Still Hurt, Still Growing

Have you ever had that nagging feeling after a conversation that didn’t go so well?

Enough that you replay how it went, wondering how things could have gone differently?

You might even vent to a few friends or your husband…but you still can’t let it go at night?

Well, that’s why I am writing today, except, it’s bothered me on and off for a few days now.

Before I go any further, a very important disclaimer: I’ve always said there are three sides to every story, and mine is only one of them. 

(If you’re wondering what the third side is, it’s God’s side of the story.) 

I know what was said and how it landed with me. What I don’t fully know is what she intended. So some of my gap filling could be entirely wrong. Take it all with a grain of salt.

With that part out of the way, here’s a little background.

If you don’t already know this about me, I’m a recent-ish convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was baptized eight years ago, but my interest in faith started much earlier.

At six, while my mother was Buddhist, I was a closeted Christian, sneaking off to church on Sundays to learn about Jesus Christ, the Bible, and prayer. Thank you, Grace, wherever you are—your invitation was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Our family joined the United Methodist Church when I was ten, and my curiosity about different religions continued as I grew up.

I always felt all religions might have some sort of connection. If I could learn about all of them, then maybe I really can come to know God. Maybe the divisiveness among people was from an inherent misunderstanding preventing them from REALLY KNOWING God.

Fast forward, after I graduated from Cal and moved back home to LA, I was ready to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2018. 

If you asked me about that church in 2012, I would have said, and I quote, “Isn’t that the white cult in Utah that are polygamists.” 

And honestly, that was the extent of what I knew about “Mormons”. 

I share this story, to add another disclaimer, I was a hater once. So I can’t sit here and be all self-righteous when people have misconceptions. I had them too.

But being on the receiving end is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Especially because I know how much my own understanding changed once I actually became willing to learn.

Now let’s get to present day, 2026, and a conversation with an acquaintance that left me feeling like she had made up her mind about me the second she heard my religion. The conversation went something like this:

The first question was, “Didn’t your founder say, “The fastest way to get rich was through making your own religion…didn’t he quote that?”

Honestly, I had no idea, and I don’t lie about what I know, period. I responded, “I doubt he said that, but I can’t be sure. If he did say that, it’s ironic because the early Church was super poor and struggled his entire lifetime financially.” 

(I looked this up afterward. Versions of that quote are commonly attributed to L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of Scientology, though the attribution is disputed. So there was more to untangle there than I knew at the time.)

She then went on to ask me, “What is the difference between the Mormon Church and the rest of Christianity?”

Now that’s a big question, to ask of any single person…of any single church. Whether that be Baptists, Episcopalian, even of any particular sect of any religion. However, I actually know a lot of differences and was excited to share.

I focused on our belief in the Restoration of the New Testament Church Jesus Christ founded during His mortal ministry, continuing revelation, and our ability to receive guidance from God personally.

I got cut off at this point, and then she goes, “What’s the difference between your church and Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“Oh,” I thought to myself, “maybe some background would help.”

So I started explaining the history of our Church and how it differed from other traditions…and then she cut me off again.

“You keep saying “we”, but you aren’t telling me about you, or your beliefs, like do you pray, do you study and meditate on the word?”

“Yes, we do pray, we study, and we believe Jesus Christ is our Savior.”

Cuts me off again. “I am interested in psychology and you keep saying “we,” but you haven’t told me about your beliefs.”

“I am telling you about our beliefs.”

OK, so at this point, she elaborates, and I finally realize she’s asking about my personal testimony. Which…was not the question I heard. She asked me what made my Church different, so I answered about my Church. Apparently, we were having two different conversations, and I was only just finding that out.

I felt frustrated. From my perspective, she kept blaming me for not understanding her question, even when I tried to explain how I had understood the words she actually used.

By this point, I felt like she already had a story about me, and everything I said was being squeezed into it. When she brought up psychology and kept pointing out my use of “we,” I wondered if she heard it as evidence that I couldn’t think for myself. Maybe that wasn’t what she meant. But that’s how it landed. And I wanted to say, “You asked me about my Church. That’s why I’m saying ‘we.’”

