When is forgiveness denial?
I first looked evil in the face when I was five years old. I didn’t think in those terms at that age, of course. I only knew I was terribly frightened. The big man had broken a thick stick across his knee, looked into my eyes, and told me he could do the same to me. He smiled, but his eyes weren’t joking. My co-victim was only eleven, but she was still twice as big as me. She draped a blanket over her head and used a creepy voice to tell me she was a witch, and she would eat me up if I didn’t obey. Only hours ago, in the sunshine, both of them had been warm and caring. In the cellar it was different. She spread the big blue blanket over the chill concrete floor.
That was only the beginning. For two years the abuse continued. For many years after, we were haunted. I just wasn’t there. Later, people would wonder where I had slipped off to while in their presence. Childhood abuse is the gift that keeps on giving. I did what the man and the girl told me to. There was no choice. Only decades later would I feel the rage that a child could not have handled; I dissociated frequently. Survival was the only thing on the agenda. Forgiveness didn’t come into it. It was many years before I could approach it. Forgiveness for the terror, for the numbing, for the unbelievably intense, horrifying pleasure which swallowed me body and soul, which bound me to the people hurting me so that I felt complicit? It was obliteration. It took decades before I could begin to understand what happened to me and the girl.
This morning my wife told me “Forgiveness is overrated.” I had to laugh. We discussed the mundane forgiveness that helps human beings tolerate each other day to day. That should not be under-rated. It serves us, our life and love. Those who can not practice it are not happy people. Nonetheless, as a white haired therapist I don’t push forgiveness upon clients when they can barely understand what they would be forgiving. There are times when to forgive feels like self betrayal. When it serves denial, it is self betrayal. Don’t get me wrong; I think forgiveness can bring on miraculous healing. But it isn’t as simple or rote as some people portray it. It can not be rushed or forced. It is not a panacea.
I once saw the interview of a woman who had survived the holocaust that the Nazis brought down upon her people. She said she had forgiven them for the horror, death and loss. That was beyond my comprehension. Yet she carried a kind of energy I would love to have gotten closer to. There was no bitterness. There was a serene joy emanating from her, and I imagine she brought that joy to everyone in her life. I am not that spiritually evolved. I don’t know that I want to be. I was in my forties before I could begin to move toward forgiveness. I am about to turn sixty-nine, and the process is far from complete.
It’s kind of complicated. Yes. Complicated. That is why I do not force it upon myself or others before its time. Some people never forgive, and I don’t blame them. Perhaps there are things that shouldn’t be forgiven, don’t you think? It is hard to say. Regardless, premature forgiveness can be a self destructive thing. One has to really feel the wound before one can start to forgive the one who caused it. And of course, not forgiving can also be self destructive. As I said, it’s kind of complicated. The truth shall set you free, but first it makes you suffer. If I had never forced myself to go back down the cellar stairs with my teeth clenched and my eyes wide open, as a man, I could never have started to forgive the big man or even the woman-child, those who who tore and twisted me. I am not done yet. Yet I have purged enough resentment that I am far less likely to hurt myself or others in my life. To the degree I have experienced my feelings, I am not owned by them any more.
As much as I need to forgive, I need to be forgiven. I did not grow up to be a child molester, but I have hurt people, sometimes intentionally. Can anybody truthfully say they have never hurt anyone? To any degree whatsoever, or never with the slightest intent? Even Jesus took a bull whip to the money lenders and merchants at the temple, calling them a “brood of vipers”. Yes, they deserved every bit of it. That is not the point. They were human beings working to provide for themselves and their families. Did they deserve compassion? As I’ve observed elsewhere, it gets complicated. Among other things, forgiveness is the ability to feel compassion for those who have injured you.
Some people forgive to avoid fully feeling the pain they have suffered, but ultimately there is no escape. Why do so many hate vipers so vehemently? It is because they poison us. The poison needs to be felt and purged for us to survive. It hurts like hell to cut and suck a snakebite, but there is no way around it for us to live. (I’m speaking metaphorically; no need for herpetologists to rush in and rescue me from my misapprehensions.) After surviving, some people choose to forgive the viper. That doesn’t mean they should take it home as a pet. Forgiveness and trust are related at times, but two different things.
Back to the snake in the cellar and his snake trainee. Forgiving the trainee was relatively simple; she was only another molested child, who protected me when she could. I wish she hadn’t grown up to be a viper, but she did. She dosed herself with drugs, alcohol and incest to escape the memories. Running away from pain can be much more dangerous than the pain itself. It killed her. Can I entirely absolve the man who set my sister’s death in motion? No. Yet I did forgive, in my own way.
It has taken a lot of therapy and support groups to get this far. “Corrective emotional experiences”, in therapy and in my larger life. It was in a support group, during a grueling role play, that I could fully see the perpetrator. Lets give him a name. Richard. Richard had given himself over to evil. (If you tell me there is not evil in this world, you are talking to the wrong man. Don’t waste my time.) He was an adult, responsible for his behavior. But when I was suffering the wounds of the past to such a degree that I had to step outside that pain, I looked at Richard and saw something…complex. Once he had been a little boy, suffering exactly as I was. He was never held and comforted as I was, by the loving souls my life was blessed with. The hurting child inside me saw the suffering boy inside him. I felt compassion. That was how I forgave the child Richard had once been. I wanted to comfort him. Not the adult, but the boy. I felt something suddenly lift from my chest. Finally I was able to breathe past the grown man’s weight that once had crushed me. I was free.
I have not forgiven the man who brought such horror and pain into our lives. Even if I could forgive what he did to me, I will not betray my sister. I am not spiritually evolved enough to do that. So my forgiveness is not perfect. I do not want it to be. I’ve come a long, long way, and I am good for now. For now, I’m going to get some sleep.
~ Wry Welwood
March, 2021.