forgiveness

When I was 18, I did something that I have a hard time forgiving myself for. I treated several people poorly, and I feel as if I hurt one in an irreparable way. I would give anything to relive my life and undo what I did, but I can’t. Meeting with a friend last week and hearing of her heartbreak brought up this moment in me. She was so upset at her terrible boyfriend, and all I could think is: I am the kind of person that can do this to people. I am her jackass of a boyfriend.

It seems that when I talk about things with my therapist, that I can start to move beyond them; I thought that I could do the same by explaining the moment here. That maybe, I could work out what happened and explain it to myself in black and white. Then, perhaps my Emotional Brain and my Logical Brain could be on the same page. That's why I wanted to write about my past relationships. I thought maybe it would help me figure out how to forgive myself. Now, I see that it was just another way to punish myself for it all over again.

While I was writing about the incident, I started hearing the sirens of my alcoholism. “I could buy a bottle of wine and drink it and nobody is here to know” and “I’m not really an alcoholic – I like wine, so what? Lots of people like wine” are my main indicators that I am an on the verge and need to get to safety as soon as possible. I was supposed to spend the weekend alone, but I instead drove 8 hours so that I could be with my husband and in-laws to keep myself out of harm’s way.

I see now that it isn’t thinking through the events or understanding them that helps me heal, but having the reassurance from somebody that the past is past, that I was young and heartbroken, and that if it were somebody else in my position, I would have forgiven them long ago. Three people on this earth knew what had happened, because I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it with anybody. Even now, I cannot find the words to express the shame that I feel; all I know to say is that I cry more about this than about the memories of my sexual abuse. I haven’t ever brought myself to tell my husband of the incident, and although he is not in any way involved in it, it feels that I am constantly lying to him by not letting him know that I apparently have this capability inside me.

Long after the person I hurt has moved on from my mistake, I find myself stuck. At my therapy session yesterday, I told my counselor the story. My counselor brought up that with a mother like mine, I know what it is like to be hurt irreparably, because I have been so many times. Some people become cold in response to all the pain they’ve endured; I take empathy to the extreme. She noted to me that I am clearly more affected by these mistakes than my sexual abuse, and that clearly shows that I am punishing myself too much.  My therapist reassured me that I should not tell my husband, because it serves no benefit to me or him, has no relevance, and can be quite damaging to our relationship because it will undoubtedly play on his insecurities. I badly needed that reassurance, because that’s what my brain was telling me for the entirety of our relationship, but I was constantly wondering if that was simply to protect myself from a difficult conversation.

I am not going to write about the relationship here. In fact, other than DW, my husband and this man that I hurt, none of my past romantic relationships are consequential to the story of my life, and so I am abandoning the idea of writing specifically about the relationships altogether. I am trying to make a choice not to relive my mistake any longer. I know I have punished myself long enough: my alcoholism took root in the moments during and after this incident. I made mistakes that I would take back, yes. But, it’s hard to breathe just thinking about the pain I was trying to numb out with my behavior. It was seven years ago, and I have to move on, just as the others involved did.  I would have forgiven anybody else these sins long ago; I want to give myself that same kindness.