I’ve never had this problem before. I’m a very forgiving person.
To me, grudges take too much energy to maintain, and they serve no purpose except to make the holder angrier still, bitter and vindictive.
But I have a grudge against you, one that’s been pretty easily buried for the last couple years. I don’t see you every day. I don’t see you ever. I don’t have to think about you.
But when I do… I’m still angry, and I’m struggling to understand why.
I thought I forgave you two years ago. Two years ago, when I was in college and you were my professor, when your words ripped through me like a hundred barbed arrows, unexpected, harsh, and cruel.
When you went after me with accusations and bitter words.
When my friends defended me, and you used their support to label me a troublemaker, a rabble-rouser, an insignificant and inexperienced child who would never succeed in my future if I didn’t learn proper respect. When my only crime was asking questions that made you uncomfortable.
The memories of those weeks, tormented by the thought of being under your thumb, terrified of speaking in class because of your venom, bring tears to my eyes even as I write this.
I’m still angry. And I’m still hurt by what you did.
Those horrible weeks went by, a new semester started, and the conflict between us was supposedly settled. I saw that you were trying to leave it behind, and I struggled to re-enter your classroom with grace. I struggled not to judge you, not to remember every evil word you’d said to me. I struggled to see your humanity, your own pain, your own brokenness that had led you to treat me this way. I struggled to forgive.
And you never apologized.
You never saw me for who I truly was, in those moments when you wielded your power over me.
You never knew the anguish you’d caused, the tears that consumed my nights, the trauma I relived every time I came into your classroom, every time your name was spoken in a conversation.
You never knew the desperation I felt, enough to seek help from another professor, just so that I wouldn’t have to meet with you alone again. You never knew the strength it took for me to meet your eyes and say hello to you in the hallway. You never knew how hard I was trying to let it go.
I don’t think you ever realized how much you hurt me, and I never had the chance to tell you.
I never had the chance to say, “you have hurt me deeply,” and see how you’d respond. I never even had the chance to say that I forgave you, despite the pain you caused me. I never had the chance to get any closure. We never had that chance, and I’m pretty sure we never will.
I want to let it go. I do. And contrary to what you might feel if you ever read this, I don’t hate you. I love you. I want you to know you are valuable, you are not your mistakes, you are loved by your Creator.
I want you to know I see you, and I’m sorry for the hurts you’ve had to carry. I’m sorry for the anger that seeped out along with my honesty, in writing this letter to you. I’m sorry I’ve ever spoken ill of you when I should have spoken with love.
I’m sorry I’ve been so angry with you for so long. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to let it go.
I think maybe the only way for me to start forgiving you is to be honest about how hurt I really am, and have been, for so long.
And I don’t need you to apologize to me, not anymore. I don’t need you to feel like you ruined my life. I just want you to understand and know yourself more deeply. I want you to make peace with yourself and with God, like I rely on His grace to do every day.
I want you to understand me better, and to know I’m trying to love you the way Jesus does, that even though my heart feels hardened against you, I’m asking God to soften it. To help me grow past my own sinful anger and pride.
You’ll probably never read this, and that’s okay. But the words we speak and write matter, so here are my words for you: you are forgiven. Even if it’s a conscious choice I have to make whenever I think of you, I’m choosing to forgive you. I hope you can forgive me.
Samantha
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