Forgiveness comes easier to some than others, yet it is a concept attainable by all. Forgiveness can feel like the lightning of a load, or sometimes, the pain of choosing to forgive can feel almost worse than the pain of wrongdoing. Whatever the case may be, scientific research suggests that the act of Forgiveness is good for a person’s mental and physical health. Let’s look at the conflicting emotions that go with forgiveness and how we can learn to do it by following the five steps stipulated by Robert Enright in his book; Forgiveness is a Choice.
Acknowledge The Unfair Treatment
Numbness rolled off Clara’s shoulders in waves as she sat down wearily on the couch. Ignoring the concerned glances from her best friend, Delia, she smoothed her pitch-black dress before closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the couch.
“Do you want a coffee?” came the tentative question as Delia switched on the kettle. “Because I do; I think a nice frothy coffee would be good, yes?”
Clara opened one eye before nodding her confirmation; seeing Delia turn to get another cup, she closed her eye again. Speech felt foreign, like the effort of dragging words from her mouth would be too much, capable of shattering whatever tenuous hold she still had on her emotions. She almost wished that she could let go and allow herself to break and break again. She was so used to just keeping on that she did not know if she knew how to let go. Right now, she only knew how to breathe in one breath after the other, so she did just that.
Feeling the couch dip next to her, Clara straightened and took the offered cup from her friend. They have been friends since their late teens and know each other well. Clara knew Delia was going to push, and even though she did not want it, her friend knew she needed this, that small push that allowed her to explode if she needed to, within the safety of their apartment.
“It was a nice service.” Delia began. “Pity it rained at the grave, though.”
“It felt fitting,” was all Clara answered before taking a sip.
Delia nodded and hummed in agreement. “It did cut short everyone’s chance to say goodbye to your Dad,” she pressed further. It had been a bright sunny day, and the thunderstorm had suddenly rolled in while the pastor was still giving his last message at the grave.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Clara said, clenching her teeth at the moisture gathering at the outer corner of her left eye.
“Perhaps if you said what you needed to, you would not be so haunted.” Delia softly prodded more. “Perhaps if you got it off your chest, you might be able to breathe.”
“There was nothing to say.”
“Are you sure?”
Clara glanced at Delia. Delia knew how Clara had been raised. She knew Clara’s anger, bitterness, and unwillingness to confront her Dad.
“That doesn’t mean that it would have helped.” Clara said brusquely.
“Doesn’t it?” Delia softly enquired, slightly tilting her head and tenderly placing her hand on Clara’s shoulder.
Squirmy softly, Clara looked away, but like a worm burrowing into her brain, Clara could not let the soft question go: “Doesn’t it?” kept playing on a loop in her mind as she and Delia sat in silence. She once again recounted the stories in her mind that Delia already knew. Clara and her sister had always been told how fortunate they were by others. They both had gone to Ivy League schools, paid for entirely by their parents. They had multiple cars, and their first apartments were bought for them, and they seemed to have been given privileges that others dreamed about. She should be grateful, right? So what, that their father drank every day of their lives? Or that she could not remember the last time she had seen him sober? That she and her sister were used to being called stupid or ungrateful when her father was in a rage? Or that she stayed home most weekends in her teen years, trying to spare her sister the sound of her parents screaming at each other at the top of their lungs? That she had spent most of her adolescence trying to prove that she was worth all the money her parents invested in her future. So what if their upbringing hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows? They weren’t molested or neglected; that’s what abuse was, right? Or was it?
Slowly she started recounting the good and the bad.
Express your Anger
Days after the funeral, Clara had felt good, light even. Delia had not seemed surprised by what Clara had told her, but had been commiserating, understanding, and supportive of how Clara was glad her father was no longer suffering but did not want him dead. How Clara had been unable to pretend that her father had been the best parent and had declined to do the eulogy because of it. How difficult it had been to stand there and hear everyone say that they were sorry for her loss, while Clara knew that as bad as it seemed, her everyday life would not change because of her Dad’s death.
Clara’s mood was changing; however, she became more irritable and annoyed. Normal Manhattan traffic had her in a constant bad mood, and anyone showing the slightest rudeness was scolded with an almost aggressive air. Coming back from the gym, Clara was still sweaty and tired, but a bubble of ever-present rage started to build the moment she entered her building. Starting with an elderly couple that walked so slowly and the pizza delivery guy that had to check his phone twice before finally climbing off at the correct floor. Clara started to wonder if she would be losing a lot of weight with all the anger she tried to gym away.
