Monday, February 3, 2014

Mistakes: They Shouldn’t Define You

"To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness." ~Robert Muller


Winter is my least favorite season. I hate it, actually. It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s ugly. It’s lonely. And when I’m alone on these ugly, dark, cold evenings, I think. A lot.

Last year, and all the years before it, thinking led me to crying. And crying led me to sobbing—uncontrollably, at times, and usually on my kitchen floor—about everything that was wrong with my life.

And, obviously if it got to that point, there wasn’t much going right. 

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but I wasn’t completely off base.

***

I was reading old journal entries tonight and came across this gem from July 2011: "I was a broken, unhappy person for a long time, and as a result, I made poor life choices."

Mostly, those consisted of unhealthy relationships, whether with friends, family, colleagues, or significant others.

I hurt people along the way. I took advantage of their kindness, their loyalty, their love. I lied to them, cheated on them, used them.

What’s worse, part of me didn’t—couldn’t—fully comprehend how much pain I was inflicting. Or how much bad karma I was accruing.

***

2011 was a year that changed my life. It almost broke me.

My mom was sick. I consider her the heart of our family, and when she was beating irregularly, it wreaked havoc on the rest of us.

I was betrayed by someone I loved very much. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. But I didn’t, and it devastated me.

An ex-boyfriend resurfaced and started playing the same old games. But I wasn’t a strong enough opponent to put up a fair fight.

A pest-control problem at my last residence shattered what little confidence I had left. Not to mention my ability to sleep, like, at all. Maybe it really was going to hell in a hand basket.

That bad karma? I paid up for all of it in 2011.

***

The experiences left me angry. Angry at everyone else, but (and this took me a while to realize) mostly at myself.

Because I deserved all of this, didn’t I? It was payback for the horrible things I’d done to other people.

Finally, thanks to a tarot card reading and my sister’s interpretations, I realized an angry person isn’t one who’s capable of forgiveness, and in order to forgive others, first, I’d have to forgive myself. And I did, slowly but surely.

In that same journal entry from July 2011, I wrote:

"If I were an outsider looking in at myself, my life, I’d say: "She’s a good person who does her best. She’s made some mistakes, but they shouldn’t define her.'"

***

And once I forgave myself, it became a lot easier to forgive others.

Because sometimes, people can’t be who you want or need them to be. They aren’t strong enough to admit their faults or shortcomings, to deal with their problems without drugs or alcohol. Because sometimes, people are going to hurt you, disappoint you, betray you. They don’t love or respect themselves, which makes it damn near impossible for them to love or respect you.

And those people, well, they need your forgiveness the most.

***

The ex-boyfriend I mentioned above, it used to be whenever someone brought him up, I'd roll my eyes and say: "God. Do you remember the time he [did something unkind] to me?" And then we'd talk about it for at least 10 minutes.

But when my mom asked about him recently, I said instead: "You know, he’s just a broken person, and I don’t think he’s ever going to fix himself." I didn’t realize until that moment I’d forgiven him. I’d let go of the hurt associated with that relationship and replaced it with peace. Peace that I’d know him. Peace that he helped me change my life.

He and so many others. I believe those who hurt us deeply affect us greatly. They’re the ones we’re meant to learn from, grow from. But we can’t do that unless we stop being angry and start practicing forgiveness. Because forgiveness begets peace and happiness.

***

In time, maybe I’ll find it in my heart to forgive Winter, too, for her coldness, her darkness, her ugliness, her loneliness. (At least she doesn't make me cry anymore.) … On second thought, maybe not. I’m only human, after all. J

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