Tiny Buddha

Tag: forgiveness

  • What I Did to Survive: Not Proud but I Forgive Myself

    What I Did to Survive: Not Proud but I Forgive Myself

    “Forgive yourself for not knowing better at the time. Forgive yourself for giving away your power. Forgive yourself for past behaviors. Forgive yourself for the survival patterns and traits you picked up while enduring trauma. Forgive yourself for being who you needed to be.” ~Audrey Kitching

    I used to suffer from survivor’s remorse.

    What does this mean exactly? Well, I was ashamed of the things I did to survive.

    As I reflected back on my life, I’d get filled with sadness, shame, and regret.

    Sadness because I did things that were against my moral values when I knew right from wrong.

    Shame because I did things that I never thought I would have to do, in order to survive.

    Regret because I was involved in drugs, sex, and violence.

    I had kids to feed, and they depended on me. As a single parent, I was willing to do whatever I had to do for them. I would sell tools and electronics for gas money. I would sell plates of food to buy diapers. I even chose to sell my body. I did whatever I needed to do to get by.

    I hurt family and friends along the way and lost their trust with my broken promises. Promises that I would pay back money that I borrowed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to. I used people for my own personal gain. My pain caused other people pain.

    I was risking my whole life, and I didn’t even realize it. I could have gone to jail and lost my kids, all because I was trying to provide for them.

    How Did I Get Into a Life of Drugs, Sex, and Violence?

    Well, I had a rough childhood; I dealt with physical, verbal, and sexual abuse as a child, and witnessed abusive relationships amongst relatives and family friends . I processed this into rejection, fear, and anger.

    I struggled to feel love because I equated it with hurt. My family members said they loved me and then did things that caused me pain. I thought this must be love; this is normal behavior.

    The hurt turned into anger, and then I started to resent people. This caused extreme paranoia.

    Still, despite my relationship fears, through a twisted turn of events, I had a baby at fifteen years old. I told myself I would do anything to make sure my son didn’t have the same life I’d had.

    Then at eighteen years old I was a homeless high school senior.

    My Survival Tactics

    I found myself on public assistance. I was in situations that evoked the exact feelings I’d experienced as a child, when I saw my mother depend on welfare and food stamps to get by. I felt impoverished, worthless, and dependent on a system to survive.

    I found myself wrapped up in an abusive relationship, with three kids now, around drugs, around violence, and I saw no way out. This was my life. I wanted to leave, and I tried to many times, but he held me at gunpoint, locked me in a closet, and even choked me at times.

    Domestic violence is a learned behavior. I witnessed it growing up and he witnessed it as well. This abuse was familiar. I didn’t know if I was prepared for the fight. I needed to be loved, so I accepted any love I could get even when it hurt.

    I eventually chose to break the cycle and free myself from the lifestyle I was caught in, but it left me at ground zero. I had to fight for myself, for my kids, for our future. I had to get out of this abusive relationship before he killed me, or I killed him. I’d had enough!

    But leaving was just the beginning of change, and not the end of my stress. My fight-or-flight response was constantly activated. I was always thinking, “I got to do something. My kids need shelter, food, and clothing.”

    I needed food stamps, I needed public assistance, I needed section 8 housing. I needed everything I could get to survive.

    I was doing things that I knew were wrong—lying and stealing what didn’t belong to me—but I felt like I had no choice. I couldn’t call anyone to come save me. I had already borrowed money from people. I couldn’t depend on help from my kids’ father. No one was coming to protect me. I had to save myself.

    I felt helpless. At this point I had a high school diploma, little job experience, and no stability. I was in complete survival mode.

    I did not possess the language to tell someone that I was hurting, that I was struggling and needed help. My fear (ego) told me that no one would listen, and no one would care.

    I feel so ashamed for lying to my mother, for stealing, for degrading my body. I know this is not who I am, but looking back I can see these were my survival tactics.

    I only wanted to survive, and guess what? I did.

    But eventually I wanted more than that. I wanted freedom. The freedom to let go of the past. These secrets that I was ashamed to say out loud.

    This was over fourteen years ago. I was still holding on to guilt.

    My Accountability

    I never wanted to talk about my past because it was painful. I wanted it to disappear.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was broke with $2.29 in my bank account, with three kids.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was on food stamps because I couldn’t afford food.

    I didn’t want to admit that I’d taken other people’s property for my personal gain.

    I didn’t want to admit I’d used my body for financial gain.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was in pain from different traumas, and I was self-medicating with drugs.

    Still, I had to stop and realize that I’d made it and could now focus on thriving—but I could only do that if I forgave myself. That required self-compassion. But I also realized I couldn’t blame anyone else; I had to take complete and total responsibility.

    I had to take responsibility for my choices. I had to take responsibility for doing what I felt I had to do to survive.

    Note to self: “Beating yourself up for your flaws and mistakes won’t make you perfect, and you don’t have to be. Learn, forgive yourself, and remember: We all struggle; it’s just part of being human.” ~Lori Deschene

    My Forgiveness and Pride

    I had to forgive myself for not understanding my power and for inheriting patterns from the trauma I’d experienced.

    I also had to give myself credit for breaking the cycle.

    I remember once, I was having a conversation with my three daughters, and I was telling them about a time when they were little, and I couldn’t afford to do certain things. One of my daughters said, “Aww, Mom. You used to be poor?”

    In that very moment, I realized that I had survived. And I had created a better future for myself and my kids. Not only did I make it, I provided a lifestyle for my kids without drugs, sex, or violence.

    I apologize if I was toxic energy in anyone’s life, including my own. My forgiveness doesn’t mean that the guilt never existed; it just means I’m letting go of the shame and pain that once controlled my life.

    I used to feel a sense of strength because I’d endured a high amount of abuse, but deep down I was so fragile.

    At this very moment in my life, I now choose to measure my strength by how quickly I release things that threaten my peace of mind.

    I looked at my sadness, I looked at my regret, I looked at my shame straight in the mirror. I acknowledged them, accepted my past, and decided they would no longer control me. This was my first step toward my freedom.

    I made mistakes. I was doing the best I could. I realized I was afraid of speaking my truth, but it’s my truth that’s setting me free.

    Whatever you did in the past to survive, I’m sure you did the best you could too. You were hurting and you used the tools you had based on what you’d witnessed and learned.

    But the past is behind you now. You don’t have to beat yourself up over who you’ve been. Accept your past. Learn from it. Forgive yourself for being who you thought you needed to be. And face your shame so you can let it go. You’ve been through enough. Why torture yourself even more?

    Whatever you’ve been through, and whatever you’re going through now, may your truth set you free and may you heal from your pain.

  • When Expectations Hurt: How I’ve Forgiven My Absentee Father and Healed

    When Expectations Hurt: How I’ve Forgiven My Absentee Father and Healed

    “What will mess you up most in life is the picture in your head of how it’s supposed to be.” ~Unknown

    I may have said a few words that hurt my father’s feelings, but…

    See, here’s the backstory.

    I’m thirty-four years old, and I started having a relationship with my biological father at age twenty-one. During my childhood years I would see him every now and then even though he lived less than three miles away from my home. I don’t have any memories of being with my dad for birthdays, holidays, family vacations, or even just hanging out watching TV at home.

    When I was twenty-one my father called and said, “Hey, I’m outside your house.”

    I went outside and he said, “Your mom told me you just had another baby.”

    I said, “Yes, I did.”

    By this time I rarely had any dealings with my father, and I had some negative feelings about him because he was not in my life in the way I felt he should have been.

    A part of me was upset and confused as to why he wasn’t around during my childhood when I needed him. I wanted his guidance and protection, and I felt that he hadn’t given that to me.

    We had a conversation, and he told me that I was welcome at his home anytime and that I should come around more often. Despite how I was feeling, I decided I would give it a try because a part of me wanted to be daddy’s girl.

    So, I did just that. I called him as often as I could and would go by his house for visits. I finally got comfortable enough that felt like I was in a good place with my dad. He has a wealth of knowledge, so we began having deep conversations about different things in life, and he would give me advice on things I was going through.

    I couldn’t help sometimes but wonder, what would my life be like if he’d been there from the beginning?

    I would look at him and his wife and the children they had together—they have so much joy and so many memories with my father. Why couldn’t I get that? Was it because of my mother? Was it because of his wife? What is wrong with me that I couldn’t get the same level of love and attention?

    Recently I saw a post on Facebook by one of my siblings. It read, “I have the world’s greatest DAD!”

    But that’s not who he is to me. I have no childhood bond with him. What we have shared these past thirteen years has been more of a great friendship. He’s not the world’s greatest dad, because if he were he would have been there for me! My emotions and feeling of neglect got the best of me, and I had to disagree with this statement.

    The little girl in me was crying. Why couldn’t my father love me the way he loves his other kids? I felt unworthy. I also felt guilty, like I maybe I had done something wrong. Maybe I wasn’t perfect enough. Maybe he didn’t want me. I asked myself over and over, why couldn’t I have that love? All I wanted was his attention and acknowledgment.

    If you have gone through this experience you know as you get older that little girl or boy is still hurting for the love they didn’t get. That pain often shows up as anger and resentment toward your parent(s).

    The feelings I felt as a child followed me into my adulthood. I was insecure as a person and followed the crowd. I had a hard time trusting people to show up for me; I couldn’t get my own father to be there for me, so why would anyone else?

    Since I felt unworthy of being loved by my father, I developed low self-esteem. Like a drop in the water, this caused a ripple effect. I ended up forming relationships with men who were just like the picture of my father; they would abandon me, and once again I’d feel unworthy of love.

    In order to stop this ripple effect from controlling my life, I had to acknowledge that little girl inside me. I had to let her know that I heard her, and I felt her pain. So I started journaling about my feelings. I took that energy out of my body and left it on the paper.

    I also had to have tough conversations with my parents. This was hard because it meant everyone needed to take accountability for their part in this situation—myself included. That meant releasing the expectations I’d placed on my father, which I’d never communicated to him. I recognized that I’d wanted him to be something he wasn’t, I wanted to change him, but I realized that I can’t control or change anyone but myself. 

    This is the part where I hurt my father’s feelings.

    I needed to have this conversation with my father and get these feelings off my chest. I knew there was a possibility he wouldn’t understand, because he may have felt justified in his absence. But I also knew the pain I was feeling was not my fault.

    I called him, and I stated, “Dad, I feel like we are really good friends, but I don’t feel like you are my dad. I have no childhood memories with you, but I know I can always call you for advice now.”

    I wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings. I wanted to explain my feelings, based on my experience and my perception. I didn’t really know why he wasn’t around during my childhood; I just knew I didn’t get my dad.

    He responded with, “It sounds like your saying I’m a failure.”

    I said, “No, I’m just sharing how I feel.”

    I took a few days to think about this conversation because it was tough for the both of us. I’d cried, and I could tell he felt disappointed. I realized then that just because people have children, that doesn’t mean they are ready to be parents.

    We think two people meet, fall in love, get married, plan to have kids, and plan out their career. Sometimes it happens that way. But often they really love and care about each other, and then they get pregnant, unexpectedly. Then things go south, and co-parenting goes with it. At least this was my reality with my parents. Neither was there to raise me in the way I thought parents should.

    I have no clue what specifically they were going through at that time. But whatever it was, it required me to live with my aunt till I was in third grade.

    My Ah ha! Moment

    A mother and father give you life, but that doesn’t mean they will be the ones who raise you. I have a mother and a father, but my aunt who stepped in and took me to live with her and her three children was my mother.

    My “dad,” who was my uncle, picked me up almost every weekend and promised to protect me from all danger.

    I had another “dad,” who just happened to be my grandfather; he provided for me like a father would.

    When I eventually went to live with my mother, her boyfriend at the time treated me like his own daughter.

    I realized then I’d been wrong when I told myself I didn’t have a dad, because I clearly did.

    Plenty of people had stepped in as father figures even though they had no obligation to do so. They created those birthdays, holidays, vacations, and just hanging out at the house type memories that I was looking for from my father.

    I was blinding myself to my blessings and holding my parents to an expectation that they were never going to be able to fulfill.

    As a child I wasn’t able to look at them for who they truly are or accept them with the good and bad. As an adult, I focused so much on what I was lacking in my relationships with them that I couldn’t see what I’d had in other people all along.

    I know now that I want to lead my life with love. That means accepting people for who they are and how they are, not what I would like them to be.

    Though the pain I felt when it came to my father was not my fault, my healing was my responsibility. As an adult, I’m now capable of taking responsibly for my life decisions in a way I wasn’t as a child. I had to take my power back and stop letting my pain control me.

    I told my father, “I’m not trying to hurt you. Things just are the way they are. It’s not good or bad; this is just our experience. Having you as a friend is better than having nothing at all.”

    I now call my dad often, because I know it’s difficult to find good friends. I’m happy to say that I have found one in my father.

    I think I’d just been caught up in the personal emotions and attachments to the people who gave birth to me and expected them to be X, Y, and Z. As a result, I caused myself a lot of unnecessary pain and suffering. I had to forgive both my parents and myself for holding on to these expectations.

