Forgiveness
by Roberta Maisel
 Forgiveness
is radical. Both forgiving and asking for forgiveness go against deeply
ingrained psychological and political truths. We fight against it. We reject its
premises. We think we want to be -- or at least, want to appear to be --
blameless at all times. Admitting mistakes announces to the world that we are,
after all, blameworthy. But forgiving others who have hurt us clears the playing
field and introduces moral equity to the equation: By forgiving another we are
willingly giving up claims to moral superiority.
Judaism and Christianity both give forgiveness a central place in their
teachings. Judaism devotes a major part of its devotional message during the
period of the new year (Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur) to the difficult work of
forgiveness. It recognizes that people have to wrench themselves out of old
grooves to do this, and have to turn themselves in new directions. Only then can
they begin to get in touch with this most spiritual of transformations.
Molly was a widowed homeowner in her mid-50s. Plumbing was one household
skill she had never attempted. When the shower in her mother-in-law apartment
failed to work, Molly called (from her very short list of carpenters and
plumbers) her friend Peter, a man she had worked with on a city commission.
Peter gave Molly an estimate, brought along his assistant, and performed what
turned out to be a more complicated job than was first expected.
When Peter handed Molly a final bill that was $100 over the estimate, Molly
looked at it, looked up at Peter, and tried to figure out what she should do.
She began by asking for an explanation for the added cost. A small but bitter
battle of words ensued. Molly then paid the original estimate price, after
which Peter spilled out, "You never appreciate my work." Molly was
flabbergasted, tried to protest, but realized it was useless. Peter had been
holding this in for quite some time. She made a quick calculation and
concluded that Peter cared more about being insufficiently appreciated than
she cared about the $100. She started to write the $100 check when Peter
simply walked off in a huff mumbling "Forget it," which left Molly feeling
baffled, rejected, and upset.
After three weeks or so, Molly spied Peter at an adult education class they
were both attending. Molly knew what she wanted to do -- she had, been
thinking about it a lot -- but didn't know if she had the courage to do it.
When Peter walked mutely by her during a class break, Molly put her hand
lightly on, his jacketed arm.
"Peter, I apologize for any pain or unhappiness I caused you. I didn't
intend it. I'm sorry. I truly hope you will forgive me."
Peter smiled a little sheepishly and said, "I forgive you, Molly."
That was it, the end. Molly had given both herself and Peter a gift, a gift
that had one important quality: it was total, unqualified. She could have said
-- and she had considered, many times, saying one of the following:
- We had a misunderstanding.
- We each made some blunders.
- Neither of us quite knew where the other was coming from.
- You probably were in a bad mood.
- You should have told me your feelings sooner.
But Molly understood that asking for forgiveness is best when it is without
qualifications. Shakespeare voiced this thought eloquently in Portia's moving
speech from "The Merchant of Venice":
The quality of mercy is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
Once the other party understands that you are truly sorry for causing him
pain, other details, explanations, and fine points may be discussed. But
unqualified apology is so powerful an antidote to resentment and hostility that
further explanations are often not needed.
It is easy to ask someone's forgiveness for routine or superficial mistakes.
You know that your adult child, for example, will not blame you in any profound
sense for forgetting to pick up his jacket at the cleaners or for not having the
time to explain how to do e-mail, as you had promised. The wrenching difficulty
comes when your adult child is clearly angry at you. She may cut off
communication, refuse to listen to anything you say, or go into hiding. She may
act out in a variety of ways, exhibiting rudeness, using bad language,
pretending that you don't count, or even that you don't exist. Basic trust is
lacking. Because of this, anything you do to break down the wall of animosity is
doomed to fail. Anything except, perhaps, offering forgiveness. Offering
forgiveness, like its counterpart, asking for forgiveness, is best when it is
total and unqualified. One may acknowledge the guilt of the other; one forgives
anyway.
Asking for forgiveness is a heartfelt, transformative, spiritual act. It is
also a practical strategy for cleaning out unexamined grievances and, sometimes,
festering wounds. It is a way of bringing sunshine and fresh air into a
parent/adult child relationship, and of starting afresh on a new, wide pathway.
