A very large percentage of books we’ve lived by have suggested that practicing forgiveness is essential to feeling happy and at peace. These books usually say that forgiveness is something we should do for ourselves, not for the people who did us wrong. By our forgiving, they insist, our wrongdoers will no longer take up space in our psyches, and we’ll be released from the shackles of the past.
According to these books, forgiveness can take a variety of forms. In many cases, it’s letting go of all the anger and pain we feel over being mistreated. In others, it’s an act of absolution. Still others equate it with gratitude—as in, we can thank those who’ve hurt us because they played a role in making us who we are today. And in the case of Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, it’s making a concerted effort to see things from our abusers’ point of view—abused children are advised to acknowledge that their abusers were victims of their own upbringing, and thus not at fault for their actions.
What I say to all this is “Hells no.” And what Jolenta says can’t be heard by the human ear, because the sound of a woman skipping past a step that says “forgive” (which is what she almost always does) is just that quiet.
Let’s start with the pain and anger part. When bad things happen, I think people should feel pain and anger—the victims should, and the victims’ loved ones should. Pain and anger are natural responses to injuries—both emotional and physical. And when we pretend we don’t feel these emotions, we’re in denial (at best) or sociopaths (at worst).
As I see it, anger gets a bad rap. There are many situations that justify it, and many situations in which anger pushes us toward greater action—like fighting for racial equality, or repealing laws that hurt women, or working harder to protect children, or walking away from people who are horrible to us.
To be clear, I’m not talking about rageaholic levels of vitriol that manifest in irrational acts of violence. I’m not talking about carrying around a fury so great that it’s all you can think about most days. But in self-help books, we’re often told that anger in any amount is dangerous—even a low-grade anger that sits mostly dormant ten levels beneath the surface. According to these books, any amount of anger eats us up and prevents us from being the best versions of ourselves.
Call me cocky, but I think I’m a pretty great version of myself. And I think Jolenta’s top-notch as well. And we both have some anger. I have anger toward that former friend who repeatedly tried to get it on with my then-boyfriend a few years ago. Jolenta has anger toward the PE teacher who harassed her all through high school. And I most certainly have anger toward my father and his wife—who did all sorts of violent and disgusting things to me growing up. It’s not the kind of anger we feel most weeks or even months. But it kicks in when we see someone else being hurt (if you want to see Jolenta get all Mama Bear, just hurt someone she loves), and I certainly feel it when I find myself in situations where I could be in danger. I consider it handy.
Let’s move on to the form of forgiveness that’s also called absolution. I’m totally okay with this form of forgiveness in most day-to-day interactions. For example, if someone accidentally steps on my toes on the subway and apologizes, I’ll absolutely say “No worries” or “That’s okay.” Same goes for someone calling me the wrong name or showing up five minutes late or breaking a wineglass or making any number of other accidental mistakes. We all make mistakes. Who cares?
But when we’re talking enormous transgressions, I’m not going to say “That’s okay” or “No worries.” It’s not okay if you deliberately cause physical or emotional injuries to me or someone I love. It’s not okay if you take my rights away because of my gender or race. It’s not okay if you dehumanize me or other humans. And I certainly won’t say “No worries” if you’ve instilled a horrible sense of worry in me over my own worth. Example: Are you someone who repeatedly told me I was useless in my most formative years? If so, I’ll never say “No worries” to you.
There are a few arguments for the absolution model of forgiveness. One of them is the belief that if you say “You’re forgiven” or “It’s okay” or “No worries,” you really and truly will feel it is okay and no longer be haunted by worry. Another is that absolving wrongdoers is an act of kindness that allows them a fresh start to try to do better. And, of course, there are those who believe that absolution allows for the slate to be wiped clean for everyone involved. Obviously, I don’t agree with this. If something truly horrible was done, saying “It’s okay” won’t make it disappear. And in a lot of cases, I don’t want wrongdoers to have a fresh start. I want them to think long and hard every day about what they did wrong and feel remorse. Jolenta, for her part, feels this even more strongly than I do.
Do not cross Jolenta.