    If we can let go of expectations and focus on appreciating the people who are there for us we can find healing in the painful truth. I think this is a key to finding peace with things that have hurt us. We have a picture in our minds that doesn’t match up with our reality. When this happens, we may feel disappointed and close ourselves off to other perspectives.

    Like me, you may not have had the relationship you wanted with your parents, but perhaps foster parents, aunts, uncles, brothers, or friends stepped into your life and become that dad or mom when they had no obligation to do so.

    To those people in my life I say thank you. It’s hard to see, at first, just how much you’ve done. As a child our pain can blind us from the love we are given. Because of your love, people like me can stop and say, “I did have mom or dad.”

    This insight doesn’t only apply to parents. Have you ever held someone to certain expectations, just because of who they are to you? Like a husband or wife, mother or father, brother or sister, aunt or uncle, grandparents, best friend, boss, co-worker, etc.

    At times we expect people to fill certain roles just because of their label. Some expectations are reasonable and healthy, but can you perhaps release some and replace them with gratitude?

    This is in no way, excuses anyone’s behavior or the pain they may have caused you. This is a step toward acceptance. Accepting people in their truth even when we don’t agree, this is taking back our power.

    I know I can’t change who my parents are or what they’ve done, but I can always change my perspective by looking for positive aspects in each of them. I receive more from being grateful than I do with expectations.

    I’ve stopped focusing so much on them and now focus more on myself, because I’ve realized the only person I can change is myself.

    Forgive yourself for hurting yourself or others with expectations. Know that the pain you feel is real, and that you can release that pain from your life at any moment you choose. And allow yourself to be grateful for all the good in your life instead of focusing solely on what’s hurt you.

    This is how I’ve healed some deeply rooted wounds that caused a great level of pain in my life. I hope by sharing my experience I’ve helped you take a step toward your own healing and understanding.

  • How Getting Dumped Before My Wedding Made Me a Better Person

    How Getting Dumped Before My Wedding Made Me a Better Person

    “The root of suffering is attachment.” ~The Buddha

    Getting dumped a few weeks before my wedding was the most painful experience of my life to date, but how I came through it is the single proudest moment of my life.

    When I met with his mother four years after the breakup, she said she’d felt so guilty over these past few years. “I loved you like a daughter, and he’s my son—I never want any of my children to feel that pain.”

    I told her I was glad it happened, not for the fact that the breakup needed to happen (was inevitable even), but to have experienced the pain and loss, to confront my then-unconscious fear of failure straight on, and to not only survive, but thrive as a result.

    I told her I look forward to failing now. More accurately, I appreciate the lessons learned and the growth I’ll only be able to experience by getting back up, dusting myself off, humbly reflecting on where I went wrong, and pushing forward with a more finely tuned compass.

    But that perspective didn’t come easily. It took crawling Andy Dufresne-style through 500 metaphorical yards of sh*t-filled sewage pipes first.

    We were together for eight years through our twenties and into our early thirties. Four years in, we got engaged.

    One month before the wedding I went from bliss to being sucker punched in the lower intestines (emotionally speaking).

    It was a Tuesday. This was two days after coming home from one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I’d just finished yoga teacher training at an eight-day intensive on Long Island, Maine.

    It was a perfect week. I came home still buzzing with blissful vibes and gratitude. When he said we needed to talk, my stomach dropped so hard and so fast I thought it would fall out of me.

    He said he didn’t want to get married anymore.

    The contrast and transition from high to low was dizzying. In one week I felt both the best and worst I’d ever felt in my life.

    The following months were comprised of uncontrollable crying, deep sorrow, and some of the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned.

    Reading the stories of others who have loved and lost were so helpful to me when I was in pain, as were the bite-sized inspirational quotes from great and kind minds that I could carry with me through the day, so I’ve included those that helped me the most. It made me feel connected and not alone; it gave me hope knowing there is light at the end of the tunnel.

    That’s why I’m writing this. To share what I learned through this whole ordeal, how it set me off on a path of self-discovery and development, and how I’m a smarter, stronger, and more compassionate person because of it. The same is possible for you.

    I learned to feel my feelings.

    “The best way out is always through.” ~Robert Frost

    Sounds simple enough, but it’s not something we consciously do on purpose with negative emotions.

    We still lived together for three months after the wedding was broken off. It was especially hard coming home from work knowing he’d be there.

    Toward the end I’d gotten pretty good at avoiding, numbing, and running from experiencing the full intensity of the pain. The day he moved out, I decided it was time to feel it, all of it.

    I closed my eyes and let go of every resistance to the pain. I let the full force of it wash over me and through me. I accepted the pain without judgement, like I was both experiencing the pain and watching myself experience the pain.

    I did this through dancing in my kitchen. It seemed to help move the emotions through me. And it left me in a literal and figurative puddle of tears on the cold tile floor. It was incredibly cathartic.

    We avoid the full intensity of afflictive emotions because it seems like the crushing wave of feeling will not only knock us over but drag us down and drown us in sorrow and anguish. It feels like the pain might kill us or drive us insane, so we hide from it at all costs.

    It makes sense—we’re built to seek pleasure and avoid pain. Of course we want to run away from it.

    But when it comes down to it, emotions are energy and energy needs to flow. If it’s blocked, it gets stuck; it doesn’t leave.

    Emotions are sensational representations of our thoughts. Breathe. Witness. Let the emotions flow and instead of judging them as bad or hating the process. View it through a lens of curiosity.

    You really can’t rush the process of healing. It takes time. But avoiding the feelings or numbing them with wine, pot, pills, TV, food, sex (or all of the above like I did for months) only drags the grieving process out longer.

    Not to say those aversion techniques should be completely avoided through the whole process—you do you. Just be aware that you’ll eventually need to face the emotions head on.

    I fully believe that had I not had the courage that day to feel the pain with all its intensity my healing would have taken much longer.

    Resisting the emotions is like trying to pull your fingers out of a Chinese finger trap. You only get stuck more. You need to lean into it to set yourself free.

    And now when I’m faced with challenges that stir up difficult emotions, I’m much braver and allow myself to feel it and experience it, then I’m in a much better place to question and reframe my beliefs around the situation.

    I learned how to reframe a difficult situation.

    “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” ~Winnie the Pooh

    Reframing is a powerful tool. When we’re in the thick of an emotion we identify with it so strongly that it’s hard to step back and take an objective look from all sides.

    One day at work, probably a month after the canceled nuptials, I was rather unsuccessfully fighting back tears in the bathroom when a woman I work with came in and asked me what was up. I told her the situation and she put things into perspective for me.

    She’d met the man of her dreams in her forties and got married later than most. He was a talented doctor. Shortly after getting married he started showing signs of Alzheimer’s. A few years later she had to place him in a full-time facility near home.

    In the bathroom she said to me, “At least you don’t have to watch him suffer.” She was right, and that was exactly what I needed to hear. My situation could have been so much worse. How lucky am I?

    Now when dealing with a situation that makes me feel angry, sad, irritated, guilty or ashamed, I step back and try to reframe the situation. I’ll ask myself questions like:

    • Is it true?
    • What is the story I’m telling myself here? What do I think this means about me?
    • If the universe gave me this situation on purpose, what lesson am I supposed to be learning?
    • What’s the worst that could happen?
    • If the worst does happen, how can I cope?
    • Can I know for sure that this “shouldn’t” have happened?

    I learned to know my values and to live in tune with them.

    “Open your arms to change but don’t let go of your values.” ~Dalai Lama

    He’d said we shouldn’t get married because he didn’t want to have children, and I did. So I said, “Maybe I don’t want to have kids. I don’t have to have kids.” I didn’t truly believe this; I was grasping at straws, trying to keep hope alive.

    We lived together still, and since he hadn’t technically broken up with me yet (he only said he didn’t want to get married) we agreed to try to work it out.

    Then I snooped. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I took his phone when he was out of the room and looked through his personal, private messages on a hunch. The punishment for this breach of privacy was yet another figurative sucker punch to the gut.

    I saw the text exchanges with another woman on his phone. And the pictures.

    It was dishonest to invade his privacy, and karma was quick to level the playing field. I learned my lesson immediately because what I saw hurt—a lot. Needless to say, I’m off of snooping for good.

    When I said I didn’t have to have children, it wasn’t true and deep down I knew that. And I felt so dirty and wrong for looking at his phone when I knew outright it was an invasion of privacy, regardless of the fact that I found questionable material.

    These are what we call values conflicts. Through making these mistakes I learned to identify what my values are, and to recognize when there is a conflict either caused by my own thoughts and actions, or by others.

    Knowing your values is like having a brighter flashlight to get you through the woods at night. Sure, you might make it out without a light, but you’ll likely trip or wander off path. Knowing your core values in life is a guiding light to making tough decisions with confidence and clarity.

    And I value honesty, kindness, integrity and authenticity. Four things I did not live up to in those moments.

    I learned the power and freedom of forgiveness.

    “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.” ~Buddha (paraphrased)

    On paper I had reasons to be angry. To this day I could hold a grudge still, and many would say it was justifiable.

    To be frank, that sounds exhausting to me. I certainly was angry for months. It’s only natural; it was part of my grieving process.

    But I came to realize that the anger felt terrible inside me. My ego was holding onto the idea that I am right and he is wrong. I asked myself “So what?” “Where is the benefit of holding onto this?” I had no answer.

    This was a person who was very important to me for a long time. I wished him well then, why should I stop now that we aren’t together?

    Everyone makes mistakes. I had to make my own mistakes (so, so many of them) to finally understand what my mother had always said: “Everyone is doing the best they can with what they have.”

    And I believe that to be true. When I looked at his phone, though it was wrong, I was still doing the best I could with what I had. I had pain and a strong desire to find the “real” reason for it. I had opportunity when he was out of the room. I had strong curiosity. I had a lack of restraint.

    I needed to forgive myself. I made mistakes, admitted them, and learned from them. At that point they’d run their course and it was time to forgive.

    Plus, since I know kindness is a core value of mine, I need to live according to my values. Holding onto anger is not being kind to myself.

    And I can full heartedly say I forgive every wrongdoing by him. He’s human and makes mistakes just like me.

    I learned how to rethink “failure.”

    “The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

    In retrospect, I realized I wanted the breakup. I’d sometimes imagine him leaving me or—on my more dramatic and theatrical days—that he died and I had to start again.

    I came to learn that I was afraid of ending the relationship because it would have meant that I failed. I’d accepted an engagement proposal. I’d spent eight years living with this person making a life together. I’d planned a wedding. I’d made deposits.

    To then say it was a mistake, that I’d changed my mind, would mean that I failed. I didn’t realize at the time, but I had a huge fear of disappointing my parents and was afraid to call them and let them know about this transgression.

    I never stopped to define failure and what it means to me. At the time I would have said it meant to make a mistake, to not reach your goal, to fall short, to not be good enough.

    With further introspection, I’ve since redefined what failure means to me. Because I learned so much from this failure of a relationship, I now have a new perspective.

    Failure to me now means giving up on something I want because it seems hard or uncomfortable. It means not trying because of fear.

    I go back to my reframing tool and ask the following:

    • What’s the worst that could happen?
    • How likely is that outcome?
    • If the worst happens, how will I cope?
    • What’s the best that could happen?
    • How likely is that to happen?
    • What probably will happen?

    We fear the unknown, the ambiguous. Define what you’re afraid of. It’s much less scary on paper. And now you have the opportunity to plan, problem-solve, and prepare.

    I’ve never been more accepting of my emotions and tolerant of pain since this experience. This journey and everything I’ve learned has led me to be my happiest me.

    Not to say I’ve reached the end of my journey. The best part is there is always room for more growth, learning, compassion, love, and happiness. And I feel blessed that I have the opportunity to pursue it every day.

    Once I got a taste of self-improvement, I was hooked. I started to see that happiness—true happiness—and freedom from the control of emotions, of feeling not good enough, from constant worry, were all attainable.

    This experience was a blessing. A painful, messy, crash course in learning to navigate life’s difficulties with grace and resilience.

  • What If You Were Suddenly Forgiven?

    What If You Were Suddenly Forgiven?

    “Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.” ~Marianne Williamson

    Twenty-seven years ago I made a terrible mistake that led to losing the friendship of someone important to me. I was twelve and I very vividly remember that I was at her front door, asking for her forgiveness and she was telling me she couldn’t do this.

    Friendship is one of those areas of my life that I have always felt I need to work on. I used to believe I had to do work in this area because I was uprooted every six months to three years in my childhood. I believed that my trust in friendships was shaky because my history suggested to me that eventually one of us would leave.

    And then the unimaginable happened.

    I was faced with the truth, my unforgivable moment. The girl, who is now a woman, showed up at an impromptu reunion and I sat across from the mistake I had made twenty-seven years ago.

    She and I were best friends. We spent the night at each other’s houses and shaved our legs for the first time together. She taught me all the big vocabulary words, I taught her all the swear words. We were inseparable.

    And then her mom got sick. Shortly thereafter, she died.

