Forgive and Forget: Life's Other F Words

"The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward."

Steve Maraboli

Oh is that all I have to do? Thanks Steve, I'll get right on that. How many times have you heard, "forgive and forget" and thought it to be quite an impossibility? I know I have, more times than I care to count. The truth is, life has done a number on me. My scars are fierce. My wounds are deep. With every heartache comes yet another round of F words. Failure, yes. Fear, of course. Forgiveness, now wait a minute here....you want me to do what now? (Perhaps another F word comes to mind at this point....sorry Mom and Dad). So how then? How, after loving unconditionally and being betrayed or abandoned, do I forgive? Take it up another notch and try and fathom forgetting! That's just inconceivable. 

This is where I found myself only a mere week ago. Thinking I had already done the forgiving thing but wondering why I was still haunted. Why I was still cold and closed off. Wondering why the blanket of depression was suffocating me as I tried to sleep, or shadowed me with darkness during what should have been the brightest of days. I had wanted to forgive, in fact I'd already spoken the words, multiple times even! I stared at the ceiling in darkness and silence and awaited an answer. My lungs felt as though I could only utilize about 20% of their normal functionality, and my heart pondered beating out of my chest. I cried tearlessly. Do you know that kind of cry? It's the kind that effects you more than sobbing or weeping because there's no release. Four months and two weeks had passed, where was the closure I had so easily preached about to others? The closure I had promised YOU was inevitable. The closure I so desperately needed. 

The truth was I hadn't finished the work that needed to be done. I had stuffed the pain down again when it got difficult and when I thought enough time had gone by. I didn't stuff it in ways that used to be my pattern, a new relationship for example. That's a tragedy all it's own. This was some new technique I didn't even realize I had. It wasn't even denial. This was simply ignorance. This was, "I'm fine because I'm supposed to be fine and I don't want him back so I must be fine and that's just fine. Fine." This was fine. What a detestable word, fine. Another F word for the list. In all actuality, if you're saying you're fine, you're probably not, and I certainly wasn't. 

The answer I was waiting for hit me like a ton of bricks. (Or at least what I'd imagine a ton of bricks would hit like). What had I forgiven? When I said, "I forgive you," it was vague and misguided. I had granted forgiveness for his benefit and not for my own. Fine. I sat up in bed, grabbed my phone and started typing a list. At first this list was only for me, and what I believed would only consist of two or three specific instances. (Such as: breaking your promise of forever you asshole). When I started writing I was floored...there were far more hurts than I had even realized. They poured out of me like some dark, filthy ooze of ewwness. Some were huge like the most common unforgivable of relationship sins, and others were small, like a forgotten phone call. It hurt to read the ooze pouring out of my soul, but I continued. Before I realized what was happening the tears were streaming down my face. My lungs had reached 50% capacity and I was breathing a little easier. Fine? 

3 am veered it's all too familiar, ugly head, and sleep called my name. It had been so long since I had been summoned by sleep that it almost caught me by surprise. I had done enough purging for the night thank you very much. I woke up the next day and felt like a new person....for a few hours anyway. Darkness returned later that day and I thought, "what the hell?!" 

Here's what I realized, forgiveness is a process and a daily choice. Forgiveness is NOT a singular event. I read the words I wrote every day last week until they no longer ripped my heart out. It's really just more of like flu shot status now. Every morning I wake up I don't try and stuff those hurts down, justifying them with happy memories. That's where things get all jumbled! I force myself to say, "what's hurting me today," and I talk myself through it. It is not easy, it's F word difficult, but I do it anyway. 

I wish I could tell you that someday I'll forget, but you know what, I don't think I will. However, I have to believe that remembering doesn't hinder moving on. The inability to forgive, however, does. I'm choosing to forgive because I despise Fine. I'm choosing to forgive because I deserve it! Do you understand what I'm saying? Forgiveness isn't something that's given just so the other person can sleep at night. That's all nice and rainbows and butterflies and hearts and sun shiny shit, but that's not always life. Sometimes we have to forgive so we can breathe, eat, sleep, and SURVIVE!! It's about becoming whole again, putting your own pieces back together and throwing Fine out the window. 

