At some point in my adult life, I decided I didn’t like golf. I was married to someone who loved it—really loved it. Every chance he got, he was on the course. Most Saturday mornings were six-hour golf commitments, while I was home wrangling little kids and all the chaos that came with them.

So, naturally, I decided that I hated golf.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t really hate golf. I hated what golf represented to me at that time—being left out, holding the family pieces together while someone else got to unwind, the feeling of being invisible in the equation.

Fast forward many, many years, and life looks very different. Recently, I found myself at a driving range with friends, just for fun. I picked up a club, took a few swings, and… I didn’t hate it. In fact, I kind of liked it. The fresh air, the laughter, the challenge. It turns out, golf wasn’t the problem. It was the feelings wrapped around it.

That got me thinking: how often do we write something—or someone—off because of how they made us feel in a specific season of life? We blame the thing itself, when really, it’s the emotions tied to it that sting.

Maybe it’s not the job you hated, but the way it made you feel undervalued. Maybe it’s not that group of people you avoid, but the version of yourself you were when you were around them. Maybe it’s not the activity, the city, the hobby—it’s the story we’ve attached to it.

This week, I invite you to take another look at something you’ve written off. Maybe there’s more to the story. Maybe there’s a new version of you ready to give it a second chance. Because sometimes, healing starts with picking up a golf club again—and realizing it was never really about the golf.

XX,

MG