    I grew up in an unconventional family where my parents were married at nineteen and had kids by twenty-one. They were boundless young adults with children and stalwart opinions, lacking in education. My dad’s dad had also died when he was young, and instead of creating empathy and compassion in him, my dad was left with the notion that when you die, you’re just dead—get over it.

    My friend’s mom was the first person most of us kids actually knew to have died. I felt the tears and remember the sadness, but like any twelve-year-old, I was ready for our friendship to resume as normal seconds after her mom passed away. Naturally, that was not the case. Thus occurred the twelve-year-old “fight” over the conditions of our friendship.

    My parents told me she was just using her mom’s death as a reason to be difficult and that she just needed to get over it. I remember my mom hissing those heartless words at my best friend. And I remember echoing a similar sentiment myself, without conviction or the wisdom of experience, thus destroying our friendship forever.

    Over the years after that, I would try to regain access to her, to our friendship, with apologies and attempts at conversation. All efforts were met with a firm “No,” or “I’m not ready.” The words not only marred and destroyed our friendship but rippled through all of our mutual friends, ending many other friendships for me. I was devastated, alone, and unforgiven. I was twelve.

    Now imagine you are forgiven twenty-seven years later.

    As I was meditating this morning, I was brought to tears thinking of my daughter and how careful I have been to express and teach empathy to her, how I have given her the pieces that I was lacking.

    And as I meditated, I realized this is where my fear in friendship lives. This is where it all stemmed from. The moving and uprooting didn’t help my trust levels. But imagine you were never forgiven for a mistake you didn’t understand, for words that weren’t yours, in a time of grief you didn’t understand. Imagine you were left behind by all you had loved and trusted because you regurgitated your parents’ problematic view of grief and death to your friend.

    Never in a million years would I ever do anything to intentionally hurt anyone, let alone my best friend. And knowing what I know today, I cannot even fathom how badly she hurt from the loss of her mother. Her mom! The one person who is meant to care for us and help us with our periods, talk to us about dating, and hold us when we cry. Her mom died. And I said the unthinkable. The unforgivable.

    Last week I woke up thinking, “What if the unforgivable thing that has played a role in all of my relationships was forgiven? What if I was forgiven? How does that fit in? How does it transform itself in my life, in my body?”

    I would breathe in a room of strangers, trust a little deeper in the friendships I currently host. I would be able to unwrap and unbutton my tightly wound guard that has protected me all these years. I could stop worrying about whether or not people would like me if they knew who I really was, and instead trust that I am worthy of love and simply good enough… finally.

    We all have an un-forgiveness story buried deep inside. We don’t have to wait years for the relief of receiving someone else’s forgiveness, if it ever comes at all. We can choose to forgive ourselves now, whether they do or not, and free ourselves from the weight of our shame and self-judgment. Take these three steps to do just that:

    1. Think about the day your un-forgiveness was born. Relax and allow yourself to repeat it one last time.

    Close and eyes and remember: What was the context in which the story happened? Who was with you? What have you done? What happened after that?

    2. Now imagine if you forgave yourself, and if there is another person(s) in the party, feel their forgiveness as well.

    How would that feel in your body? How would that transform the beliefs you formed about friendships, partnerships, business, and life? What would you do differently if you knew you were forgiven and released the shame of your experience?

    3. Give yourself and the others involved forgiveness, as we all do our best with the information and understanding we have based on our upbringing and out time in the world.

    And as Maya Angelou wrote, once we know better, we can do better. We always have the opportunity to get wiser. Forgiveness is compassion and wisdom.

    Forgiveness in ourselves and others is one of life’s great lessons. We are often held hostage by our inability to forgive and therefore so is our potential to achieve our life’s purpose.

    A big powerful thank you to my friend who forgave me after twenty-seven years. I am honored and working to spread the love you showed me.

  • Healing, Forgiving, and Loving After a Painful Break Up

    Healing, Forgiving, and Loving After a Painful Break Up

    “People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you will know exactly what to do.” ~Anonymous

    About five years ago, I learned the biggest lesson of my life about self-love and losing oneself in a relationship, through a breakup that almost killed me.

    After going through another night of three hours of sleep, I drove myself to the ER to save my own life. I hadn’t eaten or slept much in three weeks, and the scale pointed to ninety-seven pounds. I felt weak, malnourished, and unloved.

    Three weeks prior to that morning, I had found out that the love of my life, whom I had to break up with in March 2013, had started dating the girl we’d had the most painful fights over.

    He’d met her at a party when I was visiting family and continued flirting with her, despite saying he chose me. Though he would have been happy to stay in a relationship with me, I knew I couldn’t be with someone who openly flirted other women.

    When I learned he was now dating her, I heard a thump on my heart. Literally. It ached sharply as if there was a chestnut-sized rock sitting in the middle of it, vibrating strongly in response to a transmitter signal far, far away. I half-died that day.

    As I climbed back up from that point, I discovered truths about love, forgiveness, and healing.

    Maybe you are in the middle of such a painful breakup, or maybe you are in the aftermath of a breakup that left you shattered and undone. You are sitting on a ball of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

    Although I can’t give you a personalized plan to heal and grow from your experience, I can share some pointers, as someone who is on the other side of it all, looking back over the five years of her recovery. These ideas may help you fine-tune your own healing process.

    1. Don’t make an event your whole life story.

    What I learned about letting go is that the pain starts changing form into wisdom when we make a decision to not make one specific event from the past our whole story.

    Instead of thinking your life is over because you’ve lost this one relationship, gain a broader perspective and try to see the breakup as valuable to your personal growth.

    The purpose of the pain was to reveal what needed healing and to gain the wisdom you will need further along your path. A relationship that taught you something about how to love and be loved is a win. A relationship full of mistakes but expanded by wisdom and forgiveness is a successful one.

    We are story-making machines. It is natural to make a recent event the focus of our current experience. But your story is not over. You are still writing your story with the choices you make today.

    2. To heal, you have to  be an active participant in your life.

    People often say, “Just let it go. Let the past stay in the past,” but this is misleading. Letting go isn’t as easy as turning off a switch or erasing words off a whiteboard.

    I didn’t know what letting go meant. As far as I was concerned, that part of my life was still alive in me, balled up and tangled. Every time I heard those words, I pictured removing an organ out of my body. That didn’t make sense. I wondered how other people let go and why I couldn’t just let go and live happily ever after.

    Here is what I discovered: You are never going to forget those relationships with deep soul connections. You just won’t be dwelling on them daily when you are busy exploring life and the depths of your own inner being.

    You don’t need to have forgiven or be completely healed to participate in life around you. I spent a year and a half in isolation. Nothing healed. Not even a feather moved during that time. My healing didn’t start till I started living.—by volunteering, going on lunch dates with friends, and going to events to meet new people. Sometimes letting go means simply living a full life, without the other person.

    3. Allow for forgiveness to unfold in its own time.

    I must admit, making the choice to forgive was not easy, but being patient while the process took place was even harder. Letting go, forgiving, and healing from a relationship is not like hitting a reset button. It takes time to build up the courage to face that buried pain and allow it to leave you. And sometimes, before we can forgive, we need time to experience enough joy and connection with others to dilute the pain of how we were hurt.

    Forgiveness is about digesting pain into wisdom. Into acceptance. Into compassion. Into an expanded heart that can hold space for it all. It is not about living like nothing painful happened, because life does not stop for us to heal. Flowers still bloom and the sun comes out every day. We heal while we take in more of life. The death-rebirth cycle in nature that exists in life also exists within us. It is a never-ending cycle.

    As I started opening up to new experiences and actually living, I allowed new insights to come in. My heart had time to breathe. I put myself in his shoes. I asked myself, “What would I do if the person I loved but kept hurting unintentionally left me when I didn’t want the relationship to end?”

    When I eventually developed enough courage to admit that I would have gone onto the next best thing (the other girl) to ease the pain, compassion came. It took me nearly two years to register the depth of his loss and how he must have felt left out in the cold. We all do what we can to find relief from pain, and that was his way. I didn’t need to judge it or to see it as a transgression against me.

    When you want to increase the temperature of water in a bath tub, you don’t take out the cold but add hot water until it reaches your desired temperature. That is how grief, healing, and forgiveness work. Trust your body and soul to hold you through the processing of a whole chapter in your life.

    4. Update your perception on relationships.

    I loved my ex deeply. I can carry that in my heart’s memory and still know that we were teachers to each other who were not destined to be together for a lifetime. I am no longer hurting because of not being with him. I have done my releasing ceremonies and let memories run through my mind, bringing up various emotions—anger, resentment, grief, jealousy, and lots of tears, too. I sat through them. Some of it hasn’t been pretty.

    We are taught that a ‘good relationship’ is one that lasts a lifetime. If it didn’t last, we believe that it was a failure. If we have several ‘failed relationships‘ behind us, we assume that it is because we are just unlovable. Success seems to be the most prized value in our modern society. But wisdom through experience can be even more valuable.

    I realized that the way I had been viewing relationships was outdated. What if relationships were intensive training programs for our souls to learn about love? What if they were the perfect set up to practice being loving, kind, understanding, forgiving, and accepting both toward ourselves and the other person?

    If you learned the lessons you needed to, the relationship was a success, whether it lasted three months, three years, or for decades. Take your wins and carry them forward with pride. You are a survivor. No one can take that away from you.

    —

    I am now in a relationship that is continuously growing and teaching me more about love than any book on the planet could. I am in love and enjoying practicing new ways of doing relationships.

    I have spent time and energy recognizing how I put up walls, respond from a place of immaturity when I feel hurt, or disregard my partner’s needs because my inner child was triggered into her pain.

    I’ve learned to give him space, to do things that make me happy, to recognize and own my projections, and to practice self-love so I don’t expect it all to come from him. These were some of my mistakes in past relationships. I had to get honest with myself, own them, and work on them.

    Our love is not fickle; it is resilient because we both are. I found out that two people who have walked through fire and excavated their soul truths with their bare hands create a relationship that can stand the test of time and the tricks of their own egos. I can’t know for certain this relationship will last forever, but I now know all relationships are valuable and there there is life after a breakup.

  • Made a Big Mistake? What to Do Instead of Beating Yourself Up

    Made a Big Mistake? What to Do Instead of Beating Yourself Up

    “Note to self: Beating yourself up for your flaws and mistakes won’t make you perfect, and you don’t have to be. Learn, forgive yourself, and remember: We all struggle; it’s just part of being human.” ~Lori Deschene

    When I was in twelfth grade I took a World Issues class and learned about colonization, child soldiers, and how some children, by no fault of their own, had a much more challenging life than I’d had. After that, I wanted to help but wasn’t sure how.

    Then, at age twenty-three, I was hired at a non-profit organization where I had the opportunity to work with teenage girls in prison. Finally, I had a real opportunity to help and I wanted to be perfect.

    It was my dream job. I was excited. But then I made a big mistake.

    I walked into the prison and filled out the visitor’s sign in sheet. I waited until Sharon, the classroom teacher, came to meet me.

    She was rushing, as she often was, trying to accommodate me and keep teaching her class.

    “A couple of girls tried to knock themselves off last night, including Kate,” she said quickly, “so they’re not in class today. But it’s fine to go ahead with the interview.”

    “Attempted suicide?” I stammered.

    “Yeah,” said Sharon, “They’re just trying to get attention. Don’t worry too much about it.”

    I cringed. My breath got short and my stomach tightened. I couldn’t imagine that it was only about getting attention, and something felt off about going ahead with the interview.

    Before I really had time to process what had happened Sharon opened a door with her key card and held it open. “Kate’s in here with one of the staff, go ahead. She’s fine,” she said. I stepped through. She let go of the door and walked off quickly to get back to her class.

    I was interviewing Kate that day for a blog post. My organization wanted to profile her to show the breadth of work that we do. I had a list of questions I’d prepared and a recording device.

    I’d been working with her class for a couple of months. I was running a workshop on advocacy, so I went in once a week. I’d brought in guest speakers to inspire the girls, and now they were working on their own advocacy project—telling their stories through a short film.

    I liked Kate. She wasn’t afraid to share her opinion and was a bit of a class clown. She was seventeen and had had a difficult life but was tough and resilient. I could tell her sense of humor helped all the girls through the hard days.

    She seemed fine. We joked around and then got into my prepared questions. I turned on the voice recorder and started asking her about her childhood and her life.

    Half an hour passed quickly and then I packed up my voice recorder and said goodbye. A staff member took me through a series of magnetic lock doors and I left.

    When I got back to my office there was a message from the manager of the prison on my voicemail. She’d heard I’d asked Kate how she ended up in prison. Kate hadn’t answered, but since youth in Canada have special privacy rights when they’re involved with the law, the manager was very upset.

    She was also upset that that I’d interviewed Kate when she was in a vulnerable state and said that never should have happened.

    I felt terrible. My face got hot and breath shallow. I’d wanted so desperately to help and now I felt like I was making things worse.