So here I am, a week removed from Fine, and I'd say my lungs are at about 65% capacity and my trash can has less beer bottles in it. In the process of finding forgiveness I have realized that forgetting isn't essential. Once I have mastered forgiving the person, the situation, the hurts, and so on, remembering won't effect me in the ways it has been. How's that for a dose of hope for ya!? 

Maybe good ol' Steve wasn't so far off after all... Maybe he is SPOT ON. You'll notice he said nothing of forgetting, he just said, "move forward." Whoop there it is. Here's to Forgiveness, to not being Fine, and to moving Forward, and all the other F words as well. 

Finally. 

When Life Kills You...But Leaves You Breathing...Then What? (My Story)

Title by Steve Spencer, story lived by me.

Where to start? The double divorces? The dramatic weight loss/lifestyle change? The two children? The string of failed relationships where being mislead and cheated on repeatedly by numerous people left me severely co-dependent and broken? The emotional, psychological, and even physical abuse I suffered from both of my husbands? Growing up as a Pastor's Kid with the pressures of being perfect? The breakdown and betrayal from the plethora of "Christians" I called my close friends? The doozy-The Rape? I couldn't choose, so let's just dive in.

~She's a Little Runaway~

I ran away once or twice as a child, doesn't everyone? However, there was one time in particular that I remember vividly. What the situation actually was I can't recall, but the emotion is clear as day, "I'm not good enough." I believe I was in 3rd grade at the time. I pulled out my suitcase, a pillow and a sleeping bag. I told my mom I was running away...she helped me pack. Not in a vindictive or cruel way. More like a parent wanting to let me figure this out on my own. The fact is I am very strong willed and she probably saved herself a lot of trouble handling it that way. I walked myself to my neighbors house and got situated under the tree that myself and the neighbor boys used as a play fort sometimes. I'm sure you could ask my mom how long I was gone and she would know, but to me it felt like days. Eventually the elderly lady that lived there came out and told me I had to go home. So I returned, tail between my legs and everything. This story doesn't play a huge part in who I was or who I've become except for one thing, the voice in my head that said, "I'm not good enough," was a voice that has forever been impossible to silence, and in the times in my life where my confidence was as it strongest point and that voice was a whisper, something broke me and put me back in my place.

~Boys Will Be Boys~

I had my first crush on a boy in 4th grade, I remember his name, his hair cut and his smile perfectly. I attended a year-round elementary school so I had the same kids in my class every year. I liked this boy all the way through 6th grade, even up to the point where my best friend decided she liked him too and they kissed behind the backstop on the baseball field. I never got to kiss that boy...or better yet, he never got to kiss me. It wasn't until 8th grade that I would have my first official boyfriend, (I use the term lightly because the extent of our relationship was passing notes between classes and talking on the phone). This was a big deal, this boy was one of the, if not the most popular guy in school. He uuuuh, grew up fast, was athletic and had great hair. (Looked him up on Facebook awhile back and he's fat now so that's cool, ha). This boy would be the first one in a long list that would make me cry. After months of going out we had our first fight, and during this fight I would suffer the wrath of a pissed off man for the first time. During the class we had together he passed me a note that read, "Why are your boobs so small and your thighs so big?" As if I wasn't insecure enough. ("I'm not good enough.") We eventually made up, he would later become my first kiss, and shortly there after would cease to remember I existed when my family moved 45 minutes away to plant a church. So much for "true love." So there's the groundwork leading up to my string of failures. I started high school in a new city with small boobs, (they were average), big thighs, (they weren't that bad), and poor-ish in a land of rich kids. Perfect.

