10 years towards forgiveness…

It’s amazing how much time we spend in our lives putting effort into negative emotions. Actually, that’s not even true. Negative emotions require no effort. I think as human beings we are predisposed towards the negative, and positivity is a skill which must be acquired; a hard road of learning which in the ends still requires much conscious thought and daily reinforcement.

It’s much easier to judge than to acknowledge.

Much easier to complain than to praise.

Much easier to reject than to accept.

And so much easier to hate than to love.

I’ve spent over 10 years nurturing such a hatred towards my ex-husband. A man, who despite all of his failings, gave me three awesome AWESOME kids. Over the years, during my marriage to him, and especially after my marriage to him, he became a villain like no other. He acted like one on numerous occasions, but often times, when I’d come face to face with him, and we’d actually spend time talking, I’d always be left thinking, “This guy isn’t so bad.” Then fast forward to a moment in time when he wouldn’t show up to pick up the kids when he was supposed to, and instantly he became unbearable, selfish, ignorant, inconsequential; a person to be disposed of before he could dispose of me. Again.

The saga goes on and on. He married another woman who certainly wasn’t trying to smooth over any of our speed bumps. We went to court. I got full custody of our children.

                             

My anger and bitterness escaladed over the years; even during the many years when he just wasn’t even present in our lives. He offered me a reprieve during those years; allowing my darkest of memories to subside to a flicker of light, only calling when he absolutely had to, ie. Christmas, a child’s birthday…if that…

And still, during those years when he wasn’t present, I still managed to fuel my fire with such hatred that the logs I was putting in the fireplace were so enormous, I required the assistance of anyone who was in the vicinity to drag them in. The sparks would burn me; my singed fingertips only soothed with the acknowledgement of those who knew me that he was indeed unworthy of anything, least of all the title of father.

                 

Time does heal all wounds. It’s too bad that time isn’t obvious; like a comment on the divorce papers that says, “Notice: Wound will take 10 years, 365 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 37 seconds to heal. After that, your life will resume into a somewhat normal life.”

Recently, in the midst of my recent fragmented memories piecing themselves together like one of those magnetic puzzles for preschoolers, I was on the phone with my ex-husband discussing… well, it’s not important what we were discussing. But during that conversation, the culmination of the rejection I’d suffered; years of repressed horrific flashbacks; feelings of such unworthiness prompted such an attack on this innocent bystander to my wounded spirit that I tore into him like he was a lamb at the slaughter.

My fangs and claws ripped chunks of flesh from his flank, and as I sunk my teeth in for the kill, I realized with a jolt of pain that this man was defenceless towards my fury. What could he say? What could he do? I had him by the neck, ready to tear out his jugular; and yet still he lay there motionless waiting for the kill.

In that moment, I understood. After all these years I’ve spent nursing my hatred; building upon it with fresh images of betrayal, abandonment, and rejection — I realized that this man is the man I married. He hasn’t changed. He will never change. It just is what it is. And so, as he was flinching, dodging, and valiantly standing still when it was most important for my words to hit him across the face, I stopped mid-tirade, and apologized.

I finally got it. It didn’t matter what I said or did. It didn’t matter what anybody said or did. This is who he is, and who he is, is not MY ISSUE. It just isn’t. In life, he will have to live with the consequences of his actions; as we will all have to. It was time for me to accept that he was never going to change for me or the children. We were not his first choice; we never had been.

And that’s okay, because in the Light, when I was unable to open my eyes and see with clarity the damage I have done to myself in the hopes of feeding my own feelings of unworthiness — unworthiness that was not yet fully understood, but that was a pattern dating from the second I allowed a man to throw me away like a pile of garbage; a being not even worth an ounce of emotion — I managed to slowly peak through the slit of one eyelid to see that everything is a direct result of the past.

  

And at some point, the past has to be dealt with no matter how painful, no matter how deep I must go.

I apologized to my ex. And I said exactly that, “The problem all of these years, is that I kept expecting you to realize your mistake in letting the kids and I go. But you never will. And I need to stop waiting for that moment. You will never know what you lost. That’s your issue. Not mine.”

It was freeing.

Unfortunately, I can’t end this in a tidy little bow with him admitting his mistakes. He never will because he doesn’t think he made any.

And for once, I’m okay with that, because he wasn’t the only one making the mistakes. I was a willing participant in the rejection.

It’s funny though how a simple realization can alter your image of a person. Instead of seeing him as one of the mean men who trapped me in a room to do unspeakable things to me, with no thought to what it would do to a little girl’s life, I was able to see his own wounds. Because we all have them. In the end, I could see him clearly. I could see his own insecurities even if he couldn’t.

That didn’t matter though. It is not my job to fix him. I have enough work to do on this girl.

But in that moment, as a shade of Darkness was lifted, I was able to forgive him. With all my heart. 

Because that’s what healing is all about. I get to be hurt. I get to rail and be angry. I just don’t get to be angry with the wrong people. 

For the first time in over ten, I am able to exchange texts with my ex-husband, and not feel an instant attack where there isn’t even any. I can be happy for his accomplishment when he shares them with me, instead of immediately thinking that he’s telling me simply to hurt me. I can congratulate him on his accomplishments and mean it. Really mean it. And hope for the best for him knowing that the best does not include the kids and I. And that’s okay. It has nothing to do with me.

At all.