    “What’s wrong with me?” I asked, “Why didn’t I follow my instincts and postpone the interview? Am I really making things better or am I just making things worse?”

    These thoughts ran through my head for weeks following the event and I began to seriously question if I could do this job.

    And I was scared of messing up again, so I became a perfectionist with everything I did. I would spend weeks editing a single email to make sure there wasn’t something inappropriate in it.

    And eventually it got to be too much. It was my dream job but it was too hard. The girls’ stories were too sad. I couldn’t do as good of a job as I wanted to.

    I could barely get up in the mornings. I was too tired, too depressed. I was burning out.

    So I quit.

    I knew I couldn’t look for another job; I’d just be looking for something similar. I’d landed my dream job but couldn’t do it. I needed to press the reset button on my life.

    So I moved to a yoga and retreat center in the Canadian mountains and spent two years learning to meditate, learning what was within my control, how I could help, and what was not my responsibility.

    And eventually, I learned how to forgive myself for the mistake I made with that young woman. I realized that my intentions were good, that I hadn’t meant to hurt her, and that I’d made a mistake but it wasn’t quite as big as I’d thought.

    And after two years of studying yoga, I went back to the same job. Working with youth with similar stories, I learned to do it better. I still made mistakes but was better at forgiving myself. And I could see that the positive impact I was making outweighed these errors.

    If you’ve made a big mistake (or even a small mistake!) you can forgive yourself too.

    Here’s how:

    1. Tell someone you trust.

    The best thing I did after making the mistake with Kate was call my boyfriend. He listened to the situation and then said, “Bryn, honestly, if I was in a rough place and had attempted suicide, you’re exactly who I would want to talk to the morning after. I’m sure your kindness helped.”

    My boyfriend wasn’t the type to give compliments, so I believed him and it started the process of forgiving myself.

    It might be hard to be vulnerable and share your mistake, especially if you’re feeling deeply ashamed and afraid of being judged. But odds are someone who loves you will view your mistake from a different perspective and help you see the positive intention behind the misguided action.

    2. Be radically kind.

    If you’re anything like me, your instinct after you make a big mistake will be to punish yourself for it. You’ll think, “I have to work harder to make up for it.” You might tell yourself, “I don’t deserve to take a bath or go for a walk in the woods.”

    So try your very best to be radically kind to yourself. Take that bath. Go to bed early and get enough sleep. Get outside or take a yoga class.

    We’re more prone to make mistakes when we’re tired or stressed. So if you take care of yourself, you’re less likely to make future mistakes.

    3. Realize you were doing the best you could with the resources you had.

    Maya Angelou said, “When you know better, you do better.”

    You probably were doing the best you could when you made the mistake. Maybe you were overwhelmed or exhausted which both make errors more likely.

    And now that you’ve made the mistake, you can learn from it and ensure you don’t make it again.

    4. See that beating yourself up isn’t helping anyone.

    Beating yourself up doesn’t take back the mistake and probably is just making you tired and maybe even depressed.

    According to shame researcher Dr. Brene Brown, when you tell yourself, “I am a mistake” it sends you into a shame cycle that is correlated with depression, addiction, eating disorders.

    The good news is when you tell yourself, “I made a mistake” you can learn from it and this is correlated negatively with depression, addiction, eating disorders.

    I learned a lot from my mistake. I blamed myself for hurting Kate when she was already having a terrible day. And, yes, if I could go back I would do things differently. But I eventually realized my mistake wasn’t as big as it originally seemed and my intentions were good, so I could forgive myself.

    I also realized it wasn’t just my mistake I felt bad about; it was also that Kate and the other girls had such difficult lives. I needed to learn that I can’t save people, and that’s okay. I can still make a positive impact, no matter how small, even if I’m not perfect.

    —

    If you’ve made a big mistake, I get it. It can be very difficult to overcome. But taking one step at a time, you can learn to forgive yourself and ultimately this will free up your energy to do more good in the world.

  • How Forgiving Yourself and Others Changes Your Brain

    How Forgiving Yourself and Others Changes Your Brain

    “Be quick to forgive, because we’re all walking wounded.” ~Anonymous

    People often behave in ways that we find irritating, annoying, or worse. This can happen especially with people close to us.

    They can speak with little consideration for the impact of their words. They can criticize us and pounce on our mistakes. Sometimes they do unfair things that seriously disadvantage or damage us. Or they let us down when we’re counting on them.

    All these behaviors can lead to us feeling wounded. The scars can persist for years or even decades. The closer the offenders are to us, the greater the impact tends to be.

    Most of us would like others to understand us, to act reliably, and to be approachable when things go wrong. We’d like them to be kind in dealing with our mistakes or offences. We’d like them to understand that we aren’t set in stone, that we aren’t just the sum total of our mistakes.

    We deserve a chance to recover and show our better side. We’d like them to be more understanding and put a more favorable interpretation on what we did or failed to do.

    However, it can be different when others behave badly. Often, we spend a lot of time and energy going over the way we were wronged, mistreated, disappointed, disrespected, or disregarded.

    Dwelling on the perceived wrong kindles the fire of a grudge. The more we dwell on it, the bigger this fire grows.

    Can this fire burn us?

    When I was in high school, some of the coolest kids formed a band. Everyone wanted to be in that band. I played the piano, so I too wanted to be in it.

    One of my closest friends also played the piano, but not as well. It became a bit of a tussle between us. I was chosen, to my delight.

    When we started playing gigs, a piano was not always available. So I took to the melodica, a little instrument into which you blow. It has a keyboard.

    We started playing gigs, with quite a good response from audiences. Everything was going well, until we were invited to play a gig in a venue right near my home.

    The melodica was at the band leader’s house, because we rehearsed there. I asked for it to be brought to the gig.

    On the evening of the gig, my bandmates turned up. Unfortunately, the melodica could not be found. Apparently, it had been brought to the venue by the band leader but had disappeared.

    This was a bitter blow. I had so looked forward to strutting my stuff before a home crowd. I rushed around to various people who might have a melodica, but could not find one.

    The gig happened without me. I was downcast.

    Eventually, the real story came out.

    The melodica had been brought to the venue. The close friend I mentioned, who also played the piano, had simply taken it away and hidden it.

    I was outraged. I felt betrayed, violated, and angry. I felt ready to run my friend over with a large truck.

    We didn’t speak for a couple of years. Then I got an apology of sorts. Somehow, things were never the same between us.

    I went off to medical school and our paths have never crossed since.

    What happens to your brain when you cling to a grudge?

    The parts of your brain that specialize in criticism grow more active. They feed on your thoughts about the grudge. The neurons involved lay down more connections, strengthening this response.

    The next time someone behaves in a way that you disapprove of, your brain more readily jumps to criticism and judgment.

    All that is understandable, you’re not alone in practicing criticism. But there’s a price to pay for this practice.

    The same parts of your brain that criticize others also criticize you. You tend to become more unforgiving about your own mistakes. Self-acceptance recedes. It becomes harder for you to like yourself.

    Further, this can lead to a cycle of mutual criticism between you and people who matter to you. It tends to weaken the supportive relationships we all need.

    A recent study among 5,475 men and 4,580 women aged over 50 showed that a single point increase in negative social support score resulted in a 31% rise in the risk of eventual dementia. Negative social support is where you experience a lot of critical, unreliable and annoying behaviors from others, especially people close to you.

    What can you do to start breaking this downward spiral of mutual criticism and self-criticism?

    First, ask what stresses or problems may have led to the undesirable behavior. Try to find explanations that weaken the impact of the “bad” behavior on your mind. This is as true for self-criticism as for criticizing others.

    Perhaps there were circumstances that led to you acting in regrettable ways. If you regret it, don’t wallow in the regret. Find explanations to understand why you did what you did.

    Give yourself the gift of forgiveness, strengthen your resolve to do what is good and important going forward, then move on. This same gift of forgiveness may be given to others, recognizing that all human beings are vulnerable to errors or even terrible behavior.

    Forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation with the offender. Reconciliation is the re-establishment of mutual trust. That requires a further step as part of negotiation.

    But forgiveness can proceed regardless of reconciliation and mutual trust.

    The more you practice understanding and forgiveness, starting with yourself, the more you strengthen the self-reassuring parts of your brain. These are the same parts that show empathy and compassion to others. They make you more accepting of yourself, with all your flaws and stumbles.

    We all have flaws and stumbles. That’s okay. It’s part of being human.

    If I could go back to my youth and replay my friend’s apology, I hope I would respond with more understanding. After all, if our positions had been reversed and I’d been blinded by envy, who knows what I might have done.

    For a better quality of life right now, with more self-acceptance, and for a lower risk of cognitive decline, try loosening your grip on grudges. And be gentle with yourself when you slip up in this effort. The steering wheel of your life often requires a little time, patience and practice before you can turn it reliably.

    I’m still practicing. That’s okay.

    Illustration by Kellie Warren. Find her on Instagram @kellistrator.

  • The One Realization That Helped Me Forgive Myself and My Father

    The One Realization That Helped Me Forgive Myself and My Father

    “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
    ~Maya Angelou

    Sunlight shone through the living room window. A lazy Sunday afternoon. I lounged on the couch reading a book with my dog cuddled at my feet. My love had just set out to purchase a new set of acoustic guitar strings. Soon he would return, and music would fill our home, adding to my sense of blissful peace.

    The telephone rang. I could see from the caller ID it was my father. “Good,” I thought. “It’s been a few weeks. I wonder what he’s been up to.”

    His voice was filled with rage. “I’m dying!” he screamed. “You are killing me.”

    “What’s this about?” I placed my book on the table. I was not alarmed; my father has been talking about his death for decades. I was only curious how his heart condition had suddenly become my doing.

    “Did you get a marriage certificate yet?” he asked angrily.

    “No,” I said. “We haven’t. That isn’t happening.”

    My father erupted again. “I’ll probably have another stroke! My arms are tingling. It could be a heart attack—heart attack number three. This one will be your fault. I can’t sleep. I can’t even take a shit. I ate two bowls of fiber yesterday and nothing came out of me.”

    “That’s not my fault.”

    “It is your fault! The anxiety is killing me. Get the marriage certificate, please. It’s what normal people do. If you don’t get that thing, it’ll be the official cause of my death.”

    “You should talk to someone about this. A therapist maybe.”

    “I’m not talking to anybody.”

    “Then pray,” I said. “Meditate.”

    He was silent for a moment, then he scoffed at me. “I’ll go to Afghanistan. I’ll become a missionary. I’ll kill as many ragheads as I can before they capture me. You know how my dad died?”

    I did, but I knew I was going to hear the story again.

    “The snow was deep that morning. There’d just been a big Chicago blizzard. He asked me to shovel the driveway, but I went out with my buddies instead. He died that morning of a heart attack while he was shoveling. I’ve lived with that guilt for over 50 years. I’ll never forgive myself. You’re going to live with the guilt of killing me. Never forget that. I’m planting that in your head right now.”

    “That’s not a nice thing to do. I’m not the one killing you. Your own mind is doing the killing.”

    “It’s you.”

    “There’s no reason for you to be so upset.”

    “You’re not even really married!”

    “That doesn’t matter to us. We’re happy the way things are. If it helps bring you peace, just pretend we never had any kind of ceremony. Pretend we’re still dating.”

    “You know what? I’m done with you.” My father hung up the phone.

    —

    This was not the first time I’d been disowned by my father. I can count on both hands the times he’d chosen to end his relationship with me—sometimes for months, sometimes for years—always because a lifestyle choice on my end didn’t align with how he thought I should be living (e.g.: when I became a vegetarian, or traveled to Morocco, or lived with a gay roommate…)

    In truth, I was surprised that earlier that month after I first told my father that my boyfriend and I had flown to Scotland for a hand-fasting ceremony, he had expressed actual happiness and excitement for me. “Congratulations!” he’d beamed. “I’m happy for you guys. Those pictures of the Highlands are beautiful. What a beautiful country.”

    I remember thinking, “Well, that went well. That could have gone in so many directions. I’m glad he’s happy for me.”

    And I’m sure he was, in that moment, until his chronic anxiety returned—and he didn’t know how to deal with it other than to blame me.

    If my father died tomorrow, would I feel guilty? Would I blame myself for his death?

    No, I would not.

    I would be devastated. He’s my father; I love him dearly, despite our differences. He raised me as best he could, and I am grateful for that.

    But I will not accept responsibility for the mental anguish from which he suffers. The choices my father makes that support his unhealthy ways have nothing to do with me.

    We—the rest of the family—have tried for years to help him, but he refuses to change his habits: the poor eating (he just developed type 2 diabetes), the rejection of exercise, the harmful outbursts toward others, the fearful world he’s created inside his head.

    To be clear: I do not discount the severity of anxiety, depression, or PTSD. I’ve battled with depression myself; I understand it’s not as simple as “thinking positively” or “snapping out of it.” It often requires careful and tender care—whether that care is spiritual, therapeutic, medical, or a combination of the three. However, it is my belief that an illness of the mind is not an acceptable justification for emotionally, psychologically, or physically abusive behaviors.