Opening her apartment door, she slammed it shut loudly as she heard the neighbors’ children running in the hall.
Delia propped her head out of her room at the noise and raised her eyebrows at Clara.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked as she fully came into the living room.
“Like talking about it helps,” Clara huffed. At Delia’s confused frown, she continued. “We spoke about it; I told you everything I could remember. I even felt better for a while, and now, I feel like I could explode.” Clara proclaimed loudly, raising her voice with every word.
Delia blinked at her before huffing a tiny laugh that she quickly squashed. “Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s not funny. It’s just… Talking about it is not the only step that leads to Forgiveness and healing. Admitting that you are angry is one of them.”
“What would that help? I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him how I feel. I can’t get justification from him… I just… feel… on edge, like I can’t function.” Clara ended softly before slumping onto the couch.
Just a Person Like Everybody Else
“I know,” Delia answered with an understanding smile. “Sometimes it helps more to confront the person that wronged you. To make them understand how their actions had hurt you. Perhaps even get an apology.”
“That would not have happened, even if he was alive. I just don’t think he would have been remorseful. Or I am more afraid that he would have just been able to give a justifiable excuse.”
“But more than anything else…” she continued, “Right now, I am just mad. Mad at myself for never confronting him. Mad at him for drinking himself into an early grave. Mad that I would never know what type of Grandfather he would be, mad that he never walked me down the aisle. Mad that we missed so much because we never talked about important stuff. And I am devastated that his death had such a small impact on how I carry on.” she whispered, scared about how that truth would make her look to her friend. It had been eating at her since the funeral, and she had realized that she did not feel what some of her friends had felt at the death of their parents. She had two other friends who had lost their parents to Covid, who had been almost inconsolable for weeks.
Finally gathering the courage, she looked up to see her friend smiling at her with tears in her eyes.
“All of that makes you human, Clara. And none of it takes away that you loved him, even if he was not perfect. I know this is hard and might have been easier if you had answers, but I remember you once telling me that he was not a bad person, just someone caught up making bad decisions. Perhaps try to remember that.”
Acceptance of Pain
“Also, remember that forgiveness is a journey that can take years. It might be something you consciously have to choose every time you feel anger, regret, or pain.” Delia said to Clara as they had dinner a couple of days later. Clara had been asking Delia about the steps to Forgiveness again. Delia was finishing her Doctorate in Psychology and had a lot of information to share.
“Forgiving someone does not always mean that we forget what they did or don’t still suffer the consequences of their actions. I mean, you still don’t touch alcohol and might never want to, which is fine. But sometimes it’s harder to accept that they hurt you and that there is no magic pill that will make it feel better instantly and that you could have years of work, preferably with your own therapist,’ Delia added with a wink, “Before you can feel ready to move on and completely forgive.”
“So what do I do?” Clara asks, “Just wallow in it?” she finished, sounding slightly disgusted at the prospect.
Delia snorted into her glass of water. “Like you know how to wallow,” Delia replied. “But yes, a bit of wallowing, as you put it, could help you come to terms with your emotions and help you acknowledge and start to process it. But it can get dangerous if you get fixed on only one emotion or event, which is why I suggest someone professional… That is not a friend,” Delia forestalled as Clara opened her mouth. “Someone who can help you process everything and build trust in other people.”
Lessons We Learned
Walking with her toddler swinging between her and her husband, Clara breathed in the fresh air and sunk her toes deeper into the sand with each step. It was five years to the day since her father died and lightness carried over in her soul that she had never had. The tears she had shed at the fate of the little girl she had been was enough to fill half the ocean, and those at the loss of a potential life-affirming relationship she and her Dad missed out on had filled the rest. Her teenage self would never have believed that she could feel so unburdened, so open to new possibilities. She never liked trying new things before, always afraid she would seem incompetent. Since taking that leap four years ago, literally jumping off a cliff, strapped to a tandem paraglider, her life has changed drastically. Not only had she married said paraglider, but she had moved out of New York and was now living a life she had never imagined, filled with adventure and the laughter of a daughter that she loved more than life itself.
Seeing the pause in his wife’s tracks, her husband picked up their little girl and tickled her; he suggested a race back to the beach house. Smiling at the hysterical giggling that followed her daughter up the slope, Clara once again marveled that she had gotten so lucky. Or perhaps worked so hard. She had some tough years while reliving some past trauma, and it affected not only her sleep patterns but also her overall health. Some months had been filled with more doctor appointments than not. Looking up at the seagull as it cried overhead, she whispered in the contentment the years have brought,” I wish you could have known her Dad.”
