Tolerance: Kin to Forgiveness

There is a quiet kind of hurt that doesn’t come from cruelty, but from dismissal.

Not being attacked. Not being argued with. Simply… not being seen.

Recently, I shared a piece of my inner world, my way of seeing life, my hard-earned belief in light after knowing darkness. I offered it openly, without armour.

What came back wasn’t anger. It was something more subtle but cut just as sharply:

It was condescension disguised as realism.

"You read too many fairy tales.”

"Life doesn’t give silver linings."

"Most times, there’s just rust."

I felt it immediately, the tightening in my chest, the quiet heat behind my eyes.

Not rage, but recognition. This wasn’t about optimism versus pessimism. It was about lived wisdom being reduced to naïveté. And that hurts, especially when you’ve done the work.

I wasn’t angry because I needed approval. I was angry because I had outgrown the space they were standing in. There is a difference. I have known darkness. I have sat with grief, loss, uncertainty, and despair long enough to understand them deeply. My choice to look for goodness is not denial; it is discernment. It is not fantasy, it is survival, refined into meaning.

When someone cannot see that, it isn’t always malice. Sometimes, it is simply a limitation.

This is where tolerance enters.

Forgiveness does not mean: Explaining myself again, making my light smaller, staying emotionally close to someone who cannot meet me, or diminishing my knowing to protect another’s comfort.

Forgiveness means releasing the need to be understood.

Tolerance means allowing others to remain where they are, without following them there.

I can forgive without inviting. I can have compassion without proximity. I can be kind without contorting myself.

At first, I felt pity. But even pity keeps us tethered.

What finally brought peace was something quieter: Acceptance

Not anger.

Not superiority.

Not sadness.

Just the gentle recognition: These are their experiences. These are their beliefs. They do not need to echo my own. This is tolerance.

If you have ever felt the sting of being quietly diminished, not attacked, just dismissed, know this: You are not too much. You are not unrealistic. You are not wrong for choosing light.

Sometimes forgiveness isn’t about moving closer.

Sometimes it is tolerance, letting go without leaving yourself behind.

And that, too, is a silver lining even if someone else cannot see it yet.