    That’s all I’ll say about mental health because 1) I’m not a doctor and 2) this is not meant to be a story about illness; this is an exploration of forgiveness.

    As far as my father’s situation is concerned, I require no self-forgiveness. I will not regret the way I have always loved and accepted him.

    I will feel sad that he never forgave himself for his own father’s death. He was just 16 the winter his dad died from that heart attack. My father hadn’t known any better.

    And I will feel sad that my father never forgave himself for some of the choices he made as a soldier during the Vietnam War. He would never admit that those actions require any level of self-forgiveness, but I think the remorse is buried somewhere deep inside his heart—perhaps somewhere alongside his acceptance of me.

    Forgiveness is a tricky thing.

    It wasn’t difficult for me to forgive my father for the emotional violence he discharged upon our family over the years, ultimately causing my mother to leave him, and contributing to the struggles shared by my sister and me as we fumbled through adulthood attempting to construct better paradigms of what healthy relationships with men could be (i.e. we learned we didn’t need to tolerate crazy tantrums, or tiptoe on eggshells to prevent unpredictable sieges on peace.)

    But we didn’t blame our dad. We acknowledged his influence, forgave him for being imperfect, and moved on with our lives.

    I find this to be true with many human beings: forgiving others isn’t the hardest part. Forgiving ourselves is where we struggle.

    Self-forgiveness is directly tied to self-acceptance. The more we learn to forgive ourselves for our imperfections and growing pains, the more love and acceptance we allow our hearts to feel toward ourselves and others. I believe that if my father truly loved and accepted himself, it would be easier for him to peacefully love and accept those around him. Perhaps that serenity begins with self-forgiveness.

    Where there is forgiveness, there is acceptance, and where there is acceptance, there is peace.

    One of my sweet friends is struggling with the guilt from two abortions she had a decade ago. The trauma surrounding the events re-surfaced in her life last year, and she cried in my arms wondering if she’d ever be able to forgive herself.

    I told her it wasn’t helpful to hold ourselves hostage to the past. Guilt is not necessary as a reminder of our less-than-perfect decisions; we can learn from the past and make better choices moving forward, without weighing ourselves down with shame.

    —

    I woke up one morning recently and didn’t want to get out of bed. I’d become plagued by all the little lies I’d ever told to those who loved me.

    And what of the illusions I’d built in my own head? The ways I lied to me?

    Or the decisions I’d made thinking of self-preservation, instead of the greatest good?

    I dwelled in remorse until I realized: in each of those situations—I’d done the best I could at the time.

    I realized I wasn’t the same person I was five years ago, two years ago, or even yesterday. And the self-punishment I was putting myself through was not going to change anything. The best I could do was forgive the younger, less-wise, less aware version of myself, then move forward as a wiser, more evolved human being.

    I climbed out of bed and sat in front of my altar, placing both hands over my heart. I sent a blessing to everyone in my life, then to all sentient beings. Then I did something I rarely ever do and probably should do more often: I closed my eyes, filled my palms with light and warmth, and gave a blessing to myself.

    I forgave myself for any strategy, plan, or chess game played during the end of difficult relationships, when I was negotiating the safest and calmest way to exit to my freedom. You did the best you could. Next time, you’ll do better.

    I forgave myself for misinterpreting dreams, visions, intuitions, and strong feelings. Sometimes I wanted so badly for something to be true, I pushed it the extra mile in the direction of the Truth-horizon, when all the while it was meant to remain in a field of uncertainty. You did the best you could. Next time, you’ll do better.

    I forgave myself for disconnecting from the people, places, and experiences that didn’t nurture my spirit or bring me peace. Those people may have felt abandoned or unsure why I’d suddenly felt the need to change my life in a way that no longer involved them—and my explanations hadn’t satisfied their questioning. You did the best you could. Next time, you’ll do better.

    I forgave myself for the times I hadn’t revealed the full truth in sticky situations—I’d held details back in fear that their exposure would lead to my own abandonment. You did the best you could. Next time, you’ll do better.

    And perhaps the biggest one: I forgave myself for once staying in a relationship my soul knew was not meant to last. I’d gone so far with a man in the ‘wrong’ direction—all the while knowing I was heading in the wrong direction, but still needing to make the journey. And once I’d finally arrived in a life that wasn’t mine—after investing so much time, love, and energy—my soul begged me to leave but I stayed longer, still, because my tender heart wasn’t ready to go.

    I forgave myself for that epic journey and released the guilt I felt for leaving the man who’d been by my side all that time. He had felt at home in that direction, and I left him behind, to follow a path that was truly mine. You did the best you could. Next time, you’ll do better.

    —

    “You had difficult decisions to make,” I’d told my sweet, crying friend. “You did the best you could. You don’t need to wipe the events from your memory, but give yourself permission to let go of the guilt you feel. Once you forgive yourself, you’ll be lighter and more capable of movement and transformation.”

    “Lightness of being,” my sweet friend said. “I’d like to achieve that.”

    And she did. And we do. Every time we forgive—each other and ourselves.

  • The Problem with Forgiveness and What I Now Do Instead

    The Problem with Forgiveness and What I Now Do Instead

    “Change is the end result of all true learning.” ~Leo Buscaglia

    I cringe writing this. I have eaten so much humble pie that my pants don’t fit. This was a really hard lesson to learn.

    I had a forgiveness problem.

    When I was a kid, I learned to say sorry when I messed up and forgive other people when they did. With three sisters all two years apart, I got plenty of practice in as a kid (we all did).

    It was a pretty standard routine:

    1. Someone would mess up—say something horrible, lose something, break something, or hit someone.

    2. The other person would get upset or mad and possibly cry.

    3. We’d both take a little bit of time, and one or both of us would admit to doing something bad and apologize.

    4. We’d forgive each other.

    5. We’d get on with it.

    We got pretty good at this routine. Our fights didn’t last very long—maybe a day or two at the most. We didn’t hold grudges, and we weren’t punished for long periods of time.

    My parents made it safe to tell the truth.

    “Are you the one who backed into the garage door?” “Did you break that pot?” “Did you put your sister down the washing chute?”

    These were scary questions sometimes, but not too scary.

    It was safe to be honest. In fact, our parents made it pretty clear that lying was by far the more abhorrent option and always thanked us when we told the truth. There was punishment but also forgiveness and love. When you have the bouncy bag of forgiveness to fall back on, telling the truth is far easier.

    So I kept this with me as I grew up. When people were hurtful or insulting or inconsiderate, I didn’t take it too personally and didn’t hold grudges. I tried to see it from their perspective; I just assumed whatever they did had nothing to do with me or they had things going on in their life. Or I assumed they were trying their best at the time.

    I thought of myself as quite a forgiving person. I may even have been proud of it. It felt like a talent. I thought it made me empathetic and easy to get along with, powerful, and free.

    I bounced fairly easily and got good at saying sorry when I messed up. I also expected other people to be as good as me at forgiveness too—and if they weren’t, I would shake it off as their issue: “That poor person clearly has issues,” I would think. It made me feel bigger than the other person for being able to turn the other cheek. (Why are the alarm bells so clear in hindsight?)

    I was good at forgiving myself too. And I messed up a lot—not only with other people but also for myself. I would tell myself, “It’s okay, let’s try again. You’re doing okay. Everyone messes up.”

    This was particularly useful in not bashing myself up about food. When it came to eating, I often didn’t treat myself with the most respect.

    If you have an eating disorder, often you want to get better… tomorrow. Every time you mess up, you promise yourself (meaning it too) that next time you will do better. But also, it doesn’t matter too much when you don’t do better, because you will try again the next day. Always the next day. Never in the moments that it counted.

    I got good at moving on pretty quickly. Moving on, but not up.

    Self-righteous people are so unattractive. And I crashed and burned. The universe knocked me flat on my ass; it chewed me up and spat me out in itty-bitty pieces.

    I found myself standing in front of a judge in court and acknowledging that I had pinched an ex-boyfriend, who had taken out an apprehended violence order.

    Bad breakups are bad by definition; this one was traumatizing. But beyond that, being in court was a pretty shocking experience. It took a long time and a lot of work to sit with the reality of what was happening; it felt like being in a zombie movie. Or The Truman Show.

    It was incredibly surreal. A pinch and I was in court? I had always thought of myself as a nice, honest, upstanding person—pretty empathetic and chilled out. I had always had healthy relationships and breakups previously.

    How the hell did I end up there?

    Many reasons, but one was I had a forgiveness problem.

    I had forgiven that guy so many times for bad behavior and had compromised myself so often in doing so—always trying to demonstrate the love that he didn’t seem to see, until I felt so downtrodden and disrespected that I snapped and pinched him.

    When I was sitting there in the spew, I read something by John Demartini in The Breakthrough Experience: “Anything you feel guilty about, you repeat; and anything you forgive, you keep attracting to your life. Forgiveness is a self-righteous illusion that makes someone bad or wrong and then presumes to judge and pardon. Apology is judging yourself, and both are guaranteed to perpetuate whatever you judge.”

    I sat there and looked around at my life, at the chunks of spew. Oh, I thought.

    Forgiveness—expected and given willy-nilly—if it is too easy, that can mean you can miss the lesson.

    It can mean you don’t make the change.

    You don’t up your game, you don’t alter the gear, you don’t recognize the necessity for more effort, more time, more learning, changed behavior—either from yourself or someone else. You go back to doing the same thing over and over again, staying stuck in the same habit, the same place. You don’t grow; you stagnate. You continue unhelpful habits.

    If someone hurts you or you hurt them, and it changes nothing about either of you or your relationship, you or they are likely to be hurt again. Pain can help to figure out what went wrong, what boundary was crossed.

    Easy forgiveness can sometimes mean you put yourself back in the way of the bus that just mowed you down, making yourself vulnerable to disrespect from yourself and others—bullies, people who take advantage of you.

    It can mean you compromise yourself over and over and over again, until you are trodden all over by people who don’t really mind. Not really.

    These people might see you hurt and feel guilty and want you to make them feel better about it by letting them off the hook.

    Easy forgiveness also means you didn’t have to try anything new. Never mind that sometimes you need to go to the new or scary or hard to fulfill your potential.

    Forgiveness is sometimes the easy way out.

    I had a forgiveness problem.

    I wasn’t vigilant. I allowed—and created—crappy friendships, crappy behavior, and crappy relationships.

    And not only did I allow crappy relationships with other people, but also with myself.

    I wanted to eat better but didn’t.

    I wanted to get better at hobbies—dance, fitness, plaiting my hair—but needed to set aside space in the day to practice.

    I wanted to be respected but had to start respecting myself, do things I respected, and stop putting up with disrespect—from friends, boyfriends, and myself.

    I wanted to get better grades, but I needed to read and respond to the critical feedback and put the time or effort into figuring out what went wrong.

    I wanted to create but needed to sit down and plan, dream, and put the effort in.

    I wanted to be my best self, to do something great—write something or make something or have a great idea—but it was always off in the future, sometime when I had the inspiration, time, money, and energy. When I had the right body, the right friends, the right hair, the right income, and the right environment… THEN I would be that girl.

    My forgiveness problem left me stuck. It allowed me to stay on my ass. It made me vulnerable to my own laziness and fears, and manipulation, disrespect, and emotional abuse—from others and myself.

    It meant I allowed—perpetuated, even—poor behavior, my own and others’. I pimped out my time to hobbies and other people’s dreams and to people who didn’t inspire, appreciate, or treat me as well as I treated them. It meant I didn’t have to inspire, appreciate, or treat myself well.

    I was susceptible to a narcissistic relationship that left me half the person I had been before, tiring on my friends and family, distracted from what I wanted in life, with a fairly broken sense of trust, truth, and my own abilities, and a Section 10 on my record.

    I was caught in a puddle of spew with so much anger at the injustice, and incredulity that forgiveness was not going to cut it anyway.

    But holding onto guilt, anger, fear, betrayal, and hurt is horrible. It feels horrible. Especially the big kind—the big hurts, the big betrayals that course through your body. What do you do about those?

    What’s the alternative when someone treats you poorly? Revenge? Hatred?

    And what about when you yourself mess up? When you’re not feeling good enough? Years of self-flagellation? People who can’t let things go, who take offense at every single little thing, or who punish themselves and others over and over and over seem angry, bitter, cruel, and paranoid. It seems like an unpleasant way to go through life.

    John DeMartini suggests gratitude for the lessons learned and inspired action are better alternatives than forgiveness.

    That was really hard to swallow at first. We are supposed to be grateful to people who hurt us? Even the really, really, really, really, really, really horrible, insane, unfair, and cruel ones who really hurt us and messed with our body, mind, and life? What about women who are bashed? Sexually assaulted? What if someone kills your son? Are you supposed to be grateful for that too?

    Yes, he says. See the opportunity. Say thank you for the lessons/blessings and take inspired action to make a change or take advantage of a situation.

    So, there in my pool of spew, I tried to sit and look for the lessons, the blessings, and start taking inspired action.

    Once I did, life started getting a bit better. I learned about domestic violence and what emotional abuse looked like—the patterns of communication, the dynamic, the ego involved.

