Grudges and Grace

To say that my base nature is to hold a grudge may not be accurate but it is my earliest memory of dealing with disappointment. If it isn't encoded into my D.N.A., it's at least a thoroughly learned trait. Regardless of origin, my formative years were filled with refusal to forgive or to forget.

I married at the ripe old age of 19. The growing pains of two individuals attempting to meld into one life required that I learn to let go of offenses. It became apparent that holding on to both anger and hopes for living in harmony were not compatible. I was a slow learner but I did eventually catch on. Choosing to primarily focus on the good is the best discovered way of overlooking the bad. After-all, no one and no situation is completely perfect. What is the benefit of staying hurt, walled off and angry? None. Rather, let's enjoy where we are and what we have while we can.

Working into the ability to switch from grudges to grace required a controlled act of will; an active choice. It's simply easier to stay angry. While I did manage to do that for most relationships in my life there remains one that has not been so lucky.

I live a dichotomy in relation to forgiveness and relationships. On one side of the path is a multitude of people and situations that I have chosen to only see the good. To reflect on offenses from this group takes mental effort that isn't worth the resulting memories. On the other side of the path stands my Dad. Instinctively and with great ease do I hold him in contempt.

My Dad can hold on to offenses stronger than anyone I've ever seen. He can project fresh anger about something decades old as if it happened five minutes ago. Ironically, the one person I am unable to release is the person that passed on the ability to hold one hostage. Thus he and I both remain captives of the same prison.

On days that I am too weary minded for effort, memories of him have surfaced that are funny, kind or, at the very least, neutral. My reaction is to work hard to stuff him back in his cell of residing evil. Some days I don't have the energy to pull it off very easily.

Why the work? Why do I adamantly refuse to allow pleasantness to attach itself to memories of him?

It boils down to a need for validation. Something deep within me craves to feel fully heard. Anything less leaves a frustratingly large hole in my psyche. I decided that to allow any beam of light to shine on him would erase the darkness that affected my development. I determined that if I spoke well of him, I would surely not be validated of my wounds. It's a matter of clutching on to pain as one would a prized toy while yelling, "It's mine! You can't take it away!"

Yes, that's a very immature and unenlightened perspective. Arrested Development tends to be that. Conversely, I know full well the best gift to my soul would be to let it go completely. Yet I still cling.

I stand holding my breath as one about to jump, irreversibly, from a cliff. Somehow my mind feels itself responsible to determine if he is worthy to be recognized as a whole individual; full of darkness and full of light. Does he deserve to be remembered and retold in the goodness that exists in him; as it does in anyone? Does he deserve to be free?

As my white knuckles peel away from the objects that sting, I exhale negativity and relinquish that, yes, we all deserve to be free.