Anyone that knows me or casually reads my work, knows that I drop F bombs like nobody’s business. Sometimes “fuck” is the only word that will do. I use it as a noun, a verb, an adverb, and an adjective so I can construct an entire sentence using my favorite word. Fuck is not a word I’m afraid of. But “forgiveness?” Fuck that shit.
Forgiveness is often touted as therapeutic, even necessary in order to push past the pain and move forward in life. I’ve often said the words and not meant them, just hoping the words would be enough to make me feel better. Speak it into existence, as they say. Pushing past trauma someone has inflicted on you is a painful process, often built on lies that we hope will become truths. I forgive you. I’ve moved on. If you’re real with yourself, you know that the words come easier than the real feelings do.
Truthfully, I don’t know that I’ve ever really forgiven myself on the level that I’ve professed to forgive others. Forgiving others does come just a little easier. Oh, I’ll give him a pass, I’m sure he didn’t mean any malice. But to extend that courtesy to one’s self? Much harder. I know myself and I’ve had some very shitty thoughts, even acted on a few of them. That self-hatred goes deeper and lasts longer because I know all my wrongs, but maybe I only know one or two of yours. I’m quick to give others credit that I do not give myself. You know what? They probably don’t deserve it. They’re probably just as screwed up as I am, but the only person that knows that is them.
I’ve got to to learn to connect the words with the real dirty work that is forgiveness. How do I stop feeling stuck in this cycle of failure and doubt? How do I really accept that I worked for, earned, and deserve all of the good things life has recently blessed me with? How do I really make myself believe that I’m not simply the sum of my worst mistakes?
Fuck if I know.
“Wise man say, forgiveness is divine, but never pay full price for late pizza.” — Michaelangelo (The TMNT)