Forgive? Sounds good. Forget? I'm not sure I could.

 

I’d like to warn you that this post is not well-edited or particularly eloquent. It’s more of a jumbled, ranty, free-write. But it’s honest and I’ve been missing that in my writing. I’d also like to warn that it contains mild themes of predatory sexual behavior. Please don’t read if that’s not something you are able to receive at this time.

Y’all, I’m going to keep it super real with you. I’m very frustrated with how limited I am in what I can and can’t say about what happened to me eight months ago. If you’ve read my blog before, you know the high-level overview but there is so much more to this story and I wish I had the freedom to share those details with you, if only for my own catharsis. I want to shout the truth from the rooftops to lift this heavy, aching burden from my shoulders, but alas, my hands are tied.

It makes me angry because in some ways I feel silenced. I feel like the man who did this to me gets to be covered in safety while I am covered in darkness. I hate that it was him who did this, someone close enough to me that I feel an obligation, and desire, to protect the other people I love who are involved. I wish it had been a stranger. Transparently, I wish it had been almost anyone else. Then I could be free, I could speak honestly, I could claim my story and not have to walk on eggshells because my story overlaps with other peoples’. 

I wish I could write to you and tell you that I forgive him. I want to and I believe that I will get there, but, right now, I don’t. The thing that frustrates me most is that it makes it harder for me to forgive everyone else. 

As strange as it may sound, I’ve always felt fortunate that I grew up in a community of such messed-up people. The Christians in my life weren’t frontin’. Instead, they acknowledged their broken, messy, imperfections but believed that God was good enough, faithful enough, loving, and fearless enough to overcome all of the rough edges and seedy pasts. I thought, because of these humans in my life, that I was just a naturally more compassionate or forgiving person. I understood early on that people make mistakes and that, by God’s grace, they can change. 

My absolute favorite example of this is when I was staying with one of my mom’s best friends while visiting my hometown a few years ago. She’s been in recovery for as long as I’ve known her but she’s very open about her struggles with addiction. One afternoon, we were hanging out in the kitchen laughing about life’s ups and downs when she said, “Look, I love meth, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it!” I was so hilariously caught off guard by her honesty and became instantly more endeared to her. She knew that she was more than the things she had done or her misplaced desires, so she could own those things and move on. 

As I said, I thought I was a pretty forgiving person, but what I realized just recently is that there’s a very clear distinction between living with and loving people who had turned away from their behaviors before they met you and living with and loving people who did know you and who still chose to hurt you. That’s a lot harder to get past.

My mom showed me a scene from a tv show the other day that she thought was powerful because it was. It was of a man who had done some really terrible things to other people showing up to church for the first time and having a true come-to-Jesus moment. He sobbed as he worshipped, recognizing that he was fully loved and forgiven. At the end of the scene, the pastor quietly came beside him to pray. It was an honest, beautiful representation of the love of Jesus, free from shame.

However, I didn’t take it that way. As I watched, I thought of the innocent people who had been hurt by him. I thought, why does he get to be surrounded with love when his victims are suffering? I thought of how I have felt watching the man who violated me, sexualized me, broke into my home to record me, be loved by others. I know that people need to love him too. In my deepest being, I want people to love and forgive and accept him too. But, right now, if I’m honest, I want him to hurt the way that I have and then some. I want him to feel the full weight of his actions, without things like shame, which turns a person's focus inward, getting in the way. I want people to be exclusively on my team. I want them to stand up for me. I want them to turn away from him. I want them to yell at him on my behalf or avoid the places where he is in solidarity. I want them to protect me, to look out for me, to fight for me, to come alongside me to pray. 

If I let myself go down this road it becomes a deeper conversation of who is or isn’t worthy of forgiveness. There’s no way we can stratify unconditional love or grace. Everyone is worthy of forgiveness. Everyone needs forgiveness. I’m a sinner. I’ve failed. I’ve messed up. I’ve hurt others and myself. Do I only get a free pass because my actions weren’t criminal? How do I practice what I preach? Should I start with humility by looking in the mirror? Should I start by receiving forgiveness for myself? Do I even know what it means to be forgiven? If I believe in love and forgiveness, how do I love and forgive? How do I let others love and forgive him when I’m not yet ready to? Do I forgive as an act of obedience instead of being emotionally led and trust that God will meet me in that place? How do I forgive but not forget? What happens if forgiveness doesn’t mean reconciliation? What happens if it means the relationship, and all of its many branches, are dead for good? What happens if I can’t forgive him but can forgive others who have done similar things? Does that mean I’m betraying their victims? It would break my heart if it did. 

I hear others who go through extreme things in their life talk about how it was in those moments that they realized how loved they are and how many people are willing to show up for them. There are a few people that I’m really grateful for, select friends and family members being among them, but for the most part, I haven’t felt that. In my worst moments, I have been overcome by the silence of those I expected to speak or the barrage of well-intentioned but royally unhelpful feedback. I have one friend who, on multiple occasions, has sent me the most wildly insensitive text messages not even realizing the damage that their ignorance had caused. I have desperately wanted someone to drive all night to show up at my door with tea and a hug. It’s been so, so lonely... and also disheartening. I’ve had no one to turn to, no models of others who have gone before me and come out on the other side. There are friendships that I thought were deeper that are now permanently marred by their inaction. And yet again I question, how do I forgive but also set new boundaries on the road ahead? Where do I engage and where do I let go?

Forgiveness feels like pressure to me. It feels hard, like an uphill battle. I’m tired and weary from the fight. I want to surrender and not have to do anything else that feels challenging or complicated or not immediately in my favor. I’m tired of difficult conversations. I’m tired of not knowing. I just want things to be easier and to be able to rest in a way that actually feels like rest. Maybe I just want to be a little selfish. 

As I close, I want to give a nod to my brother whose protective energy has been more appreciated than he knows. Thank you for showing up for me as only a brother can. 

Titular Song: Not Ready to Make Nice by The Chicks