In order to get to a place where you can forgive him you have to come to grips
with:
* your own animosity toward your child,
* your own sense that the conflict between you is his fault, not yours,
* alternatively, your abiding sense that all his problematic qualities are,
at bottom, your fault -- and your pain in facing this.
A good place to begin is to accept on faith that your angry, sullen, or
acting-out adult child is in pain. Some of that pain may have been caused by
you. This is not the place or time for self-blame, however. Your
less-than-perfect parenting came down to you through countless generations of
imperfect parents, each working from faulty models and each trying to do her
best. You -- along with everyone else -- are doing your best.
Your adult child's pain can easily be inferred if you try to remember your
own pain as a young adult. With a little effort you can remember how you wanted
to achieve so you could show your parents that you could live up to their
expectations; how you felt competitive with one or another of your parents and
were never quite good enough; how they seemed always to love younger sister or
older brother more than you; how they refused to even try to understand your
differences in lifestyle. If you can remember (and re-live, for a short spell)
the pain you experienced in relating to your parents, you can more readily
accept your adult child's parent-related pain.
It is a short step from recognizing your child's pain to asking her for
forgiveness. The words will come and they will be authentic -- your words, no
one else's. Best of all, your adult child will know that they are coming from a
place of truth, even as she wonders what this new development is all about. Her
inner ear will be making contact with your inner voice, a place beyond or before
words.
Asking for forgiveness has a flip side which should not be neglected in your
search for wholeness -- namely, forgiving others. Have you forgiven your parents
yet? Really forgiven them for any and all of the hurts they caused you? You may
not be ready to do so -- your confusion, anger, or inability to grow may be
blocking the channels through which forgiveness travels. Never mind. You can
start by focusing on someone who has hurt you -- perhaps inadvertently, perhaps
long ago -- another relative, a teacher, a friend, or a co-worker. Practice
mentally forgiving this person. First, tell them -- in your thoughts -- how they
hurt you. Take as long as you like. Get it all out. Then think about the many
ways this person is like you. Think about this person's pain if you can infer it
from her behavior. Imagine -- really imagine -- that this person was trying her
best. When you feel ready, tell her in your heart that you forgive her. Finally,
ask yourself if your words reflect your feelings accurately. If not -- if you
still bear a grudge -- don't give up. Try again.
When you have begun to feel comfortable with forgiveness and have been able
to forgive at least one other problematic person in your life, it may be the
right moment to think about ways you can forgive your adult child. Did he cause
you shame and embarrassment by wetting his pants, sucking his thumb, or eating
with his fingers way beyond toddlerhood? Did he cut school promiscuously and
fail to graduate? Did she make a terrible marriage at the age of 18 only to get
divorced two years later? Did she have an out-of-wedlock baby which you ended up
taking care of while she worked? Did you give him some small business start-up
money which he squandered? Did she borrow your new car without your permission,
putting scratches and dents on the front fender?
Some of these, and the many similar parent/child scenarios and soap operas
that accompany the growing-up process, may have bedeviled you. It may be time to
mark them off the ledger, to clean the slate. Make this your jubilee year. Even
though your adult child isn't expecting a statement of forgiveness from you he
will hang on to every word you utter and consider your sentences coin of the
realm. But remember:
* Forgiveness has to feel right, to be natural.
* Forgiveness has to come from the heart.
* Forgiveness is underlined by a touch, a hug, a smile.
By forgiving your adult child and asking him for forgiveness you have set the
stage for your third and most difficult (but most rewarding) area of
self-development -- freedom.
This
article is excerpted from:
 All Grown Up: Living Happily Ever After with Your Adult Children
by Roberta Maisel.
Reprinted with permission of the publisher, New Society Publishers. ©2001. http://www.newsociety.com
Info/Order
this book.
About the Author
 ROBERTA
MAISEL is a volunteer mediator with Berkeley Dispute Resolution Service in
Berkeley, California. She is an enthusiastic parent of three grown children and,
at various times in her life, has been a school and college teacher, antique
shop owner, piano accompanist, and political activist working with and for
Central American refugees, homeless people and Middle East peace. More recently
she has given talks and workshops on aging, living with loss, and getting along
with adult children.
| Comments () >> |
 |
 |
