Forgiveness

Lately I touched on the abuse I lived with in childhood. But when I think about this, I have to think about forgiveness. It's taken a lot of years to understand that forgiveness is a choice, that it doesn't always FEEL like forgiveness. In the last couple weeks I've been struggling through some anger. And it doesn't feel loving or kind. One of the things I get angry about is that hurt people hurt people. I hurt people. And now I am the one begging for forgiveness. And hating myself for being an angry person, a person who hurts people. 

Not being a secret keeper anymore (anymore? I never really was... I'm not good a keeping secrets), it is like the secret shame of sins no one speaks of, it splatters. It is messy and ugly too. I started not keeping the secrets out of desperation. A desperation for something to change, for life to change, for my heart to change. Not caring who it hurt or how the refusal to keep the family secrets would hurt other people. Now I'm able to see the hurt. It sucks too. But not enough to pretend and keep the secrets. My children have decided not to pass on the generational "sins" as they may be called. They have decided not to reproduce. This hurts my heart and soul. It also brings a strange sort of relief. Like I'd give anything not to pass on to my children the violence. But I've already done my part to pass it on. Inflicted it. And we all know. If you have abuse in your life, you know, that physically inappropriate touch (hitting, slapping, spanking) is only a small little piece of the violence. There's the words.... cutting, hurtful, and painful. There is intimidation and threats. The threat of violence, and a violent presence. And mind games and strategic emotional chess matches. 

I always said I wouldn't be like my parents. And mostly, I blamed my mom for the things I didn't want to pass on to my kids but didn't seem to have control over. My head knows that there were so many dynamics at play that caused my mother to be overwhelmed and to lose control. I can put myself in her shoes to some extent. And yet, I really can't fathom everything she went through holding our family together. Sometimes by one thin thread. And when I learned to pray for forgiveness, speak forgiveness, and act with compassion, I began to feel the freedom of forgiveness. 

Every day doesn't feel like freedom. And sometimes my quest for freedom from my demons hurts others. But today I can own that and acknowledge that this trying to heal thing is messy and painful and eradicating generational curses is a scary thing that splatters. And I'm sorry about that. But not sorry enough to pretend I grew up in paradise and not enough to pretend I didn't hurt my children. It was painful and real and I have to face it. I may not break all the curses handed to me, but I have broken some. I've broken the bond of secrecy. And of pride. I'm not proud of my mistakes and I've apologized to my children. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make amends for my angry, violent past. 

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