I used to pride myself on the fact that I didn't care what people thought. Well my high school taught me to care, in fact, it required it. My first week of school a cheerleader that sat behind me grabbed the collar of the back of my shirt and flipped the tag out to look at it. When I asked what she was doing she told me she wanted to see what brands I wore...when I told her I didn't know she looked at me like I had just slapped her grandma. I was in a twilight zone, completely out of my element and less than prepared for what lied ahead. (I'm not good enough.) Long story short, I survived, but not entirely unscathed. My first high school boyfriend would eventually experiment with drugs (I did not), and would make out with my best friend after school one day. I tell you this because I now believe it set the stage for my tolerance on this type of situation later on. I almost view it as like a callus, not to say that it hurts less every time it happens, some hurt worse than others, but the recovery is quicker and it becomes easier to forgive. At least it worked that way for me.

~The Betrayal~

I know, I know, you want me to get to the good stuff. I'm working my way to it, believe me. Meanwhile during all of this high school drama, (literally), my family had planted this church I mentioned earlier. I went to church every Sunday my entire life, when we started this church it became a part-time job for which I wasn't paid. In fact it cost me. Our church was for new believers, or seekers as it was, and I helped with the worship, (I've also been singing my whole life,) my dad preached every Sunday, and my mom helped with everything else. I loved the church, I loved the people, and I loved God. The families became my family, I babysat their kids (usually for free), my mom would cook meals and was basically a friend, counselor and everything else you could imagine, and we would host Bible Studies at our house frequently. This was our life. My family put every ounce of love and devotion into these people for just over 4 years. You know what they say, all good things must come to an end, and there's always a bad egg, well that about sums it up. One man that was a family member of someone I was extremely close to was that bad egg. Why he did things he did I can't say for sure. But, his poisonous ways spread and in church lingo we had our first "church split." This happened just after I barely survived high school. People that I considered family betrayed my family, turned their backs on us, and my entire world was turned upside down. (I'm not good enough.) The emotions that I felt would be nearly impossible to describe, in fact unless you have actually been through something similar, I don't think you could understand. It's like combining the pain from every break-up you've ever had times 250. To be precise, It's 12 years later and I'm not over it, (my parents would get divorced not long after all of this, in part because of this, and I recovered from that faster.) It hurt me so deeply that I moved away when I got the opportunity with my job. Since then I can count the number of times I have been to church (not counting Christmas Eve) without taking off my shoes. I did not survive this as unscathed as I did high school. In fact when I moved back home, almost 5 years later, I saw one of the couples while shopping at Costco and that scab got picked and I bled all over again. This has yet to change, even to this day. (And as far as the bad egg is concerned, well, I actually look forward to the day when I accidentally run into him).

.....So, there's the beginning...check back soon because this story isn't even close to being over. (I promise there's some good parts!)

Broken? Join the Club (Part One)

"The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do." -Unknown

FACT: We are all broken.

Broken: (adj) physically and forcibly separated into pieces or cracked or split; having been violated or disregarded; lacking a part or parts; thrown into a state of confusion or disarray.

Again, we are all broken. How do I know this? Because if you're reading this you're human, and humans are vulnerable, therefor breakable. This is a HUGE topic that I wouldn't attempt to cover in one sitting, so I'm going to break it up into parts.

Part One; Broken by Our Mistakes:

First let's make sure we all understand that a mistake is different from an accident. A mistake implies bad judgement, an accident is an unfortunate incident that happens unintentionally. A mistake involves a choice. Meaning moments before the mistake took place there was one (or maybe several) opportunities where a choice was before us and we (as the knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade would say...) "chose poorly." Mistakes come in all shapes and sizes and have various levels of destruction, but the ones that effect us the most are those heavy duty life altering ones: marrying the "wrong" person, betraying someone's trust, poor financial investments, "why oh why didn't I take the blue pill" (Neo-The Matrix), the list could go on, but I think you get the idea. We've all made them, more times than we care to count I'm sure. The cold hard truth is mistakes are unavoidable. Wow, it almost sounds as though I'm contradicting myself doesn't it? You're wondering, if my mistake was driven by an avoidable poor decision then how can my mistake be unavoidable?