And that’s the part that stayed with me. Not just the questions about my religion, but the feeling that I had to keep explaining myself to someone who wasn’t understanding me and I was starting to wonder whether she wanted to understand me.

That feeling is familiar.

Many times in my own childhood, my mother gaslit me about what I had just said or done, and I learned to overexplain my thoughts and intentions in hopes of earning some grace, love, and affection. So when this conversation started feeling like another round of “That’s not what you meant,” it pressed on something much older than this acquaintance.

So what does a Transformation Life Coach do when she’s met with her own roadblock? 

Vent to Friends

Venting can help me process the emotions around a situation. I’ve learned which friends can listen without jumping in to critique or offer advice when I’ve asked them not to. Those are the people I turn to when I need to talk something through.

The first thing I did was use Marco Polo to vent to my long-distance best friends. Talking it through individually with a few trusted people gives me support and a natural stopping point. When I notice I’m just rehearsing the same hurt and building my case again, that’s my cue to pause.

One mindful practice I incorporate afterward is saying, “Thank you for taking the time to listen to me and support me.” In the past, I would have apologized for taking up space. Expressing gratitude helps me appreciate their support without reinforcing the belief that I am too much.

I’m in the self-development business, and this just needs to be said! So many of us apologize for being human, and I am not here for it!

Movement

One of my many passions has been dance. Though my physical disability limits how much I dance these days, I remember one of my dance teachers insisting that movement is medicine.

When my heart and mind are racing, moving my body in a way I can manage helps me feel more settled. Sometimes that means a walk, lifting weights, or a little jogging when it feels manageable. Sometimes I just need to get my wiggles out.

It gives me a break from thinking everything through and something physical to focus on.

Prayer, meditation, and journaling

This part unfolded over a few days. I’d sit down to read scripture, and the conversation would start replaying in my mind. When I noticed, I’d pause to pray.

God reminded me that I don’t have the whole story. I also began to recognize that some of the intensity of my feelings came from something much older than this conversation.

I’d take a break, go about my day, and return to scripture and prayer when I could. There wasn’t one moment when everything suddenly clicked into place. Gradually, I began to see the connection to my childhood.

Growing up, I was gaslit, invalidated, and made to feel like I didn’t matter by my own mother. When a misunderstanding sparked her anger, I felt responsible for explaining my thoughts and intentions until she understood. I hoped that if I found the right words, she would meet me with grace.

Often, my explanations only led to more confusion and tears. Afterward, I’d replay the conversation, trying to figure out what I could have said differently.

Now, with this acquaintance, I kept thinking, “If she just knew my story, she’d understand me.”

There was little Hana again, reaching for her old map: explain more, try harder, find the words that will make it safe to be yourself.

That map helped me navigate an emotionally tumultuous home. It makes sense that it still comes up when I feel misunderstood, unwelcome, or unseen. I can have compassion for the little girl who needed it while recognizing that I have more choices today.

Where am I today?

The reality is that I am still hurt and still working through it, but that’s OK. I can understand why something affected me and still need time to sit with the feelings.

Being a life coach doesn’t mean every roadblock becomes an immediately closed loop. I use the tools I teach. Sometimes I return to them several times. Sometimes the progress is recognizing an old pattern and choosing how to respond, even while the discomfort is still there.

One difficult conversation also doesn’t define how everyone outside my faith sees me. Just the month before, friends in this same group had made an effort to welcome me and share positive experiences they’d had with Church members and missionaries. Those experiences matter, too.

My emotions are information, not my compass. My values and beliefs guide me. But my emotions still deserve care. I can listen to what they bring up without letting the pressure to be understood decide what I do next.

I can choose when to share more of my story and when to step back from a conversation. As a follower of Christ, I can love my neighbor while accepting that I may never feel fully understood by her.

And I can let that be uncomfortable.

I don’t have to keep replaying the conversation until I find the perfect response. I don’t have to make the hurt disappear to prove I’ve done the work.

If you’re doing the work and something still hurts, I hope you can offer yourself that same grace. Some things take time to work through. Tonight, I can leave this unfinished and still give myself permission to rest.