As children, we once looked up with wide eyes and full hearts, declaring, “My daddy is the strongest!” or “My mummy is the prettiest!”

We believed it with all our being before we knew disappointment. Before broken promises. Before silence that spoke louder than words.

Somewhere along the way, the pedestal we placed our parents on began to crumble. Sometimes gradually, other times through one shattering moment. Their humanness startled us. Their weaknesses wounded us. And in those moments, our child-heart didn’t know what to do with the pain.

What happens, then, when the pride is replaced by pain? 🤔 When the one we once celebrated becomes the one we silently resent? 🤔

The truth is, many of us were never taught how to repair after rupture.

We were disciplined, perhaps, but not discipled into reconciliation.

We were scolded for speaking up, not shepherded through sorrow.

So we learned to suppress, to survive.

But suppressed pain grows roots — deep roots of offence, bitterness, and even contempt. And if left unresolved, it dishonours not just them, but also the very image of God etched into our hearts.

This verse isn’t about shame. It’s about sacred alignment.

Honour is not about excusing wrong behaviour — it’s about choosing to see with redemptive eyes, to release what was broken into God’s hands and trust Him to restore what we cannot.

And here’s the sobering truth:

These childhood judgements — the ones we quietly made in our pain — don’t stay neatly boxed up and labelled “Mum” or “Dad.”

They leak.

They morph and mutate.

They spill into every relationship with caregivers, mentors, bosses, spiritual leaders… even our view of God.

The anger or distrust we never voiced becomes the lens through which we see the world and suddenly, we’re not just reacting to them anymore — we’re reacting to echoes.

I can see this clearly now.

The expectancies I placed on others and the silent judgements I made when those expectations weren’t met have affected me more deeply than I realised. They’ve shaped the way I've responded to teachers at school, colleagues in the workplace, and even recent situations with my boss, church leaders, pastors, and elders.

Each moment of mistrust was like an echo from a wound not yet fully healed.

Each disappointment carried the weight of unresolved grief.

Sometimes, we even come to expect people to treat us in certain ways and when they do — whether through rejection, avoidance, control, or dismissal — it confirms a familiar ache.

We silently declare, “See? 🤔 You’re just like them.” Not because they truly are, but because the wound recognises the pattern and in that moment, we are no longer judging the person before us — we are judging through the filter of unresolved pain from the past.

And here’s another tender truth:

In our wounding, we often fail to separate the behaviour from the person. What they did becomes who they are in our eyes and without realising it, we write entire narratives around people based on moments of pain — narratives that may not be entirely true.

Yet the wound clings tightly, because it longs for protection more than perspective.

But Jesus calls us higher — to forgiveness that doesn’t blur boundaries, but brings clarity. He teaches us to name the wrong, release the person, and allow His truth to do what our judgment never could: heal.

Forgiveness doesn’t require us to pretend all was well and that what they did wasn't painful.

Honour doesn’t mean becoming silent or small.

Rather, it is a posture of humility that says, “Even in my pain, I choose freedom. I choose blessing over bitterness.” because the fifth commandment was not a suggestion — it was a seed.

This is the only commandment that carries a promise which means, inversely, that dishonour becomes a doorway to shortened joy, fractured wellbeing, and generational pain.

The law of sowing and reaping applies not only to fields, but to families.

If our parents tempted us to wrath, may we release them from the debt of perfection.

If they failed to model conflict resolution, may we learn it anew with God.

If they wounded us deeply, may we bring those wounds to the Healer who binds the broken-hearted because freedom isn’t found in forgetting — it’s found in forgiving.

A Heartfelt Prayer

Father God,

You see the tangled web of memories, some sweet, some searing.

Where there was neglect, bring nurture. Where there was anger, bring peace.

Help me forgive what still feels unforgivable — not by my own strength, but through Your grace.

Teach me how to honour even in pain, how to set healthy boundaries while still holding sacred what You called holy.

Let the legacy I carry forward be one of healing, not hurt.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A Gentle Invitation

If the pedestal has fallen… don’t be afraid to rebuild a new kind of honour — one rooted in truth, tempered by grace, and held together by the redemptive love of Jesus.

You are not alone in this. You are seen. You are healing and you are rewriting the story, one surrendered step at a time. 🌿💛