Forgiveness Is Overrated

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There’s this notion that life is about forgiveness, but the more I live and look at certain people and analyze certain events in my life, the more I realize that life is about accepting the truth and finding a way to live with it.

 

Take my stepfather.

 

He was in Special Forces.

A well-decorated war vet.

A Mason.

A Shriner.

But deep down, he’s a coward.

 

His true self is:

Abusive.

Mean.

Narcissistic.

He’s a bully.

 

What man hits a little girl, or sends his teenager to jail for an unpaid traffic ticket, or tells her that it’s not his fault she’s all fucked up and no one will marry her?

 

Clearly. I have my demons, but I know deep down in my core. I am not a bad person. I did not deserve his treatment and neither did my mother.

 

But.

 

My mother chose him.

I did not.

My mother stayed him.

I don’t have to.

My mother let him bully her.

I can stand up for myself.

 

The only person I have to forgive in this equation is my mother, for trying to make things work with a sociopath, for not knowing her worth. I’m barely uncovering mine, and in this process, I realize I DON’T have to forgive him, but hold him accountable for the things he’s done. I DON’T EVER have to subject myself to his abuse again, and I have to trust that the TRUTH will prevail; no matter how difficult that is to prove.

 

My soul hurt at not being at not being loved by him.

At not being understood.

At being forced to sit in the sidelines and wonder:

  • What’s wrong with me?
  • What’s made me unlovable?
  • Why I’ve accepted less than I deserve?

But, now I know none of this is my fault.

I am better than that. Better than him.

He does not deserve my love, my forgiveness, or my goodness.

 

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