Friends, I am moving towards freedom.
But the journey towards freedom means a lot of unlearning.
Today, I had a very powerful lesson on responsibility: accepting and taking responsibility for impact not aligned with intent; on what I cannot control: the pain of grace withheld and being misunderstood by someone I thought would know my heart; on holding space for love, possibility and humanity in the face of grief and trauma; and on what it means to really let go and journey towards freedom.
I want to share this lesson here.
I had a really excellent day for the most part today. I spent the day with other leaders in my faith community whom I love and respect. Towards the end of the day, one of the leaders offered up a suggestion for accountability that I thought was a good one, but that seemed to intimate a lack of trust and transparency. I was not offended (although probably a little hurt because I’m part of the team that was critiqued) because I know our meetings are open to everyone in our faith community; however, I can also understand that sometimes just having open meetings without giving everyone a chance to weigh in can seem secretive.
In a half-joking/half-serious manner, I suggested that the leader take my place in the group or that this person feel free to attend any of the meetings or to be nominated for service in this group the following year, in that way being privy to the decisions being made. This is after I asked to squeeze in next to another ministry team member because we were wearing (coincidentally) matching patterns, thereby asking this other person to move slightly.
The leader was offended by my comments and my request and, in no uncertain terms, made sure that I was well aware of their discontent.
This is not the first time this has happened with this particular person, in a situation in which I harbored exactly zero ill-will and was trying to support the person’s idea.
But this person’s actions opened up in me the multiple times my behavior has left an undesired impact on someone who I cared deeply about, who did not show me grace. It brought up trauma from my family of origin, from the family I lived with after my mother died, from my older daughters, and most recently from this past year professionally. It reverberated viscerally in me and my desire was to plead for forgiveness.
Given what I could control, I took responsibility for the unintended impact of my actions. I have always done this, in each of the previous situations, and today.
I know that I am not ever owed grace, that impact is greater than intention, that likely with whom person I was interacting was not fully responding to me, but to their own story about what my actions meant (because honestly, I believe in the importance of their suggestion and that greater transparency in leadership is key to faith in any institution, and plan to support actions to that end).
But I felt an incredible wave of grief, for all the times that I needed love, grace and forgiveness and it was not given to me. I was in tears. Tears for that girl that I was, for the mother I was, for the leader I was, for the person I am.
Thankfully, my pastor was there, and sat me down, and received my pain. She did not dismiss it or minimize it. She listened, and responded in love, sharing from her own experiences and holding mine. She heard the greater context and my intentions and let me say what there was in my heart to say. She let me cry, and reminded me that I had taken all the responsibility I could in the situation, that I could not be responsible for the residual feelings of another person, whether valid or not. After we talked, she asked if I could let the situation go. Then she reminded me that she would still be there later if it resurfaced.
And readers, in her compassion, there was freedom.
My pastor is so wise. And her words that I could not be responsible for the residual feelings of another person, whether justified or not; that I could not make someone else understand my intention; that another’s misunderstanding of my character did not make me a bad or unlovable person; her words were revelatory.
I simply cannot live my life dependent on others’ affirmation because not everyone, even in my desperate desire for love which leads to incredible self-sacrifice and with my expert chameleon skills to become what others want me to be, will affirm me.
So I just have to live, do my part to take responsibility, and hold space for the possibility of restoration.
But I cannot hold space for restoration if I am holding on to anger, towards myself or the other person.
Holding space takes a lack of attachment to the outcome. It is in the hope of restoration without the assurance that it will be there.
Holding space is an act of faith.
Unconditional love of myself is an act of faith:
whether and when I make mistakes, because I am human;
whether I am joyful or sorrowful, because I am human;
whether I do nothing or everything, too much or not enough (and just enough too), because I am human.
Unlearning is an act of faith. It is a reminder that because we have been hurt in the past in similar situations, we do not have to hold on to that hurt.
This past week in therapy, I let go of guilt. In the past when I’ve let go of something hard that I am holding onto, I imagine burying it or dropping it to the bottom of a lake, because it is heavy, but permanent. It can only be hidden, but it will not disappear. This week, I sent my guilt (and there’s a lot of it) off in a rocket and detonated it, leaving nothing but a transference of energy and shifted (imaginary) matter behind (if you’re a rocket scientist and this is not how it works, just indulge the metaphor, please, it’s my blog). And in that, there was freedom. I don’t have to hold on to the guilt, the hurt, the pain.
But I do have to feel it to let it go. I do need those feelings received and affirmed by someone I love and respect. I need my humanity to be received and affirmed, in its fullness. I need to feel that I am loved in my imperfection, even as I know I am never owed forgiveness.
It is a powerful path to freedom, but it is not an easy one.
But today, right now, I am a little closer to free.
