Some decisions don’t arrive with relief.
They arrive with heaviness.

They don’t close a chapter — they stay with us, returning quietly. In the early morning. In the silence before sleep. In the moments when we catch our reflection and instinctively look away. And when a decision hurts this much, it’s natural to ask the same question again and again: Was this the right choice?

We are often taught that the right decision should bring peace. That clarity should feel light. But life doesn’t always reward honesty with comfort. Some of the most responsible decisions we ever make are also the ones that break us open.

Recently, I had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life. A decision I didn’t want to make. A decision that still makes me lower my eyes when I pass a mirror. There are moments when I hate myself for it — moments when I wish I could undo time, rewrite the ending, choose an easier road. But even in that devastation, I know something else is true: it was the right decision.

And holding both of those truths at the same time is exhausting.

Coming back to a painful decision over and over again is incredibly hard. Each return reopens the wound. It forces us to replay the moment, to revisit every doubt, every what if. But this returning is often the only way we can prove the truth to ourselves — not to silence the pain, but to understand why it exists.

The reassurance doesn’t arrive once. It arrives slowly. Through repetition. Through quiet conversations with people who know us deeply. Through moments of brutal honesty with ourselves, when we stop asking whether the decision hurt — and start asking whether it was made with care, responsibility, and love.

Perhaps this is why so many people choose to live with guilt instead. Guilt can feel safer than truth. Guilt allows us to stay suspended in regret without ever fully standing behind our choice. It lets us say, “Maybe I should have done something else,” instead of facing the harder reality: I did what was necessary, even though it shattered me.

Facing the truth means standing face to face with a decision that hurts and saying, I still chose this because it was right. It means accepting that pain is not proof of failure, and grief is not evidence of a wrong path. Sometimes pain is simply the cost of choosing responsibility over comfort.

Some decisions hurt precisely because they were made out of love. Out of protection. Out of the willingness to carry the weight so someone else wouldn’t have to.

Just because a decision hurts, doesn’t mean it is the wrong decision.
Sometimes, the deepest pain is the sign that we chose the hardest kind of right.

GK

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Published by georgi.kisyov

18 thoughts on “Decisions”

    1. You’re right — guilt has a way of eroding us from the inside if we let it stay. Letting it go isn’t easy, but it’s necessary if we want to keep moving forward with honesty and grace. Thank you for naming that so clearly.
      GK

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  2. Oh friend… yes. I have moments like that too… those quiet little “here it comes again” moments. Early morning when the house is still, or right before sleep when your mind decides it’s the perfect time to replay everything. And sometimes it’s not even a big trigger—just catching your reflection, or walking past the same spot, or hearing a certain tone in someone’s voice… and suddenly you’re back in it.

    What I felt reading this is that strange mix of grief and steadiness. Like, I don’t want the decision to be true… but I also know why I made it. And that’s the part that wears you out, because your heart is tender, but your conscience is clear. It’s a hard combination to carry.

    I’m also appreciate that you said the “right choice = peace” idea isn’t always true. Sometimes peace looks less like relief and more like being able to whisper, “Lord, Thou knowest,” and take the next step anyway. “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart… and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6) has had to become a lifeline for me in those kinds of decisions.

    So, I’m nodding along with you because this is far too familiar. This is the kind of post that makes someone else breathe out and think, “Okay… I’m not the only one.” LOL

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    1. Oh friend, thank you for this. You described those moments so clearly — the quiet returns, the way they arrive without warning — and that mix of grief and steadiness is exactly it. A tender heart with a clear conscience is not an easy thing to carry. Your words, and that reminder of trust, feel like a hand on the shoulder saying, “You’re not alone.” I’m grateful you shared this so honestly.
      GK

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  4. “It means accepting that pain is not proof of failure, and grief is not evidence of a wrong path. Sometimes pain is simply the cost of choosing responsibility over comfort.” And “Out of the willingness to carry the weight so someone else wouldn’t have to.” And “Sometimes, the deepest pain is the sign that we chose the hardest kind of right.”
    So much in this one that goes deep, the ones that shape us the most. The ones that only God knows all of it. For each of us, it can look or sound different as to the what or how, but it is soul deep. ~ Rosie

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    1. Thank you, Rosie.
      Your words meet this exactly where it lives — soul deep, beyond explanations, beyond appearances. Some decisions are carried quietly, known fully only to God and to the heart that must live with them. I’m grateful you felt that depth here. 🙏
      GK

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  8. This really stayed with me. The way you name the difference between comfort and responsibility feels honest in a way that’s rare. I appreciate how you don’t try to resolve the pain—only to tell the truth about it. There’s something quietly brave in standing behind a decision that still hurts, and in saying that love doesn’t always feel like peace. Thank you for writing this. It reads like something written from inside the weight, not after it. Marin Vale

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    1. Thank you, Marin. Your words mean a great deal to me. This was written from inside the weight, exactly as you sensed — without trying to tidy it up or soften it. I’m grateful you met it with such care and understanding.
      GK

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  9. Oh, this is a hard place, Georgi – I still sometimes get that “here it comes again” feeling over choices made decades ago. But it is very true that “Facing the truth means standing face to face with a decision that hurts and saying, I still chose this because it was right. It means accepting that pain is not proof of failure, and grief is not evidence of a wrong path. Sometimes pain is simply the cost of choosing responsibility over comfort.”

    Thank you – this is a wise and truthful post. Bless you – I’ll keep you in my heart over this. All the very best…

    Mike

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    1. Thank you, Mike. Hearing that this still echoes years later reminds me how deeply these choices shape us — and how enduring their weight can be. I’m grateful you met the post with such understanding and kindness, and I truly appreciate you holding me in your thoughts.
      GK

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