RTFR Magazine

discernment: noun: dis·​cern·​ment di-ˈsərn-mənt

1: the quality of being able to comprehend what is obscure : skill in discerning. He displayed a lack of discernment in selecting suitable job candidates.

2: an act of perceiving or discerning something. the discernment to know true friends.

3: stresses the power to distinguish and select what is true or appropriate or excellent.

I used to believe that respect was the cornerstone of healthy interaction—something we owe one another by default. But over time, I’ve learned to look closer, to question what’s really being asked when someone demands “respect.” Discernment has taught me that not all appeals to respect are rooted in mutual regard. Some are cloaked demands for obedience. And that’s when that shift happens. You realize that some are hiding behind the altruism of needed respect, but really, it’s about authority. It’s not about listening—it’s about submitting. Once you see this, you can never unsee it again, it changes your very core and how you respond.

Discernment is a double-edged awakening. On one side, it invites clarity; on the other, it exposes what you’ve long tried to bury. When you start to see things as they are—not as you were told they should be—it can shake your foundation. You notice the manipulation behind a smile, the subtle coercion in a “kind” word, the conditional love in what once felt like home. And suddenly, you’re face to face with old wounds: betrayal, abandonment, shame, the pain of having trusted what wasn’t trustworthy.

But here’s the paradox—those same moments of piercing clarity are where your deepest gifts emerge. The capacity to see through illusion is not just painful—it’s powerful. It births intuition. It builds inner strength. Discernment teaches you how to protect your energy, how to hold boundaries with grace, and how to lead with integrity rather than fear. You begin to see patterns not just in others, but in yourself. And from that place, you can choose differently.

Discernment doesn’t numb you—it refines you. It makes the pain honest. And in that honesty, your truest self has space to rise. Just be prepared for the changes that will follow.

Discernment has always been a gift, but it’s also been my hardest teacher. The more I trusted it, the clearer I saw—and the more uncomfortable I became in spaces where people weren’t ready to see. I began asking questions where others remained silent. I pushed back when everyone else seemed content to accept things as they were. And that’s when I realized: discernment creates disruption. It shifts the balance in a room, changes the dynamics in relationships, and sometimes, it feels like I’m unsettling the very air people breathe.

In the beginning, I wasn’t sure why people distanced themselves or acted like I was the problem. But it became clearer over time—people don’t like to be questioned, especially by someone they can’t easily dismiss. It’s like my ability to see through things made them feel exposed, and that was uncomfortable. What I was doing wasn’t just asking questions—it was forcing them to think differently, and not everyone is prepared for that. Not everyone is willing to examine their own beliefs or actions, especially when doing so might mean confronting something painful.

And so, I became the person who pushed the boundaries of comfort, who made people rethink their assumptions. And in doing so, I started to lose people. They didn’t want to walk through the disruption with me—they just wanted things to stay the same, easy, unquestioned. They didn’t want to see what I saw. I’ve been called stubborn, difficult, “too intense.” But as painful as it is sometimes to stand alone, I know now that this disruption is necessary. Without it, I wouldn’t grow. Without it, I wouldn’t be living my truth.

xx gail