“Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.” — Maya Angelou
I would love to give myself that gift, but something deep inside me doesn’t seem to want to allow it.
It’s never really an easy gift to give. I don’t know about you, but in my life, over the course of literal decades, I’ve struggled with forgiveness. Some things just don’t feel forgivable. Then there are other things which I thought I forgave only to find out at some later point I really hadn’t.
Things that, despite the honest belief of having granted forgiveness, rocked my very core in a way that just couldn’t be erased. Try as I may, I just don’t seem to be able to let go of some things. It’s that — not being able to let it go — that drowns me. I wish I could understand.
Life is really harder to navigate than I expected it would be when I was younger. We spend so many of our younger years planning how wonderful things will be when we’re grown and in control of our own lives. The next thing you know you are smack-dab in the middle of adulthood and wishing for simpler days when there weren’t bills piling up on the counter that you couldn’t pay, when you weren’t worried about how many more miles you could drive before that steel belt in your tire snaps or your transmission finally gives up, how to make dinner for four with one chicken breast and wondering how badly your issues are messing up your kids.
Somehow you manage. You make it through that day. You lie in bed, in the dark, plotting all the next day’s worries until finally your body gives up on you and sleep makes its entrance.
The next moment you’re awake and staring down that same barrel all over again.