Finding Forgiveness

I'm still awake at 4 am and feeling sad. Yet this is the kind of sad that will fade quickly, rather than deep grief that feels as though it might swallow me whole. Last week I finally let go of my shame around an old memory, and my sadness comes from feeling an empty place inside that was once filled with pain. I simply don't know what else to fill it with yet.

Many years ago the assistant principal at my high school walked up to me and a group of boys on the lawn in front of the school building. The boys kicked me, punched me, pulled my hair, and called me names. They held my arms and legs so I could not get away. Mr. E. walked up to us and looked through me, as though I was not there. He spoke only to the boys. "You can't fight on school property," he told them.

He stood and watched while the boys dragged me approximately one foot off school grounds, and then continued to kick me, punch me, and pull my hair. Then Mr. E. turned and walked away.

For many years I couldn't understand how he could have done such a thing. Wasn't it his job to protect me? For many years I carried shame and guilt, believing I had somehow deserved his treatment of me.

Recently this memory came back very strongly, and when it did, I thought I needed to forgive Mr. E. I thought forgiving him would take my pain away. I talked it through with some friends, and one of them (bless her heart) told me that what he had done was unforgivable. When she said that, something broke open inside me. My shame began spilling out, and as I wept, I realized I did need to find forgiveness -- for myself.

To make a much longer story a little shorter, I have managed -- through writing about the incident, a bit of dream interpretation, and some role playing work with good friends -- to forgive myself for being helpless, for being a victim.

As a footnote to this entry, I googled Mr. E. yesterday and found him -- on Facebook, of all places. I am certain it is the same person. Although his profile photo shows him with a large, round belly, a bald head, and clearly much older, the face is the same. His is a face I will find hard to forget, and I'm happy to report that I looked at his photo without fear, or shame, or pain. I felt only a little shaky, as though bracing myself for an earthquake that never came.

I release you from my memory, from my life, from my heart, Mr. E. You may not even remember what you did to me all those years ago. Yet instead of feeling angry, I only feel sad. A sadness that will quickly fade. May you fade along with it.