If there’s someone you can’t
forgive? please read this!
I hate every cliché that exists about
forgiveness.
I know every adage, every piece of advice,
every regularly endorsed opinion on the topic
because I’ve scoured my way through the
literature. I’ve read every blog post about
letting go of anger. I’ve written down Buddha
quotes and stuck them on post-its to my
wall. I know that no part of it is simple. I
know the adages are tired. I know the gap
between “Deciding to forgive” and actually
feeling peace can seem entirely
unbridgeable. I know.
Forgiveness is a vast, un-traversable land for
those of us who crave justice. The very
thought of letting someone walk away scot-
free from what they’ve done makes us sick.
We don’t want to simply wipe our hands
clean. We want to transfer the blood onto to
theirs. We want to see the scores evened
and the playing field leveled. We want them
to bear the weight of what they’ve done, not
us.
Forgiveness seems like the ultimate betrayal
of yourself. You don’t want to give up the
fight for justice after what has happened to
you. The anger is burning inside you and
pumping toxicity throughout your system.
You know that, but you can’t let it go. The
anger is as inseparable a part of you as your
heart or mind or lungs. I know the feeling. I
know the second heartbeat that is fury.
But here’s the thing about anger: it’s an
instrumental emotion. We stay angry
because we want justice. Because we think
it’s useful. Because we assume that the
angrier we are, the more change we will be
capable of incurring. Anger doesn’t realize
that the past is over and the damage has
been done. It tells you that vengeance will
fix things. It’s on the pursuit of justice.
Except the justice we want isn’t always
realistic. Staying angry is like continually
picking the scab off a cut because you think
that if you keep the wound open, you won’t
get a scar. It’s thinking that someday, the
person who wronged you can come give you
stitches with such incredible precision that
you’ll never know the cut was once there.
The truth about anger is that it’s nothing
more than the refusal to heal, because
you’re scared to. Because you’re afraid of
who you’ll be once your wounds close up
and you have to go on living in your new,
unfamiliar skin. You want your old skin back.
And so anger tells you to keep that wound
bleeding.
When you’re seething, forgiveness seems
impossible. We want to be capable of it,
because intellectually we know it’s the
healthiest choice to make. We want the
peace forgiveness offers. We want the
release. We want the madness in our brains
to quiet down, and yet we cannot find a way
to get there.
Because here’s what they all fail to tell you
about forgiveness: It’s not going to fix
anything. It’s not an eraser that will wipe
away the pain of what’s happened to you. It
does not undo the pain that you’ve been
living with and grant you immediate peace.
Finding peace is a long, uphill battle.
Forgiveness is just what you take to stay
hydrated along the way.
Forgiveness means giving up hope for a
different past. It means knowing that the
past is over, the dust has settled and the
destruction left in its wake can never be
reconstructed to resemble what it was. It’s
accepting that there’s no magic solution to
the damage that’s been caused. It’s the
realization that as unfair as the hurricane
was, you still have to live in its city of ruins.
And no amount of anger is going to
reconstruct that city. You have to do it
yourself.
Forgiveness means accepting responsibility
– not for causing the destruction, but for
cleaning it up. It’s the decision that restoring
your own peace is finally a bigger priority
than disrupting someone else’s.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to make
amends with who hurt you. It doesn’t mean
befriending them, sympathizing with them or
validating what they have done to you. It
just means accepting that they’ve left a
mark on you. And that for better or for
worse, that mark is now your burden to bear.
It means you’re done waiting for the person
who broke you to come put you back
together. It’s the decision to heal your own
wounds, regardless of which marks they’re
going to leave on your skin. It’s the decision
to move forward with scars.
Forgiveness isn’t about letting injustice
reign. It’s about creating your own justice,
your own karma and your own destiny. It’s
about getting back onto your feet and
deciding that the rest of your life isn’t going
to be miserable because of what happened
to you. It means walking bravely into the
future, with every scar and callous you’ve
incurred along the way. Forgiveness means
saying that you’re not going to let what
happened to you define you any longer.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you are
giving up all of your power. Forgiveness
means you’re finally ready to take it back
forgive? please read this!