Now let’s talk about the gratitude version of forgiveness. Should we be thankful for everything that’s made us who we are today? Proponents of this model say yes, because surviving adversity means we can relate to other people who’ve survived adversity. It also means we can tap into more complex parts of ourselves. But I think there are limits to this idea. Yes, some adversity can make us more empathetic and nuanced in our thinking. But then take that adversity up a level and I’m not so sure. Is it really making a person better, or worse?
Frankly, I wouldn’t wish some of the abuse I’ve faced on anyone, much less my younger self. I’m not grateful for it at all. And for all the supposed good things forgiveness proponents will say I gained from it, I can name dozens of bad things I also gained—from confusion about healthy expressions of love to demented ideas about my own worth—things that took me years of counseling to come to terms with. And Jolenta sure as hell isn’t grateful for the abuse she’s suffered either.
Finally, let’s talk about understanding. If we try to understand the people who’ve done us wrong, will we be happier? If we see their bad behavior as the result of bad things that they had to live through, will that bring us peace?
In some cases, I think this can be true. For example, if someone—hypothetically speaking—steals a loaf of bread from my store because they’re desperate and hungry, those are circumstances I can understand and forgive. If someone bounces a couple small checks to me because they were brought up with absolutely no understanding of money management, I can forgive that. And if a person’s transgressions are nonviolent, I can also usually enlist my understanding.
But for me, it stops there. I would never expect a rape survivor to try to understand her assailant’s point of view. I think it’s downright cruel when people think rape survivors should.
And my feelings on this go both ways. Just as I would never extend understanding to a child predator, I wouldn’t expect others to draw on their understanding if the predator was me. I wouldn’t want them to say, “Hey, she was treated badly growing up; it was inevitable she’d hurt someone else.” Growing up in a lousy situation doesn’t give a person carte blanche to pay it forward. And while some people choose to continue a cycle of abuse, the vast majority of us don’t. Passing it on is not an inevitability.
Now, at this point, you may be thinking: Holy smokey, Kristen is a coldhearted, unforgiving monster. She sure must be unhappy with all that bitterness in her heart. And to that, I say: Surprise! I’m actually superhappy. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I have a song in my heart and a spring in my step, and more often than not, I have a jolly smile on my face. I have close friends like Jolenta and beloved family members and my dear husband, who would drop anything and everything to help me in a moment of need (they all have). I see beauty in the world every day. I am the opposite of bitter.
And no, I don’t carry around the pain of my past like an albatross. I’m not dragging around a ball and chain of rage. I don’t feel I’m being held hostage by past trauma. I don’t feel I’m held back in any way by my refusal to forgive certain things or people.
As my friend and founding By the Book producer Cameron Drews once wisely said, “There are a lot of options between unconditional forgiveness and burdened misery. We don’t have to choose one or the other.”
Indeed. We can choose not to wish any happiness on the people who’ve done us wrong and live happy lives. We can choose not to feel grateful to the people who’ve hurt us and be grateful for the lives we have. And we can choose to have some anger in our hearts toward those who’ve abused us and still have hearts that overflow with joy.
The world is filled with in-betweens, and I honestly believe life is better when we don’t force ourselves to live on the extreme ends. If you want to, go ahead. But I, for one, don’t want to. And I feel at peace—unforgiving heart and all.
Dear Kristen and Jolenta,
But when you don’t forgive, you’re really only punishing yourself! I beg you both, please forgive for your own sake!
—RH
Dear RH,
I’m sorry, but I think I disagree with you. I’ve tried the pure forgiveness route. And it has worked with small things. Mostly it works well with people I trust. That core group that I know have my back no matter what because our relationship is based on a solid foundation of love and honest communication. But this doesn’t work when I truly think someone has hurt me with malicious or blindly selfish intent, and especially if that’s the only side of them that they’ve chosen to share with me.
Perhaps I’m not as generous as you when it comes to giving perpetrators the benefit of the doubt. But I have found that voicing my story, defining it in my terms, identifying how I was hurt by a person or situation, and being as specific as possible are what have helped me work through the often-punishing feelings that resentment leads to.
For me, finding my voice and using it to retell my version of events and explore how I’ve held on to this pain causing myself years of residual damage is way more healing than feeling obligated to “play nice” when it’s not in my heart to do so.
—Jolenta