Praying for the Peace of My Enemies

I want to be honest with you about something I’ve been sitting with lately.

For a long stretch of my life, I lived in the closet. I knew who I was, but I kept it locked away because the world around me didn’t feel safe enough to hold the real me. That kind of hiding does something to a person. It teaches you to make yourself small. It teaches you to apologize for existing. And when you finally step out into the open — when you finally let yourself be seen — there’s this strange aftershock. You realize how much energy you spent surviving instead of living.

I’m openly gay now. I’m at peace with who I am. And honestly? Life is beautiful. Not perfect, not always easy, but beautiful in a way I didn’t think was possible back when I was hiding.

So here’s the part that surprised even me.

I’ve started praying for the peace of my enemies. The people who wanted to see me fail. The ones who would’ve been happier if I’d stayed quiet, stayed hidden, stayed small. I pray for their peace too.

Not because I’m a saint. Trust me, I’m not. I pray for them because carrying around resentment is just another closet. It’s another way of making yourself small. It’s another thing taking up space that could be filled with gratitude instead. And I’ve already spent enough of my life hiding from things. I’m not interested in building new cages out of old anger.

Gratitude has been the thing that cracked it all open for me. When you start counting what you actually have — the people who love you, the work that means something, the dog at your feet, the quiet mornings, the chance to wake up and try again — there’s just less room for bitterness. The peace I’ve found isn’t about everyone suddenly being kind to me. It’s about deciding that my peace doesn’t depend on them.

That’s the freedom nobody warns you about. You don’t need your enemies to change. You don’t need an apology. You don’t need them to understand. You just need to let go of the idea that their opinion gets a say in your worth.

So I’m grateful. For the closet I climbed out of. For the life I get to live now, out loud and unapologetic. And yeah — even for the people who wanted to watch me fall, because they’re part of the story that brought me here.

I hope they find peace. I really do. I hope it’s as good as the peace I’ve found.

And if you’re still in the closet, in whatever form that takes for you — whether it’s your identity, your faith, your recovery, your dreams — I want you to know there’s air out here. There’s room. There’s a beautiful life waiting on the other side of the hiding. Take your time. But know it’s there.

You always matter.

Stay groovy. Lots of love.
— Tony