I hate every cliché that exists about
forgiveness.
I know every adage, every piece of advice,
every regularly endorsed opinion on the topic
because I’ve scoured my way through the
literature. I’ve read every blog post about
letting go of anger. I’ve written down Buddha
quotes and stuck them on post-its to my
wall. I know that no part of it is simple. I
know the adages are tired. I know the gap
between “Deciding to forgive” and actually
feeling peace can seem entirely
unbridgeable. I know.
Forgiveness is a vast, un-traversable land for
those of us who crave justice. The very
thought of letting someone walk away scot-
free from what they’ve done makes us sick.
We don’t want to simply wipe our hands
clean. We want to transfer the blood onto to
theirs. We want to see the scores evened
and the playing field leveled. We want them
to bear the weight of what they’ve done, not
us.
Forgiveness seems like the ultimate betrayal
of yourself. You don’t want to give up the
fight for justice after what has happened to
you. The anger is burning inside you and
pumping toxicity throughout your system.
You know that, but you can’t let it go. The
anger is as inseparable a part of you as your
heart or mind or lungs. I know the feeling. I
know the second heartbeat that is fury.
But here’s the thing about anger: it’s an
instrumental emotion. We stay angry
because we want justice. Because we think
it’s useful. Because we assume that the
angrier we are, the more change we will be
capable of incurring. Anger doesn’t realize
that the past is over and the damage has
been done. It tells you that vengeance will
fix things. It’s on the pursuit of justice.
Except the justice we want isn’t always
realistic. Staying angry is like continually
picking the scab off a cut because you think
that if you keep the wound open, you won’t
get a scar. It’s thinking that someday, the
person who wronged you can come give you
stitches with such incredible precision that
you’ll never know the cut was once there.
The truth about anger is that it’s nothing
more than the refusal to heal, because
you’re scared to. Because you’re afraid of
who you’ll be once your wounds close up
and you have to go on living in your new,
unfamiliar skin. You want your old skin back.
And so anger tells you to keep that wound
bleeding.
When you’re seething, forgiveness seems
impossible. We want to be capable of it,
because intellectually we know it’s the
healthiest choice to make. We want the
peace forgiveness offers. We want the
release. We want the madness in our brains
to quiet down, and yet we cannot find a way
to get there.
Because here’s what they all fail to tell you
about forgiveness: It’s not going to fix
anything. It’s not an eraser that will wipe
away the pain of what’s happened to you. It
does not undo the pain that you’ve been
living with and grant you immediate peace.
Finding peace is a long, uphill battle.
Forgiveness is just what you take to stay
hydrated along the way.
Forgiveness means giving up hope for a
different past. It means knowing that the
past is over, the dust has settled and the
destruction left in its wake can never be
reconstructed to resemble what it was. It’s
accepting that there’s no magic solution to
the damage that’s been caused. It’s the
realization that as unfair as the hurricane
was, you still have to live in its city of ruins.
And no amount of anger is going to
reconstruct that city. You have to do it
yourself.
Forgiveness means accepting responsibility
– not for causing the destruction, but for
cleaning it up. It’s the decision that restoring
your own peace is finally a bigger priority
than disrupting someone else’s.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to make
amends with who hurt you. It doesn’t mean
befriending them, sympathizing with them or
validating what they have done to you. It
just means accepting that they’ve left a
mark on you. And that for better or for
worse, that mark is now your burden to bear.
It means you’re done waiting for the person
who broke you to come put you back
together. It’s the decision to heal your own
wounds, regardless of which marks they’re
going to leave on your skin. It’s the decision
to move forward with scars.
Forgiveness isn’t about letting injustice
reign. It’s about creating your own justice,
your own karma and your own destiny. It’s
about getting back onto your feet and
deciding that the rest of your life isn’t going
to be miserable because of what happened
to you. It means walking bravely into the
future, with every scar and callous you’ve
incurred along the way. Forgiveness means
saying that you’re not going to let what
happened to you define you any longer.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you are
giving up all of your power. Forgiveness
means you’re finally ready to take it back
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