    I spent more time on schoolwork and with friends who had a value system more similar to my own. I meditated. I did yoga. I tried to sit with pain and hurt. I started listening to the pain rather than dismissing it out of hand. And I started to take a real look at myself and how I appeared in the world.

    I started spending my time focusing on working, writing, dancing, journaling, and reading. I spent more care on my hair, skin, clothes, environment, makeup, and food. I put up better boundaries. Made my time precious. I practiced spending time and effort on activities, hobbies, and work that put me on the path to my goals—goals that I perhaps hadn’t thought about well enough before. Enjoying your own company is a great antidote to feeling the compulsive need to forgive people.

    Is forgiveness still part of the answer? Maybe. Maybe I was doing it wrong; maybe what I was doing was not forgiveness at all—it was just ego in forgiveness’ clothing. It was too easy. No one had to realize their mistakes or make changes, especially not me.

    Maybe also, there’s a balance (my mother insists forgiveness is required for long-term relationships). Maybe it’s about not sweating the small stuff, but also not using forgiveness to minimize other people’s bad behavior, or your own, so that you feel like a bigger person.

    Maybe it’s just that we are looking in the wrong place when we reach for or dole out forgiveness willy-nilly as if it’s an antidote for hurt. Maybe that’s like reaching for chocolate when you’re starving.

    Maybe action, change, new behaviors, or boundaries practiced over time can be healthier options for healing.

    Maybe sometimes those are what you actually need in order to let go of bitterness, soothe pain and betrayal, let go of judgment (it’s so heavy!), and feel less like a victim. So that at some point, you turn around and realize the hurt has gone and has ceded to something wiser, stronger, clearer, lighter, and more helpful.

  • Forgiveness Is…

    Forgiveness Is…

  • Why I Forgave My Father and How It Set Me Free

    Why I Forgave My Father and How It Set Me Free

    “There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love.” ~Bryant H. McGill

    The day I chose to forgive was the day I became free

    It happened on an ordinary weekday. It was just another ride on a crowded train. It’s been years since it happened, yet I can still recall the faintest details of that moment.

    There they were, sitting directly across from me. She pulled out a small mirror and began to apply her lipstick. He playfully nudged her, causing her to mess up. She got mad. He laughed. She couldn’t help but smile despite her aggravation. She said, “Daaad, don’t do that.”

    Before I knew what hit me, I felt warm streams of tears rolling down my face. I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t control them, and there was no way to hide them. It’s as if years of suppressed pain came swarming up my spine and took over all my senses.

    This was the day I realized I really missed a father figure in my life. The funny thing is, I did just fine for seventeen years of my childhood until this very moment. This moment was the straw on camel’s back to my bottled up emotions.

    A dark part of me wishes I could tell you a tragic story of how my father passed away at a young age and how I never got to know him. That didn’t happen though. And I think it’s one of the very reasons it hurts so much.

    My father was alive and well. Still is. He simply had different priorities and was not the kid loving type. You see, he was “there,” but he was never there for me.

    I got to see him on weekends from time to time, but most of our “quality time” was spent with him taking care of his personal errands and me waiting in the car.

    Many times he canceled plans at the last minute, and sometimes didn’t show up at all. On birthdays he made a quick appearance to drop off a gift and quickly took off to take care of other more important things.

    Sometimes he’d call and ask for my older sister, and they would chat for a while as I patiently waited for my turn to talk to daddy. Most times my turn didn’t come. I watched in hopeless silence as my sister said “goodbye” and hung up the phone.

    It stung a little extra the day I overheard my mother reminding him that he has another daughter and that he should ask to talk to me too. To me, he was a mystery. A tall, manly figure with gold chains and strong cologne.

    I remember looking up at him from the corner of the room, hanging on every word that came out of his mouth. I’m not sure if it was fascination or intimidation that drove this curiosity. Probably a little bit of both.

    He was the life of the party. He drove an Audi in a town where most people walked, me and my family included. I was a shy little girl who wanted nothing more than to be loved by her big and strong daddy. I didn’t understand why he didn’t seem to care.

    So there I was, a seventeen-year-old girl on a morning train trying to wipe the tears without smearing my mascara. It was too late, mascara was everywhere.  After this day, over the course of many years, I experienced a kaleidoscope of emotions. Mostly anger.

    I hated him. I blamed him for not being there for me when I needed him most. Over the next few years I acknowledged a series of behaviors that were direct outcomes of my ”daddy issues.”

    I was extremely insecure, which caused an enormous amount of jealousy that led to endless fights with my lovers. I sought out friendships with men, mostly because I needed their attention. I continuously victimized myself, and it was all his fault. I blamed that selfish, arrogant jerk who was too cool to hang with his little girl. 

    Years passed this way. I dwelled. The anger and sadness resonated inside me. Tears came to the surface at every darn daddy scene in the movies. I pretended Father’s Day didn’t exist. I felt bad for myself every chance I had. It was exhausting. I avoided his rare calls and slight attempts to “build” a relationship. “It’s too late,” I told myself.

    This went on for years. So much of my time was wasted on accusation, pain suppression, and avoidance. “This is just the way things are,” I told myself. I didn’t think there was another way.

    Some say time heals all wounds; others believe it’s up to us to heal them. In my case it was a little bit of both. On my long journey to recovery, I did a whole lot of soul searching and self-realization. I began to slowly and cautiously unravel the layers of hurt and blame.

    I consciously and diligently started working on improving my confidence, and with the help of a steady and healthy relationship with a wonderful man, I started to learn that not all men were bad. More over, I began to understand that men, just like women, can be wonderful, caring, loving, and supporting beings that make this world a beautiful place.

    As I dove deeper into studying the human psyche I learned that all of our behaviors are taught, and if there is no positive influence to teach us right from wrong, there is a big chance we can go astray from what is right. My father was no exception to this rule.  

    His father wasn’t nurturing or loving or any of the other things I wanted my father to be. He never learned those fatherly tendencies that I so desperately needed from him. While he certainly had an opportunity to change this pattern, as we all do, he didn’t, and for that I empathize with him.

    I’m sorry he didn’t get to feel the love and admiration I felt for him. I’m sorry he wasn’t there to rejoice in my accomplishments. I’m sorry he wasn’t the one to show me how amazing a father’s love can be. I’m sorry he missed out on a life long connection with a caring and loving soul he himself created. I’m sorry he missed out on so much love.

    Today, as I watch my incredible husband play with my son, my heart smiles. I cry happy tears that he will never feel the void that haunted me throughout my younger years. He won’t have to wonder why his daddy isn’t there, why he didn’t call, or when he’ll see him again.

    The presence of his parents’ love will teach him that life is full of loving and caring people who come together to grow and foster unity in the safety of their loving home. He will know love the way he’ll know his name.

    This part of my life taught me that while hardships are inevitable, the way we respond to them is up to us. For many years I chose to feel hurt instead of learning to forgive and looking for the light.

    I chose to blame instead of seeking understanding. I felt anger instead of compassion. I chose to be a victim instead of becoming the victor. I sought happiness in others, not realizing that it has always been within me; I simply didn’t know where to look.

    Today I wish my father well. I hope he lives out the rest of his days surrounded by peace, love, and kindness. The day I chose to forgive him was the day I set myself free.

  • How I Forgave What I Couldn’t Forget

    How I Forgave What I Couldn’t Forget

    “Forgiving someone doesn’t mean that their behavior was ‘OK.’ What it does mean is that we’re ready to move on. To release the heavy weight. To shape our own life, on our terms, without any unnecessary burdens. Forgiveness is pure freedom—and forgiveness is a choice.” ~Dr. Suzanne Gelb

    I remember the feeling of blood rushing through my veins, my head pounding, and my heart beating faster. Every time I remembered what happened, I either cried or felt a wave of depression. This guy was someone who’d hurt me in a way that I never thought would happen. His deeds affected my family and me for years afterward.

    It was a complicated mess that he created, but he still managed to overtake the business we’d worked nearly twenty-five years to build. He took from us the ability to get back hundreds of thousands of dollars, some of which we’d been loaned against our home. He stole all this in a highly manipulative way.

    We met this man, a realtor, at my husband John’s parents’ auction. Since the house didn’t sell then, he was able to talk John’s parents into listing their house for sale with his small real estate company.

    Through this time we got to know him and his girlfriend, and shared a few visits with them. We went to their wedding, and he came to John’s dad’s funeral. Soon he and John started talking about how they could work on a big project together, since it involved investing, and more people would mean less money for each to put in.

    John, being a builder, would both invest and work on the construction of dozens of homes. Both the realtor and John would stand to make a good profit.

    The realtor never showed us the paperwork between the developer and the former owner, but he told us that the bank needed four lots as collateral for a loan for the land. We took a loan against our house for the lots, and also borrowed from John’s mom. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. What could go wrong?

    We were excited because this meant continuous work for quite a while, and John’s business stood to make a million or more within two to three years. Finally, we got the break we needed to make the business bigger.

    After investing much time and money, we began to worry about why the homes weren’t selling, and why the realtor always put off paying John.

    We decided to take a drive to the development. Maybe the realtor needed to hire new salespeople who could get something sold.

    While there, I looked at the table full of information on the choices of homes to build, the specs, and the info about the builder. I was shocked to see that the realtor had a new building company named on all the literature we’d provided. It was a building company the realtor had started himself.

    When we left the open house, John called our realtor friend. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation! We knew there was trouble, but we didn’t know to what extent.

    Our contract with the developer stipulated that we had to have sold a certain number of homes within a certain amount of time, or he had the right to hire a different builder. So the realtor just didn’t sell any homes for John to build because the realtor wanted to be the builder and the realtor in the development! We were asked to sign a release form so that our contract would be over.

    Sadly, our meetings with lawyers didn’t help us. The realtor had his assets in his wife’s name, so there was no money to get if we sued him. There were no houses sold. We thought we deserved at least a piece of future homes sold, but the developer’s and realtor’s lawyers simply said no.

    Our only option was to go to court. Our attorney estimated it would cost $30,000. and we would probably win. The downside was that the realtor could appeal the ruling. Then it would cost us another $30,000 to try to win again!

    If you remember, we’d borrowed against our house to invest in the lots, and we had no extra money because the realtor hadn’t paid John for a few months. We also had no work because John knew he would be devoting his time to this development. There was only one thing we could do: We signed the release and decided to move on.

    We could report him to the district attorney’s office. Hopefully, they would be able to prosecute him for the criminal acts he was doing. But there would be no money back for us, at least not for a long time.

    Since we had no work and a huge mortgage, which, amazingly, this realtor had found for us so we could buy the lots, we fell behind on our house payments. Thankfully, within a year John had found enough work to pay the mortgage, but if we fell behind again, our home would move directly into foreclosure.

    Looking back, we thought we were friends with the perpetrator. When we realized what he’d done and how he’d manipulated us to push us out of the project so he could benefit, we were furious!

    How does a person move ahead in their life when every day they experience something that is a direct result of something the perpetrator did?

    Even today, if I ran into him in public, I would avoid talking to him or even being in the same room. I wanted to forget what he did, but I realized that was impossible.

    I had the thought of hurting him back, physically, which was a thought I never had before. It scared me. But I knew it wouldn’t be worth the consequences.

    My husband also mentioned some unsavory ways of getting him back. But he also knew he couldn’t do that. I could understand how violence occurs in situations where the person who’s hurt can’t get the perpetrator out of their mind. It’s tough to forget! Am I right?

    John worked hard for three years with the hopes that an engineer we hired would be able to subdivide our land and sell a piece to lower our mortgage payment. We didn’t lose hope but pushed ahead. We weren’t quitters and we loved where we lived, so we did everything possible to keep our home.

    At the end of those three years, John was diagnosed with stage 3 throat cancer. He would be incapable of working for a year because of the intense treatment. I was not able to earn enough money to pay the mortgage.

    We had to move from our beloved home that we’d built and lived in for eighteen years. It was on thirty-two acres and held the memories of the time we spent there with our four children. We’d worked hard and put everything we had into the property.

    It was devastating to lose everything in our fifties! It was a big move backward, and I was overwhelmed at the thought of John being sick and leaving the home without his help.

    When you realize that you will never forget what someone did to you, you realize how enormous the job is going to be to forgive.

    There were many days that I had to push away the angry thoughts and tears. I had to work and be emotionally available for my kids. But somehow, eventually, I began to think of things in a different light.

    The struggle to give up hating someone for the pain they put you through is very intense. It is a battle deep within our very soul and minds.

    I had no answers for all the questions haunting me in my mind. Why was this guy so careless about negatively affecting the life of a whole family? How could he spend the energy it took to manipulate us to where he needed us to be so that he could pounce and move in for the steal? How could he sleep at night?

    Some people’s answer to forgiveness is that you just have to do it! We don’t want to live in hate purposely, but forgiveness takes time. If you deny the real feelings you have in order to forgive, just because it’s the right thing to do, your buried feelings could cause your emotions to backfire and come out differently later on.

