Letting Go

It is not easy for me to let go. I remember every hurt, every insult, every remark from grade school days. I don't even have the best memory in general, but these sort of outdated episodes manage to stay with me. 

I am not proud of it; I am annoyed at myself. I know that I am not always, consistently, nice or pleasant; I hope that others wouldn't hold that against me indefinitely.

I have changed over the years; it should be assumed that others do as well. I shouldn't hold people accountable for things they said or did when they were 10. 

On Facebook the girl that constantly teased me in elementary friended me. She was married, smiling with her sweet-looking husband, a burbling baby bouncing on her knee. I accepted the friend request. It's not like we contacted each other in any other way; simply that every day, there she would be, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, aggravatingly awakening reminders of a childhood when I allowed myself to be pushed around.  

I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't be constantly brought back to that time when I couldn't understand why she was picking on me. I de-friended her, and immediately felt lighter. 

Dorri Olds wrote of a serious trauma in her past. At 13, eager to make friends, she was gang-raped. She never told her parents; she never reported it.  

38 years later the one who instigated it has the chutzpah to "friend" her. He's married with two children, one being a teenage girl. Dorri is knocked mentally senseless when she recalls the helplessness and violation, and she thinks of an apt retribution. She friends his wife with the plan to tell her.

But when I looked at my computer again, I saw she’d written on my wall. She posted a sideways smiley face and complimented the photos of my dog. How could I tell her? She’d done nothing to me. My rage belonged to her husband.

So I went back to his profile page and typed a private message: “I hope that night has haunted you. I was naïve and a virgin. I see you have a teenage daughter now. Better keep her safe from guys like you.”

I wanted to hate him and hurt him but realized that the only way to be free was to let it all go. When I defriended him I felt strong. The past was the past, and my mouth wasn’t covered anymore.

Being able to let go is the only way to move on and be free. 

Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head. - Esther Lederer

It is not easy. I am guilty for holding on for too long. They don't give the past a second thought; why should I? Why should I torment myself with unpleasantness?

Perhaps as a sign of my new-found forgiveness I should have kept her as a "friend." Her face in my friend list, however, was a trigger for the past. As long as the reminder isn't there, then I can forget for now, no longer blaming her. She certainly won't be in my head.