes it’s being willing to recognize genuine growth years after you’ve already moved on.

Maybe I’m the Last to See It. I’m Okay With That.

I’ve heard people say they saw someone’s true character long before everyone else did. Maybe they did. Maybe they recognized something I overlooked. Or maybe we simply approach people differently.

They look for patterns to determine who deserves their trust. I tend to extend trust until I have a reason to reconsider it. Neither approach guarantees we won’t get hurt.

But I know why I choose mine.

I don’t want to spend my life investigating everyone I meet, looking for reasons they might eventually disappoint me. I’d rather enjoy the connection for what it is, recognize when something changes, and respond accordingly. And yes, sometimes that means I’m the last one to figure out something everybody else already knew.

I’m okay with that.

Because being the first person to recognize someone’s flaws isn’t nearly as important to me as being the kind of person who remembers that flaws aren’t always the end of someone’s story.

The Part I Hope People Remember

I’m not asking anyone to ignore red flags, tolerate abuse, or keep people in their lives who continually cause harm. Boundaries matter. Accountability matters. Character matters.

But so does compassion. So does recognizing that people have histories we know nothing about. And so does remembering that we all have parts of ourselves we wouldn’t necessarily want judged by someone who only saw a small piece of our story.

I don’t need to excuse someone’s behavior to understand that there might be more behind it. I don’t need to maintain a friendship to hope someone becomes better.

And I don’t need everybody else to agree with my decision to offer grace.

I give people room to change because someone once gave me that room.

Maybe they’ll never use it. Maybe they’ll disappoint me. Maybe I’ll eventually have to close the door myself.

But if someone genuinely decides to become better, I hope there’s still someone in the world willing to recognize it. Because I know what it’s like to be given that chance. And I refuse to forget what it meant.

-Kimberly