A Letter
Judy,
I’m writing to you because, today, you woke up with a heaviness in your heart &, despite all that you’ve experienced & processed, this feels new to you. So much has been new to you lately, but with familiar enough variables. The hope is that by writing this, that you’ll be closer to understanding what it is that burdens your Spirit today, but also, I want to remind you of a few things you forget in these moments.
Judy. You have a beautiful heart. You’ve seen some of the ugliest parts of humanity &, yet, you are determined to see the beauty in the world & to love so deeply, that this world is transformed a little bit by having you in. Not everyone can say that, & the world needs all kinds, but you - you are choosing to not let any of it make you bitter. I think what you often forget is that the very first person that needs grace, is you. You’re so eager to be forgiving because you want to be forgiven. You’re so eager to serve because you want to be served. & there’s nothing wrong with any of that because your love is not conditional to those factors. Perhaps that is what hurts the most: that you know how you wanted to be loved, yet you allowed for less &, even so, it left such great sorrow in your spirit. It feels so unfair, I know.
What would happen if there was no one to give that love to? If there was no one to exalt, no one to serve, to make yourself a subject to?
I realize that serving your family was the only way you earned praise & felt worthy. It’s all you’ve done. You were never allowed to show sadness or anger, & were shamed when you did. Even giving too much love was met with mockery, being told you were too sensitive. You were so thirsty all your life, even in your marriage; living off the crumbs of simple compliments from your then-husband, letting one good word fuel you for weeks until you ran dry again. When you finally got tired of it & left, you became the selfish one; breaking your family apart, & you held out. You held out the same way you did when you became the target of family for wanting to do what was best for your half-siblings. You repeated what your dad taught you, “the truth comes to light”, & you stayed silent. You kept forgiving. & you? You bore the judgements - never defended yourself - because you see humanity as flawed, prone to error &, thus, worthy of forgiveness.
When, then, will you give yourself that same grace? Of all the things you saw modeled, personally experienced & learned, you did the best you could. When no other option was taught to you, you forged instead a new path, & - at times - you got it wrong. You often tell yourself you should have known better, done better, but you did. You measure yourself by standards that you self-impose, but where did they come from? From the voices you heard as a little girl, telling you that you were too much or not enough; from the way that raising your sisters when you yourself were a child, and being the maid to your family, was the only way you were useful. You measure yourself with the glaring eyes of a woman that didn’t know how to mother because she wasn’t mothered. Judy, you could have chosen to also not mother your daughters, but you do. It wasn’t modeled to you, nor did you inherit a nurturing disposition through life. You created it. You don’t always get it right, Judy, but do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know the courage you have, to look at the wounding deep within your spirit, then try to not inflict that same wounding on others? You have made difficult choices, you have made wrong choices, you have hurt people you love - of course - & because you tried so hard to not, when you did, you punished yourself mercilessly. Fine. Pay the penance, for it’s honorable to do so, & you don’t shy away from it. But when is it enough? Why make the bail so grand, you commit yourself to pay for it the rest of your life? Who - if not you - will forgive your wrongs? You’re the judge, jury & executioner. Will you punish yourself in the afterlife too? Pouring oil on yourself as you burn? You make your own hell, & you see it fit to live there alone while you pardon the world.
It is no wonder, child, that you cannot hold your own gaze for too long.
A note about this letter: I don’t know that I got anything out of writing it. I did feel better, so perhaps that was good enough. Maybe the reminder that I am trying my best was enough. But I don’t know that I’ll ever give myself the grace I like to give others. In a twisted way, I think it keeps me humble because I know I’m not better than anyone else out there, stumbling about, trying to figure it out. The more I see the fault in me, the more I can be compassionate to others’ faults too. I don’t know that I’m any closer, post-letter, to forgiving myself for not always being who the people I love(d) needed me to be. I should have’s run through my mind at times….& pardoning myself feels like an excuse. I don’t know that this is my best musing, but that’s not the objective. I’m here to share what is real every week, & so here I am. This week, words didn’t flow beautifully onto my screen; they were pried out, coaxed into sentences & fragments until they settled into one another in discomfort. There’s no epiphany today. Today, I just see me, & hold me in this space. That’s all.