Answer: (drumroll please) We. Are. Human. There is not one of us walking this planet that chooses wisely every time. Don't get me wrong, some of us are much better than others. Take me for example, I have chosen poorly more than almost anyone I know, I mean seriously there could be two doors in front of me, one with a lit up flashing arrow above it reading "Pick Me" and a red carpet leading to it, and the other with caution tape, a stop sign, and a flag with a skull and crossbones that says enter at your own risk...and sure enough 9 times out of 10 I'll pull out my scissors and cut the caution tape, walk right past the stop sign and think "hey I'm feeling lucky" as I walk under the flag. Then at some point I am left picking up the pieces and bandaging my wounds with shreds of a pirate flag. Hopefully, you don't have to learn the hard way as often as I do, but everyone has had their share of dealing with the consequences of bad decisions.

What sets each of us apart is how we recover, or don't recover, from these mistakes. Again, I'm talking about the BIG ones here, not like the bad hair cut you got your senior year. The kind where the day will never come where you will look back and laugh about it. Those are the ones that break us. Those are the ones that leave scars. Those are the ones that alter our personalities, our beliefs, the way we see others, and the way we see ourselves. In a way, those are the ones that in one way or another become a part of who we are and change who we were, and have the power to shape who we are going to be.

FACT: Mistakes cannot be undone.

That sounds so harsh doesn't it? It may be harsh, but it's reality, life has no rewind, no undo button, no DeLorean with a flux capacitor to bail us out, life goes on post-mistake. So here we are, broken, in the aftermath, now what? More choices...yup, you read that right. A choice got you here and a choice will propel you forward.

Door Number One: Purgatory.
Purgatory is for the dwellers. The mistake has been made and they go through life dwelling on it. Never healing, remaining broken, not forgiving themselves. Quality of Life on a 1-10: 2. If you let your mistake haunt you every day it will permanently alter how you function in your everyday life. Dwellers become bitter, cold, and shut off the ability to enjoy life. Don't go there!

Door Number Two: The Maze.
The Maze is for the people that regret their mistake, and instead of dealing with the pain that being broken has caused them, they try and mask it with distractions. The best example of this is jumping into a new relationship before healing from the last one. (Guilty). Still not taking the time to forgive themselves and make efforts to find beauty in the broken, they end up taking wrong turn after wrong turn through an endless maze of confusion. Quality of Life: 3.5. If you try and take the approach of forgetting the mistake ever happened, or ignoring your feelings completely, you will end up lost. Pretty soon you will be so broken gorilla glue won't be able to fix you. Don't go there either!

Door Number Three: The Waiting Room.
The Waiting Room is for the people that acknowledge their mistake, recognize the brokenness, and take the time to sort through their emotions, hurts, and deal with the consequences. It's a grueling process and probably involves some tears and some heavy duty soul searching. Quality of life: 8. The people that do their time in the waiting room have the best shot at making a full recovery, and usually they exit the room better, stronger, and happier than they thought they could be. The other great thing about The Waiting Room is that the people that put in the effort while in there, are less frequent visitors than the people that choose the other doors. Why? Because properly dealing with your mistakes and accepting the brokenness helps make you more aware in the future. Healing makes you less likely to repeat. It doesn't mean you are incapable of mistakes, it just gives you better perspective.

Obviously those aren't the only available doors, those are just the ones I have found to be the most common. The good news is the doors have no expiration, so if you've been wandering through The Maze for awhile, don't worry, you can still back track and enter The Waiting Room. You want to know how I know this? I lived in The Maze for over ten years, and I just took my seat in The Waiting Room. Odds are I'm going to be here awhile, ten years of mistakes is a lot to sort through! I'm about as broken as they come. Here's the thing about me though, I keep moving forward, I keep smiling. I'm learning to forgive myself. I'm learning to let go. Yes, there are tears, but there's also hope. I can choose to view my mistakes as a negative thing, or as an opportunity to help someone else before they do the same thing. How's that for a bright side??

Do you have mistakes that are haunting you? Do you need to forgive yourself? Evaluate where you are in your healing process. Accept the brokenness while realizing it may be part of who you are, but it doesn't define you. Your future actions and choices depend on your ability to heal. So, if you're ready, pull up a chair and join me in The Waiting Room, there's no coffee or donuts in here, but I've heard the closure is delicious.




*Photo Credit: J Patrick Smith*