 |
Author/Athlete/Professional Speaker "Think of yourself as an athlete. I guarantee you it will change the way you walk, the way you work, and the decisions you make about leadership, teamwork, and success."- MBN |
|
|
If you forgive yourself first, apology can become a gift -- "I'm sorry" -- instead of a request: Yesterday my neighbor and good friend Palma asked if I could meet her 10-year-old daughter Elaine at the bus stop next week and bring her to my house for 30 minutes while Palma drives home from somewhere else. I didn't hear the "somewhere else" part because my own internal monologue was too loud. "Go to the bus stop? At four in the afternoon? Baby sit? What about my work? Why aren't self-employed people treated with the same respect . . . " ". . . unless it's a particularly busy time of your workday," Palma was saying when I tuned back in. "All of my workdays are busy," I said brusquely. "I'm writing 17 speeches in the next 12 days." Ultimately I agreed to baby-sit, but only after stipulating that Elaine would have to sit in the living room and read or play with Rocky, my dog, while I worked in the next room. I didn't promise cookies or conversation. My "yes" was an uptight, stressed out, imposed-upon sort of "yes." When we hung up I was disappointed and angry--not with Palma, who rarely asks for favors, nor with my decision, because there's no reason I can't make up that time by working later that night, or spending less time on chatty e-mails. I was mad at myself for carrying a chip on my shoulder about the importance of my home-based business, and for responding in such an ungracious way. The situation called for self-forgiveness. Luckily I recognize that now. Luckily I can tell, now, when I'm making myself miserable with self-criticism, even over minor faults and failings, and I know how to make myself feel better. In the past, self-forgiveness would not have occurred to me. I might have felt angry with Palma for asking for help. I might have called Palma to apologize for my parsimonious response, hoping that she would offer me the forgiveness needed. Or I might have called her and changed my answer to "no," hoping to resolve my discomfort by pushing her and Elaine away. Self-forgiveness is a much better way to go. I learned about self-forgiveness over the past few years, during an agonizing and ultimately liberating process of forgiving the man who molested me when I was young. During that experience, I had to forgive myself for having been naive, for having lied to my parents, for not having somehow stopped the abuse. (Sometimes self-forgiveness is required even when you really did nothing wrong.) Along the way I noticed how harshly self-critical I am on a daily basis. I learned that when I'm suffering, self-forgiveness is often the answer. Learning from mistakes is essential, too, but mostly what we need, I believe, is less self-punishment and more self-love. One time when my friend Lianna was four years old, she was jumping on her bed and chattering about her imaginary friend Bartok the bat and her ability (which she demonstrated) to sing vibrato. I was enjoying her exuberance and her many talents but was nevertheless having an unhappy sort of day, feeling sorry for myself. Then, at the height of one bounce, Lianna looked me in the eye and said, "I will love you forever." She shocked me right out of my self-pity. When we both bounced back down to earth, I found myself hoping that she will indeed love me forever, although soon afterward she told me with just as much certainty that she will marry her little brother. But her innocent declaration somehow led me to this question: What if we could say that to ourselves: "I will love you forever"? What if we not only promised that, but made good on the promise? Forever, no matter what? People seem to crave this unconditional self-love, this freedom from self-recrimination. "I wish I could forgive myself," people tell me, or, "I'm afraid I'll never be able to forgive myself." It's something audience members ask when I speak: "How can I forgive myself?" They're not asking if it's possible or correct, or if there's religious precedent for it. They want guidance on how to accomplish it because they're in pain. Self-forgiveness is a commitment to love yourself no matter what. It's the generous act of giving yourself a break. Remembering that you're human. Offering yourself the loving kindness that you might offer, on your best days, to those you love the most, no matter what they've done. The song says, "Let There Be Peace on Earth . . . and let it begin with me." Self-forgiveness is about "beginning with me." When we "begin with me," treating ourselves with love and compassion, we become nicer to everyone else. We become less defensive. We don't worry so much what others' judgments might be, because we're not judging ourselves. If we eventually choose to apologize, that apology is no longer driven by our own pain and shame. It's a gift--"I'm sorry"--instead of a request: "Please forgive me." In my case, I did apologize to Palma for my reaction, but not until I'd thought about why boundary issues (when to say yes and no) are so tricky for many women. We tend to put others' needs before our own, sometimes to our own detriment--but we want to be caring and considerate, so we're conflicted. I thought, too, about why I'm so protective of my work time: I believe that the success of my beloved writing and speaking business is due to hard work and self-discipline, and in some irrational part of my brain, one half-hour of mid-afternoon babysitting could send me streaming down a slippery slope to bankruptcy. I also remembered that in 12 years of self-employment, I've struggled with every "please take time off work" request, regardless of its source. It's just something that's tough for me--which is not such a horrible thing. Thinking these things through--and talking them through with another friend--helped me give myself some slack. "No wonder this is a difficult issue for you," I said to myself. I forgave myself. Now I still needed to make a phone call. By the time I reached Palma later that evening, I no longer felt tense or conflicted. And I was looking forward to spending time with Elaine. No way was I going to leave her alone in the living room. I explained to Palma that I had been feeling stressed out when she called, and she said with a laugh that she knows the feeling. We had a relaxed conversation, easy and natural. I didn't need any forgiveness from her. All I needed was to revise my answer: "Sure. I'd be glad to help. Elaine and Rocky and I can all play together. Or Elaine can play dress-ups with my clothes. Whatever she wants. I'll be at the bus stop early. Tell her I'll bring Oreo cookies--her favorite." *** Guidelines for Getting You Started Self-forgiveness usually doesn't happen by accident. It requires thought and willingness. Consider: Awareness. Remember exactly what happened and examine why you feel disappointed or angry with yourself about it. Did you fail to live up to your own expectations--or someone else's? Where did those expectations come from? Were you embarrassed or humiliated? Who observed the behavior, and what are you afraid they will think? What do you think? What would you think if someone else did what you did? Analyzing what happened, and how you responded is an essential first step. Validation. Talk to a sympathetic listener. Tell the story and sort through your own feelings. Be honest about what you did or failed to do, and how you feel about yourself. Observing their compassionate response can help you begin to offer yourself that same compassion. Compassion. Give yourself a break. Recall the circumstances: stress, ignorance, a simple mistake. Compassion is "the beginning and ending point of spiritual practice," says Zen Buddhist teacher and author Cheri Huber. Humility. Reflect on your other mistakes and limitations to get perspective on your own humanity. This mistake was one of many mistakes you will make. No one expects you to be perfect. Don't expect it of yourself, either. If you can't forgive yourself: That's also human.
Sometimes our own internal critic is too loud and persistent, or
our offense seems too great--or unforgivable. Don't think anything
is inherently unforgivable. If you can't forgive yourself for something
you've done, try forgiving yourself for that inability. After all,
you're not a perfect forgiver either. If you can manage this--if
you can forgive yourself for not being forgiving enough--then you
are indeed engaging in the act of self-forgiveness, practicing it
and offering it to the person who needs it most. Mariah Burton Nelson is the author of The Unburdened Heart: Five Keys to Forgiveness and Freedom (Harper San Francisco, 2000). For reprint permission contact the author, information below. To contact Mariah about her presentations, call 703/276-8323 or write to her at Mariah@MariahBurtonNelson.com Home © Mariah Burton Nelson Site Redesign by ALT
Designs |
The
Freedom of Self-Forgiveness