A Kind, Gentle Perspective on Forgiveness to Soothe the Weary

I recently came across this blog post on forgiveness written by Abi Sutherland at Making Light.  This entry was posted on September 21 in recognition of the day Making Light has deemed "Dysfunctional Families Day."  (Go here to read the full post and enjoy the incredible comments section:
http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/015459.html).  

"So often, the social expectation is that someone who suffers harm will forgive the perpetrator. One is supposed to work toward forgiveness, choose to forgive, be forgiving. If the sufferer doesn’t forgive fast enough, this lack can become a stick to beat them with. Holding grudges. Unforgiving. Hard. Bitter. Angry, with a subtext of unjustifiably. Indeed, sometimes the topic becomes a way to blame the sufferer and make the perpetrator the victim: why haven’t you forgiven them? How can you do that to them?

Forgiveness can be prescribed like a medicine. If you forgive, you’ll be able to heal. Then a failure to heal becomes the fault of a sufferer who is “refusing to forgive”. (That feels like a Catch:22 to me, because pressuring someone to forgive too quickly shuts down the necessary process of figuring out what actually happened.)

As a society, we have a pretty muddy view of how to actually forgive someone. Some people expect the emotional transformation of forgiveness to just happen, perhaps after the sufferer says, “I forgive you” or lets some time pass. Others have a vending-machine model, where the perpetrator puts their apology in and forgiveness pops out.*‡ Some people expect that forgiveness comes hand in hand with forgetfulness, and suggest that the sufferer should, rather than learning from their experiences, pretend that they did not happen.

Those models really don’t match my reality.

From what I have seen and experienced, forgiveness is a product and symptom of the healing process. It’s one (but, note, not the only) possible outcome of moving beyond the hurt: a way to close the accounts**. It may involve trusting or interacting with the person again, or it may be a separate peace. In either case, it’s a recognition that the incident is now (primarily) in the past, notwithstanding any ongoing repercussions.

Given that, it seems to me that asking whether someone has forgiven yet is like asking them if their bleeding wound has scabbed over yet. Telling them to forgive is as effective as urging them to grow a scab."

This piece has become like a sweet, loving friend to me.  It gives words to the pain I have felt as I have tried and failed to heal fast enough to satisfy my dysfunctional family of origins.  Thank you to Abi Sutherland! 

Make Me A Scapegoat Any Day!

Or Why I Couldn’t Trade being a Scapegoat for Being the Golden Child

(This post is a bit tongue and cheek. It is not meant to disregard the deep and profound pain that comes with being the scapegoat or suggest that one would ever choose such a role, rather it is an acknowledgment of some of the very valuable qualities and values that have landed some scapegoats in their role.  I believe that my place in the birth order was the beginning of my painful childhood.  The qualities of sensitive, strong and truth teller emerged over time and increased my struggle even more.  If the stories my dad told me are true, and I have no reason to doubt him, it was long before I was old enough to be living out these values that I was singled out to suffer the wrath of my mother--I would never suggest anyone choose such as that for themselves or anyone else.  This is just a reflection on what I value and am unwilling to sacrifice in myself.)
                                               

I couldn’t be my Golden Child sister.  I wouldn’t want to be.  She rarely if ever talks about her feelings or even her life in general.  Over the years, she has gone through nasty spells of moodiness and sullenness, and panic attacks plagued her for years.  In other words, I am glad I didn’t master the art of suppressing my feelings.  As difficult as it is to be sensitive and feel acute pain, I prefer it over a mysterious cloud of moodiness and panic.

                     

But it is more than this that keeps me from longing to be the Golden Child.  Here is a story that sums it up for me.