    I moved ahead in my life, but not without feeling the pain and working through the emotions.

    Somehow I had to figure out how to move on. After all, everyone told me that I just needed to do it! Impossible? Could I forgive him and still dislike him?

    I struggled but somehow realized how to forgive. I had the thought one day that people don’t always understand the massiveness of influence and hurt they bring upon people. Plus, certain mental disorders cause people to not care about others. Only months or years of therapy can help this kind of illness.

    Even when we think someone doesn’t deserve mercy, could it be that they do? When I started thinking about why this man would deserve mercy, some of the following ideas came to mind.

    Maybe his family treated him badly when he was a child.

    Maybe he was taught how to scam people as part of his upbringing or influence from others.

    Maybe this person witnessed other adults thinking of themselves first, and he was just doing what seemed natural for him.

    Was he desperate for money?

    Did greed overtake him?

    Could he be mentally ill?

    Maybe he had never seen a single ray of true love and emotional well-being in his life. How sad is that?

    All these things are the sign of someone who is lost and not able to enjoy real peace in life. Did anyone ever genuinely care for him? Imagine what he has missed out on in his existence. Is he in bondage from adverse actions of those around him?

    We have no way of knowing why a person does what they choose to do. However, I believe there is a reason.

    I eventually realized, if I could let go of hating this person and what he did to me, by remembering the possible misery of his life, I’d be free from the very bondage that he was also in!

    It’s a vicious cycle, and I had the option to break it or continue in misery.

    I realized that I couldn’t live with myself, or love myself, as a person who couldn’t love others. And the kind of love for others may only seem like a tolerance at first, but it eventually goes deeper.

    I needed to open my eyes to the “why” of this person’s actions. If it was hate, jealousy, or selfishness, then I needed to be sad for that person who was unable to overcome those toxic feelings. That sadness for him is what enabled me to forgive and move on.

    However, forgiveness doesn’t mean I will never have negative thoughts or memories of him. I would have to remember why I wouldn’t remain angry toward him. I didn’t have to like him, spend time with him, tell him, or think of him. I needed to replace the bad memories in my mind with new plans and experiences for my future. It was a new way to live, and I had to accept it to get through it.

    I credit my husband for explaining it this way. When I would bring the situation up, he would say, “I’m finished with that, and I’ve moved on. That is in the past.” In other words, don’t let yourself keep repeating the experience in your mind over and over.

    Did you ever see loved ones of murder victims, for example, tell the murderer, “I forgive you?” I always wondered why in the world would they do that? But I think I get it now.

    We have to ask ourselves: Are we going to give this person the power to ruin our joy?

    We see the violence of unforgiveness all over our world today. When people hold on to the resentment, they get angrier until they eventually act out in some way. It can be deadly.

    We can hold on to the smallest things that family members and friends do and allow it to ruin the relationship. Maybe the person didn’t understand why they offended you. Maybe they were struggling with something you didn’t know about and were unable to be a better friend. Is it worth it? On our deathbed will we regret it?

    I don’t know about you, but I would like to be the person that says, “Hey, I’m not perfect, either. I forgive you.”

    So forgiveness is possible. The secret? Try to realize the sad state of mind that person was in when they hurt you.

    We are empowered when we are aware of the emotions that can get out of control and make us miserable. The emotions themselves are not wrong. When you feel something, it is real, and it should be acknowledged. But you need to let the anger go.

    I know I’m healthier, both physically and mentally, since I’ve learned to forgive this person and have moved on.

    My wish for you is that you take the time to work through your emotions and develop the ability to forgive others. We will always benefit when we let go of anger and embrace forgiveness. If enough people do this, our world will be a better place to live.

  • Forgiving Someone Does Not Make You a Weak Person

    Forgiving Someone Does Not Make You a Weak Person

  • Begin Each Day with Optimism

    Begin Each Day with Optimism

  • Forgiveness Doesn’t Excuse Their Behavior

    Forgiveness Doesn’t Excuse Their Behavior

  • Forgiveness Isn’t Weakness – Don’t Let Anger Hold You Back and Weigh You Down

    Forgiveness Isn’t Weakness – Don’t Let Anger Hold You Back and Weigh You Down

    “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.” ~Gandhi

    For many years forgiveness was not in my mind, let alone my vocabulary. I was taught to believe that forgiveness was a sign of weakness, and I certainly did not forgive anyone who hurt me.

    In the past, I have engaged in acts of revenge, which I thought was the right thing to do at those times. I was wrong.

    One event that springs to my mind was when I was the target of a cruel prank. A group of guys had taunted a young man I knew, telling him that he was “whipped” by his girlfriend, who lived with him. To prove this wasn’t true and that he could “get anyone he wanted,” he pretended to like me and proceeded to call, text, and show an interest in me.

    I didn’t know that he had a girlfriend, and I liked him, so I went along with this, unaware of the game. I soon found out what was going on. So, what did I do? I released all hell and vengeance.

    I was hurt and embarrassed on so many levels to be the butt of a cruel joke. I felt like everyone was laughing at me behind my back. In retaliation, I contacted his girlfriend, went to their house, and showed her all the messages. We even got him to message me back while I was with her. We then waited for him to come home as we both sat there.

    She had thrown all his stuff outside and torn his clothes. She cut his guitar strings in front of him and kicked him out. Did I feel satisfied? I thought I did, but a few days later I felt so guilty. This guy was now homeless, the girl heartbroken, and I looked like a home wrecker. I know I did the right thing in being honest; I just went about it the wrong way.

    I have since learned the power of forgiving—both others and myself.

    The most important situation where I have forgiven myself was something that happened when I was only thirteen years old. This situation haunted me for many years.

    I told my dad I wanted him to die. I know that this happens between children and their parents; however, the difference here is that my dad killed himself that night.

    A lot led me to telling my dad to die, that I hated him, and that he would never see my brother or me again. Nonetheless, I said something I regret and I know that he listened to that message.

    How can you move forward from such an act? An act that was done in defending my mum and wanting to protect my loved ones.

    I have had to learn to forgive myself.

    My dad had already made up his mind up before I said what I said. He was mentally unwell and no longer wanted to live. Maybe my words tipped him over the edge. But for me to live and not die with my dad, I had to forgive myself.

    Forgiveness is one the best things you can learn to do for yourself. It can free you, eradicate anger over time, and leave you open to receiving wonderful things in your life.

    In my life, I have been hurt, I have hurt others, and I have lost people along the way. I have done stupid things and had awful things done to me. However, I eventually realized that focusing on the past and holding onto anger was not serving me. The answer is and was forgiveness.

    The only thing holding you back from forgiveness is fear. Fear of letting someone “off the hook,” fear of being hurt again in the future, fear that you may have to change, fear that you may be perceived by your peers as weak, and fear that you may become soft. These fears may seem rational, but they stop you from leading a loving, open life.

    Forgiveness is an art form that takes practice. It’s not something you ever fully master, as life moves on and each passing moment brings new experiences and new ways we can be upset or hurt. Each situation is a chance to grow and become more awake to a better life.

    I used to be so angry at the world, my family, and mostly, myself. I regret some of the things I’ve done in the past, but I know the best apology you can ever give is changed behavior, and that is exactly what I have done. I have changed how I treat others and how I respond when they hurt me.

    With commitment to change and increased meditation, I am working on forgiveness constantly. Each time a memory comes up or I see something that upsets me from my past, I send it love. The way to a better life is through love. Through love, we can forgive.

    I release my anger toward others, as it doesn’t assist me. Each time I feel a pang of jealousy, anger, or annoyance, I forgive myself and let it go. Forgiveness is an act of self-love.

    When working on forgiveness and opening your heart, painful feelings and memories may come up. But the rewards of choosing to stay open and forgive far outweigh the negatives.

    When we work on becoming open and eradicating all that blocks us, this opens us to love and possibility. When we hold in anger, we carry that situation or person with us and keep hurting ourselves. Why would you want to keep hurting yourself?

    You’ll never move forward unless you let go.

    When we choose not to forgive and hold in feelings of anger, jealously, and resentment, we remain in a negative state of being and living, and in turn attract more of the same situations into our lives.

    But there is another way.

    I will often laugh now when I trip up instead of getting angry. I don’t get mad at myself when I make a mistake, and I don’t get mad at other people as much anymore.

    I’m learning to forgive the man who cuts me off when driving or beeps his horn at me. I don’t let the fact that someone lies to me or tries to cut me in a queue upset my inner balance.

    It’s hard to do and I struggle sometimes, but I keep practicing, because keeping it in and holding onto it simply doesn’t serve me.

    When I slip up, I forgive myself and realize where I can do better next time. I don’t want negative emotions and memories inside me, so each time they come up I work on releasing and surrendering.

    If we want to experience happiness, relief, and true well-being, we must practice forgiving.

    When you feel anger or someone upsets you, be assertive but approach the situation from a higher place of love.

    When I am reminded of a past hurt or see something that upsets me, I will face it, imagine it surrounded in white light, and breathe in and out, with the out breath releasing the negative feeling.

    That does’t mean I forgive instantly; for some things, it comes in time. I give myself that time and work on it because I know forgiveness is an antidote for poisons that can corrupt the body, cause illness and disease, damage the soul, and pain the mind.

    When you are ready you will learn the freedom in forgiveness. Forgiveness for yourself if you aren’t the weight you think you should be, forgiveness to the ex for hurting you, forgiveness for yourself for hurting them, forgiveness for the times you messed up, because you simply cannot take these things back.

    Holding onto anger holds you back and weighs you down. Learn to forgive and feel as light as air. You’ll then be open to receiving all the goodness that’s available to you in life.

  • You Never Know How Much Time You Have, So Forgive While You Can

    You Never Know How Much Time You Have, So Forgive While You Can

    “Forgiveness is to set a prisoner free and discover the prisoner was you.” ~Corrie ten Boom

    I sat next to my stepmother Elaine in her hospital room. I was thirteen. We’d met six years prior as she took a stepmother’s role and had a strained relationship and didn’t speak to each other for parts of it.

    Elaine was facing terminal brain cancer. So far she had kept herself together and composed, remaining strong on the outside. I was trying my hardest to do the same for her.

    It had all started back when I was seven and my dad took me to a carnival. My parents were still together at the time. It was there I first met Elaine and her son, four years my junior.

    Her son and I played a many carnival games together and we bonded quickly. Even as we grew more competitive, I found myself continually distracted by Elaine’s close presence and her friendliness with my dad. All I saw was that she was taking my dad away.

    A year later, my father sat me down and told me he was leaving for a little while. This immediately caused an internal alarm to sound. A little while?

    They didn’t really expect me to believe that, did they? He must’ve thought I wouldn’t understand. But deep down I knew this was only going to mean one thing: divorce.

    I even told my best friend about it. “My parents are fighting a lot. I think they’re getting a divorce.”

    “My parents fight too. It’s fine,” she said. But I thought to myself that it wasn’t the same, that everything wasn’t fine.

    Elaine was a strong, independent businesswoman who thrived in her sales occupation and went for runs religiously every morning at five o’clock. She placed a lot of importance on eating right and an overall healthy lifestyle. The mere fact she would be the one of all people to end up with terminal cancer shocked everyone.

    The cancer started in her stomach but soon afterward it rapidly began to metastasize and spread to her brain. It became brain cancer, something she strived to fight against. She still wound up staying in the hospital, defying her strong will and intent to get better.

    Although I visited her in the hospital many times, we never grew as close as I felt we should have. It’s one of my greatest regrets.

    I resented the fact that Elaine took my dad away from my mom. Or at least, that was my perception of what happened. As the resentment grew within me, so did the void between me and Elaine.

    During the course of Elaine’s relationship with my father, I fell under the impression that she was trying to buy my affection with material things. She took me to the mall more than once to buy clothes, jewelry, and other items for me—but why? On the inside, I refused to allow myself be bought.

    Then one Christmas, she wrote a poem about our relationship and how it really wasn’t where she hoped it would be. Upon reading this, I kept my head down and didn’t respond. She also presented me with a number of certificates one day each month to go places and do things.

    Such gifts included the spa, Barnes and Noble, the mall, various other stores, and more. These acts of generosity were overwhelming me, and not in a good way. I was beginning to feel like being bought was entirely unforgivable.

    One day, in a blaze of frustration, I asked Elaine if she knew my mother cried at night because of her. Elaine burst into tears. With my words, I’d stopped her in tracks in the middle of the many acts of generosity, but I felt it had to be said.

    These events had fractured our relationship even further.

    From that point on things didn’t improve much, until one day when I’d been running around outside of our lake house in the woods and became lost. I wandered for hours, growing more hopeless by the moment, until I heard something in the distance. It was a bell, and by some miracle it seemed to be ringing for me!

    Immediately, I began sprinting in the direction of the sound. To my amazement it was Elaine. She’d rung the bell in an effort to guide me back.

    I ran into her outstretched arms and collapsed into them while crying. “Everything’s okay now,” she said, holding me tighter than ever before.

