“We often hear the slogan “Forgive and Forget”. Most people can’t do the latter, and maybe shouldn’t, to protect themselves. But what if, instead of forgetting we retold the story? Instead of telling the saga that portrays you as a victim and someone else as a villain, rewrite the script. Once you decide to change your story you get your happy ending.
Too often we keep telling the injury story. We get attention and sympathy by being a victim or by being right or by being wronged. We seek cheap payoffs that keep us stuck. If we’re invested in someone being our villain, we must love being the victim. We have to let go of both characters in the story.”
I kept telling myself my husband was the villain. He broke promises, abandoned US, and hurt ME. But what if I saw the story in a different light? What if I actually accepted that my husband had done the best he could, but for some reason wasn’t capable of giving more. He couldn’t tell me the truth, if he wasn’t being honest with himself. He couldn’t love me or accept my love, if he didn’t love himself.
I don’t know if I want to forget. If I forget, I might always make the same mistakes. That’s not an option. And I don’t know if I want to completely forgive. If I forgive then I allow him to get a free pass for what he’s done. But if I don’t forget or forgive then I allow him to live rent-free in the catacombs of my mind. Catch 22 isn’t it?
While I’m nowhere near forgetting, and I’m not even sure I’m close to accepting, I think I’m half way at forgiving (at least in some kind of shape and form). I feel that I am no longer raging with fury at his choice, but rather disappointed and sad. I no longer blame only him, but rather partake. It’s not resentment I feel, but something else. What that something else is, I don’t quite know. Maybe it’s just me, as usual not being able to let go of the past. Or maybe it’s me not having accepted it yet. How can I accept that he let me go? How can I accept that he didn’t love me enough to fight for our relationship? I guess the loss of love is not nearly as painful as our resistance to accepting it.