Within a year of my grandparents moving in with my mom to be cared for in their old age, my mom got abusive.  My family (my husband and kids and myself) went to my mom’s house to eat lunch with her and my grandparents every Sunday.  During those Sunday visits, I would hear my mom snapping at my grandma for all manner of insignificant things:  for losing this important piece of paper or that bottle of pills, for breaking another dish, or for getting the pills all mixed up in the pill caddy again.  One day, my grandmother dropped a crystal glass that was a part of the Christmas china.  My mother went maniacal.  She was raging and screaming.  My nine year old, began to exclaim, “The antique store has those!  The antique store has those!”  My mom heard her and quickly calmed herself, taking rapid deep breaths and saying over and over, “yes, yes, I can get another.”  But the damage was done.  Trauma to all of us, especially my frail grandmother, who was sobbing. 

Each Sunday, I would leave my grandparents at my mom’s house feeling sick.  It was too much to watch.  My grandparents, they were stuck there.  They had sold their house and almost everything they owned, under my mom’s pressure to do so.  Now here they were, old, fragile, dependent and being treated as burdensome inconveniences. 

I would tell my sister about the things said and done.  Consistent with her way of being, she gave little response.   One day as I was expressing my angst and concern, she said, “They have been doing this dance for years.  Let them do it.”  Jaw drop.  What?  Yes, they paved the way with their treatment of mom when she was little, but come on!  That doesn’t make it okay or give us permission to turn a blind eye.  This is abusive! 

I still really can’t understand this response.  The strong, sensitive truth teller in me can’t watch these sorts of things quietly.  My sister always watched quietly.  She learned not to make waves and gracefully to accept the tyranny that existed, at times even to justify and excuse it; are these the necessary coping mechanism of a Golden Child, I wonder?  I don’t know, but if this is what it takes to keep oneself Golden, please God, make me a scapegoat any day!

My Last Goodbyes

Since I discovered my role as scapegoat, I have cried a river.  Tears of relief, tears of anger, and many tears of grief. 

These tears of grief feel like those that might come with a death following years of hoping and fighting for recovery from illness.  I guess the death here is the death of hope for a future filled with affirming and respectful relationships with my family, my mother in particular.  Article after article on scapegoating states that the dysfunctional family will “never see the scapegoat for who he or she is.”  Never ?  And no hope for things being different in those relationships?  Is it really that final?  But I want to be seen differently by my family and I want to have better relationships—I have prayed and tried for better relationships with them all my life.  How can it be over? 

Celebrating Being a Truth Teller

Last week, I broke loose and celebrated the qualities that contributed to being cast as the scapegoat.  Today, I met up with my sister.  The meet-up lasted only about ten minutes, and during that time we were simply walking around a small grocery store.  But by the end, I was almost in tears.  Nothing was said, nothing was done . . . it is just that I feel about an inch tall in her presence. 

The Good News About Being a Scapegoat!

Good news?  Everyone is saying so . . . But, really?  Actually, it looks like it is true.  There is great news that scapegoats must celebrate!  And the great news is that we possess some incredibly wonderful and powerful qualities.   The very qualities that landed us in the position of scapegoat are actually really amazing!  And here they are:

Drumroll, please!

If you are a scapegoat, you are most likely a . . .

TRUTH TELLER

Loud applause!  Hurray!  A truth teller?  That is what I have always wanted to be!  And I am!  I am a truth seeker and a truth teller, and I am that with myself . . . which is a big win for my husband and children!  Confetti, please! Yay for us, the truth tellers!

The Amazing Gathering of Scapegoats . . . A Place To Begin Healing

Two weeks ago, after some reading on dysfunctional families, it occurred to me to Google “scapegoat.”  Wow! . . . I could never have imagined what I would find with that one Google search.  I found myself!   How many hours have I spent staring at a screen since then!  . . . reading about the characteristics of the scapegoat, how the family uses the scapegoat for its purposes, how to escape being the scapegoat, the effects of having been the scapegoat and on and on.  

               

It seems I have spent my whole life trying to find my way around with a blindfold on, always disoriented, always confused, and always trying so very hard to figure it out, and always knowing there must be something innately wrong with me or else I would be “getting it.”