    In this moment, something drastic happened. All of the previous animosity I had been holding onto began to melt away. She finally had me; she’d won.

    At first I felt defeated at the fact that I’d finally given in and accepted Elaine’s genuineness of her care for me. But these feelings would soon turn to regret when she first spoke to us of the cancer. As the word spread, people from all corners of life gave her gifts in wake of her diagnosis.

    I was amazed at the outpouring of generosity for Elaine. I gained more respect for her. She didn’t hesitate to pass many of the gifts on to myself and her son.

    One day, toward the end, I’d been reading one of Elaine’s books. It was about Corrie Ten Boom, a former holocaust survivor of World War II who forgave a former and repented Nazi concentration camp guard who approached her after listening to her speak. I was moved by her astounding compassion and I closed the book, in tears.

    I knew that I had to try and find that same forgiveness in myself.

    At the hospital, Elaine was deteriorating. As she’d become greatly overheated, I suggested that we pat her down with a wet washcloth. Without hesitation, she said, “I want Sarah to do it.”

    Something happened when I ran the washcloth across her forehead and body. I forgave her. In doing this, I’d become her servant and given her all the attention I had to give.

    During this experience, I learned that forgiving someone is easiest when they are in their humblest, most vulnerable state of being. When someone is on their deathbed, it doesn’t so much matter anymore what they’ve done or didn’t do during their lifetime. Their sins seem to dissipate or almost wash clean away.

    Soon after Elaine was moved to a hospice for care and I was set to attend a formal dance at my school. She was very excited and couldn’t wait to see me in my dress, which surprised me pleasantly. I entered her room in grand fashion, twirling from side to side in my blue gown with a matching blue rose in my hair.

    Before I departed for the dance, she gave me a long hug. Thinking the embrace had ended, I tried to pull back out of it, but she wasn’t letting go. She lingered and stared at me, which caught me off guard.

    At the time I had no real idea what was happening and what it all meant, but this was goodbye. She must’ve been sure of this on the inside but refused to let on to that. And in that moment she protected us from that knowledge and in a reassuring way said, “I think I’m getting better.”

    We left shortly afterward. Not long after that, Elaine passed.

    Later, I thought back to the conversation I had with Elaine in the hospital, when we were stuck in an awkward silence and both looking in opposite directions.

    I told her that I had been going through a hard time and I was feeling depressed. She said that she had struggled with multiple bouts of depression in her own life.

    This surprised me more than anything. “But you’re such a strong businesswoman and mom!” I said. She smiled and didn’t respond.

    She always held it together, staying strong in the face of adversity, and I was surprised to learn that even she struggled. In learning this, we had the chance to both share our stories and gain some common ground, giving us compassion for one another.

    In Elaine’s absence, I remembered what Corrie Ten Boom taught me about forgiveness: you can do it without feeling it. The faith in forgiveness comes first. Act in goodness and the feeling will come.

    “Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.” Corrie Ten Boom’s famous words have never left me.

    Even when I didn’t know which visit to Elaine’s hospice would be the last, when I couldn’t change my circumstances, I changed myself. In forgiving her, I forgave myself. And although I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye the way I wanted to, I felt there was peace and understanding between us.

    Forgiving myself was a harder, longer journey than forgiving Elaine. After she passed, I still regretted how much I resisted her. Her gifts now meant so much more.

    She had been seeking appreciation, and I had been withholding it from her. Life found a way to pull it from me through grief and time.

    She had been in my life for so long, yet I was only just beginning to realize the worth she sometimes lacked, the struggle she had with our strained relationship, and the persona she put on to make sure everyone knew she was okay.

    She wasn’t always okay. I never saw her vulnerability until the end, just a hardened exterior that only fate could unravel and reveal.

    She wasn’t my mother; she could never take that role. She wasn’t my stepmom really because she didn’t marry my dad. But she never gave up on me.

    Now when I think back to the poem that she read to me, I reflect on the lines

    “I was writing my list to bring Christmas joy…
    And I couldn’t think of anything to buy you but a boy;
    Since that was not practical and not really right;
    I thought I’d be more creative and shed some light;
    Like on our relationship that’s not quite there;
    But my heart still tells me I care.”

    I know now to live in the moment, appreciate the time I have with people, and in my heart try to forgive even when it’s hard. People still alive need me here and now, even though I want to turn back time. I can’t live in the past.

    Self-forgiveness is hard. It’s harder than forgiving those that hurt you. Imagine if they were on their last days, though. What would you say to them?

    Say that to them now. Learn from the mistakes of the past, don’t live in them. I had no idea there was a time limit to knowing Elaine, but there is a time limit on us all.

    We don’t feel this limit. We don’t realize how quickly time passes us by. Any day could be an unwarranted goodbye.

    We can’t control the outcome. I couldn’t stop the cancer, but I could stand up to it. I could make a difference in her life however limited in time we were.

    I wish now that I had let her in. I would have had a best friend. I should have shown her my feelings and given myself the chance to be reconciled with her.

    Even though I will never have that chance again, I served her at the end of her life. I believe we should all be serving each other.

    I was lucky.

    I didn’t learn this lesson too late even though I was running out of time.

    It is never too late to love someone, to forgive, to mend—until you run out of time. Even if it’s not reciprocated, you can respect another’s choice by leading in love yourself. Elaine never gave up on me.

    So I’m not giving up on you. You too can do this. You can live again once you forgive.

    It doesn’t mean everything will change, but the most important thing will be: You will be set right, set apart, and make a difference in someone’s life. Maybe even more than in your own.

    The world is a broken one, but there is beauty in the brokenness. It takes bravery to see it, to act on it, to respect it. Things aren’t perfect, but through forgiveness you can make the world just a little bit better.

    You need only allow yourself to.

  • You Don’t Have to Rebuild a Relationship with Everyone You’ve Forgiven

    You Don’t Have to Rebuild a Relationship with Everyone You’ve Forgiven

    Rebuild a relationship

  • By Letting Go of the Past, We Make Room for Miracles

    By Letting Go of the Past, We Make Room for Miracles

    Forgiveness

  • How to Forgive When You Don’t Think You Can

    How to Forgive When You Don’t Think You Can

    Angry Couple

    “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

    Have you ever had a relationship, friendship, or marriage that ended so badly it took years, a decade, or even longer to heal? Have you ever wished you could forgive someone but just didn’t think it was possible?

    Fifteen years ago I was twenty-six and in a relationship with a man that was destructive. After an intense romance in his home country, I made the poor decision that he should come to live with me in San Francisco—a decision that, in hindsight, was immature.

    Three months and one visa sponsorship later, we were living together and immediately fell into the challenges of modern day multicultural relationships.

    Aside from the fact that my boyfriend was jealous, obsessive, and immature—a trait I hadn’t seen clearly in the beginning—he couldn’t work legally, we didn’t have a common fluent language between us, and he was far away from his family for the first time in his life.

    The worst and most difficult part, however, were our cultural differences. My boyfriend was jealous, obsessive, and controlling, whereas I was a young, driven, independent woman.

    He would become despondent, accusatory, suspicious, and sometimes even fly into a jealous rage whenever I left the house.

    Our relationship became emotionally abusive, yet I was scared to leave. He was financially dependent on me, he couldn’t work and didn’t have anywhere else to go, and he didn’t have any family in the United States.

    I was riddled with guilt and felt horrible, because I had brought him to the US and felt responsible for him.

    After a year of struggle, he moved out and I settled into numbness, not wanting to begin to unearth the emotions that needed to be processed in order to recover. I was emotionally scarred and suffered years of nightmares.

    Time passed and I pushed the hatred in my heart deeply out of awareness. We never spoke, until a few years ago.

    I had just been through a traumatic family experience, and had begun a Metta, or loving-kindness, practice as a means of understanding the circumstances taking place in my life. Surprisingly, the practice enabled me to find forgiveness in my heart for my ex-boyfriend.

    Metta is a traditional Buddhist tool for cultivating loving-kindness. In the practice, we sit as if in meditation and let the energy of love into our hearts.

    We repeat a mantra in which we hold in mind a life without danger, with mental and physical happiness and ease of well-being.

    We start by imagining happiness and compassion for ourselves, and then, progressively, we extend love out into the world, to a benefactor, a friend, a neutral person, a difficult person, groups of people, and finally to all beings.

    I sat in the Metta practice for ten minutes daily, and I picked my ex-boyfriend as my “difficult person.”

    At first I had difficulty when I held him in mind and wished him a life of happiness and well-being, as I didn’t really feel he deserved that. However, over time it became easier and my resistance subsided.

    One day, after about a month of the practice, I was sitting at my computer and on a whim decided to look him up on Facebook. I looked at some pictures of him rock climbing, and a smile came to my lips.

    I saw some images he had posted, of cliffs, mountains, and people bouldering, and by and by I came across a girl, a baby a few months old, words of congratulations, a graduation, and more congratulations.

    Lots of memories came flooding back, and this time I didn’t block them out. I remembered our tears, his pain at losing me, the very different places we had been at in our lives during the time we were together, how naive and young we both had been.

    I came to the realization that I had as much to forgive myself for during that time as I did him. The tears brought about relief and then happiness, as I found myself truly happy for all of the good things that had come to him after we parted, evidenced by what I saw on Facebook.

    Then some good memories came to me; I had blocked them out over years of resentment and the inability to see anything good in him.

    I remembered what he had given me, how he had opened my eyes to a new culture, helped me explore a new country, revived my love of the outdoors, and supported me during my foibles with Spanish.

    An image flashed through my mind of a day we finished a pitch on a long climb in Yosemite, and I remembered that day with true and genuine fondness.

    This experience moved me and was the final step in my full healing from the wounds of many years before.

    Letting go of my negativity and resentment toward him brought about a lightness. He no longer appears in my dreams; I am able to look at everything that happened as a learning experience.

    The Metta practice served as a tool for me to discover the compassion in my heart, for him but mostly for myself, enabling the pain to surface, be processed, and dissolve.

    How can we use the healing power of loving-kindness in our daily lives? Especially when we don’t feel ready to forgive, when the effects of abuse go too deep, or when we simply don’t feel the other person deserves to be forgiven?

    Like the Metta Practice, there are tools we can use to overcome our own blocks to forgiveness, even when our minds and hearts aren’t ready.

    Here are some tips to remember:

    We are the primary beneficiaries of the practice.

    Despite the fact that during the Metta practice we focus on others, we are always the primary beneficiaries of our efforts.

    We can forgive someone and it doesn’t require getting in touch with that person or making them aware of what we are doing in any way. Just as when we hold hatred in our hearts we are the ones who suffer from it, when we find love in our hearts we benefit.

    It is best to start by cultivating love and compassion for someone we already love.

    Often the easiest place to start is not with ourselves but with someone for whom we already feel great love—a child, a dear friend, someone we admire or who has helped us in our lives.

    Even if we never extend our practice beyond this point, we already reap the rewards of the process itself. We are the ones who feel the great energy in the heart when we focus on our true desire for another to be happy and free from physical and mental pain.

    We must forgive ourselves for not being willing to forgive.

    Some human experiences are simply so destructive, some abuse so acute that we may not have the energy to process it. In this case, we can still benefit from forgiving ourselves for whatever negativity we hold toward ourselves for not being able to forgive or fully let go of the pain of our experience.

    Choosing to keep debilitating resentment and pain out of our awareness so that we can function in the world can also be a positive choice, if we stop feeling guilty about it.

    We can always choose to go at our own pace.

    We are always in charge of our own pace of change. We might not feel like forgiving now, and this doesn’t mean that we can’t choose it in the future. In the same vein, we can let go of our fear of forgiving by remembering we can always go back and harbor some resentment if we want to.

    We do not deserve to suffer.

    One of the illusions that we must let go of is that if we stop suffering, our aggressor will somehow benefit or be better off for it. This couldn’t be further from the truth. We hurt ourselves, when we deserve our own compassion. Even when a person doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, we certainly do not deserve to continue to suffer emotionally over them.

    Before beginning a forgiveness practice, we can ask ourselves, “What do I have to gain from this?” and “How is holding this resentment harming or benefitting me?”

    There is always love and openness to be gained from forgiving, from processing our pain and grief, but when and how much we do is always of our own choosing.

    In choosing to forgive we choose ourselves and take back our power. It doesn’t mean that we need to befriend our difficult person or that we should begin spending time again with someone who has deeply harmed us in the past.

    In the case of my ex-boyfriend, we did not end up becoming friends again. However, I did end up sending him a Facebook message in which I shared that I had been engaged in a loving-kindness practice and that despite all our troubles, I had forgiven him and truly hoped he was happy.

    Almost immediately, there was a response. He was indeed a new father, living in his home country with his wife. He had forgiven me long ago, he said, and he had always felt grateful to me, for bringing him to the United States.

    After we parted, he went on to achieve some of his life’s dreams; he had climbed El Capitan, he had gotten his master’s degree, found a good job, and eventually moved back to Colombia with his wife to have a family.

    He was happy to know that I, too, was happy and successful in life, he’d always known and hoped that I would be. And truly I am.