Latest / Starting Over: Stories of Reinvention, Hope & Second Chances / The Bravery of Changing Your Mind Publicly When You Were Wrong | Starting Over
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of silence that falls over a room when you admit you were wrong, and it feels less like an ending and more like the first breath after being underwater. I need you to listen closely because what I’m about to say might save you from a lifetime of stubbornness. Let’s get real for a second. We live in a culture that treats being right like it’s a currency. It’s something we earn, spend, and hoard with terrifying intensity. From the moment we can speak, we are trained to defend our positions. If you raise your hand in class and give the wrong answer, you feel the heat of thirty pairs of eyes judging you. So you learn to stay quiet. You learn to nod along. You learn to polish your opinions until they shine just enough to pass inspection without revealing any cracks. And somewhere along the way, we decided that changing our minds was a sign of weakness. A flaw in character. A betrayal of our own integrity. But I want to tell you today that staying rigid in the face of new information isn’t strength. It’s fear. It’s the fear of looking foolish. The fear of losing control. The fear that if you aren’t the expert in your own life, you’re nothing at all. And honey, that is a heavy load to carry every single day. It exhausts you. It isolates you. It keeps you trapped in versions of yourself that no longer fit, simply because you’re too proud to take them off. I remember a time not so long ago when I was absolutely certain I had the right formula for success. I had written it down. I had shared it widely. I had built a little empire of confidence on top of it. And then, reality happened. Reality doesn’t care about your blog posts or your carefully curated Instagram grid. Reality just is. One day, I realized my approach wasn’t working. Not just slightly off, but fundamentally broken. The data didn’t match the dream. The results didn’t match the effort. And the hardest part wasn’t fixing the problem. The hardest part was admitting that I had been leading people down a path I knew was muddy, because I was afraid to say, 'I don’t know.' I sat in my kitchen, staring at a cold cup of coffee, feeling the weight of my own ego pressing down on my chest. I thought, 'If I change my mind now, they’ll think I’m a fraud.' But here’s the truth I discovered in that quiet kitchen: being a fraud is pretending to know things you don’t. Admitting you don’t know is the bravest thing you can do. It’s honest. It’s human. It’s the only place where growth actually lives. We are terrified of social death. We imagine that if we publicly backtrack, if we say, 'Actually, I was wrong,' that the ground will swallow us whole. We picture our friends turning away, our colleagues rolling their eyes, our audience unfollowing in droves. We think our identity is tied to our opinions. But let me ask you this: who are you if you aren’t right? Is it possible that you are still worthy of love and respect even when you shift your perspective? I’ve found that the people who matter most in your life don’t leave when you change your mind. They lean in. They respect you more. Because they see that you value truth over comfort. They see that you are willing to be vulnerable enough to grow. The ones who leave? Well, they were probably attached to the version of you that was convenient for them, not the real one. And that’s their loss, not yours. Changing your mind publicly is an act of radical trust. It says, 'I trust you enough to show you my evolution. I trust that we can hold space for complexity together.' That’s the pivot point. Integrity isn’t sticking to a plan until it breaks your heart. Integrity is aligning your actions with the truth as you understand it now. Think about it. If you meet someone new who challenges everything you believed about love, do you stay married to your old beliefs? If you read a new study that contradicts your health routine, do you ignore it? Of course not. You adapt. You update. You evolve. Yet when it comes to our deeper values, our political stances, our career choices, we dig our heels in. Why? Because we think consistency means never changing. But true consistency is consistency in your willingness to learn. It’s showing up, again and again, with an open hand. When you change your mind publicly, you give permission for everyone around you to do the same. You create a ripple effect of honesty. You break the spell of perfectionism. You show us that it’s okay to be a work in progress. That’s powerful. That’s magnetic. That’s how communities are built—not on unshakable dogma, but on shared curiosity. So how do you do it? How do you change your mind publicly without feeling like you’re throwing yourself under the bus? First, drop the armor. Don’t apologize for having been wrong. Apologize for not knowing better sooner, if you must, but don’t grovel. Stand tall. Say, 'I’ve learned something new. Here is what I see now. And I’m shifting my stance.' Keep it simple. Keep it kind. Second, invite dialogue. Make it clear that you’re open to being challenged again. Say, 'This is my current thinking. Tell me where I’m missing the mark.' Third, celebrate the shift. Frame it as growth, not failure. Use language like, 'I’m excited to explore this new direction,' rather than, 'I messed up.' This small shift in wording changes the narrative from shame to discovery. It invites people into your journey instead of pushing them away from your mistakes. It turns a potential crisis into a connection point. And honestly, it’s refreshing. In a world full of hot takes and rigid certainties, someone saying, 'I changed my mind' is like a cool glass of water on a hot day. People will drink it in. They will thank you for it. When you stop needing to be right, you become free. You become fluid. You can dance with ideas instead of wrestling them to the ground. You can listen deeply because you aren’t busy preparing your rebuttal. You can connect authentically because you aren’t performing for an audience. This freedom is intoxicating. It lightens your step. It clears your head. It allows you to say yes to opportunities you would have previously rejected because they didn’t fit your original plan. It allows you to forgive yourself for past errors. And it allows you to forgive others for theirs. Because when you accept that you are always learning, you extend that grace to everyone else. You realize that we are all just trying our best with the information we have. And sometimes, that information needs updating. That’s not a bug. That’s a feature. That’s how we survive. That’s how we thrive. So let go of the need to be the final word. Be the curious question. Be the evolving story. Be the woman who isn’t afraid to look silly in order to look wise. Here is my challenge to you this week. Find one opinion you hold that you haven’t tested lately. Maybe it’s about your body, your career, your relationships, or your future. Ask yourself: 'What if I’m wrong?' Then, share that uncertainty with someone you trust. Or better yet, share it publicly if you can. Post it. Say it out loud. Let the air hit it. See what happens. I promise you, the sky won’t fall. The earth won’t crack open. Instead, you might find that people rally around you. You might find new perspectives you hadn’t considered. You might find a deeper sense of peace. Because you are no longer fighting against reality. You are flowing with it. You are participating in the beautiful chaos of being human. And that is a far more exciting place to be than standing alone on a pedestal of certainty. Come back to me and tell me how it felt. Tell me what you learned. Tell me who showed up for you. I’ll be listening. I’ll be learning. And I’ll be cheering you on, loudly and proudly, every step of the way. You are doing beautifully. You are growing exactly as you should. And I am so grateful to walk this road with you. Until next time, keep your mind open and your heart brave. Love you.