What I actually want to say…
After being forgiving for a long time, I was made to realize that expecting that people always had the best intentions was the worst thing I could be doing. That’s what made me a pushover. That’s why I kept getting hurt.
I didn’t set boundaries and didn’t close off people or experiences that would be damaging to my heart — I just kept on opening up, getting hurt, covering my wounds and carrying on.
I’ve been accused sometimes of being too diplomatic. Not standing up for myself.
I came to see all of those as the ‘weak’ part of my nature. I should instead be strong, angry, unrelenting. God! This is why women get the short end of the stick Aleesha!
Of course I understand how those can be important. However, I’m caught in-between this idea of strong womanhood and the idea of trying to be an emotionally healthy human being who is empathetic and really does understand where you’re coming from.
Should I be seeing the people who hurt me as being generally not very interested or not caring enough? Sometimes this makes sense; when people hurt you as a negative externality of what they were actually focused on or cared about. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel that way — when they deliberately go out of their way to hurt you. I guess you could say, in the end, in both those scenarios, it’s still about them, but there is for sure a difference in how you experience both kinds of hurt.
I really hate burning bridges with people. Unfortunately, I’ve had to do that a few times for my own sanity and protection of my heart. Sometimes it’s been because of family and my loyalty towards my parents. With both, it’s sometimes a relief and sometimes a giant pit of discomfort.
Why the heck am I embarrassed when I didn’t actually do anything wrong? I generally like awkward — it’s kinda cute. BUT not this type. This I-want-the-earth-to-swallow-me-right-now” feeling. I guess it’s the difference between experiencing awkward and seeing someone else experience it. Yeah, it probably is that.
There’s also a huge twinge of sadness and nostalgia affiliated with some of these burnt bridges and it’s pretty tough to think about. All the moments that were and could have been, had that thing not happened (whatever it was).
At the other extreme end, there are people I couldn’t care less about and I’m pretty damn ok with never seeing them again, thank you very much.
In short, I’m still pretty confused about where to be on the forgiveness/non-forgiveness scale. Perhaps it depends on time and maybe it depends on the person.