Forgiving: giving back the blame

There was never a moment when I decided that I wasn’t going to leave him.  I got up every day, made it to the end of the day, went to sleep, and did it all over again the next day.  I gave myself permission to leave whenever I was ready.


Just stay for now, and if you want out tomorrow, you can go.


I found a really good therapist, and I went by myself.  I had a lot of work to do on my own.

Months later, after hearing me make yet another snide remark about him, my therapist asked how long I was going to punish my husband.  I don’t know, forever??

She asked me when I was going to forgive him.  I had no idea how to do that.  

As it turned out, she had some insight on that, as well.  She went on to tell me that I wasn’t going to be able to forgive him until I came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t about me.  

As long as I felt like he did this thing because of something I did or didn’t do, then I was taking responsibility for it.  Forgiving him meant admitting that it was not my fault, and I still had so little love for myself that I could not accept that it wasn’t my fault. 

Harder than deciding to not divorce him was deciding, consciously, to forgive him.  Once she planted the seed, though, I knew that it was something I had to do if we were going to move forward.

I don’t know how far in we were; I’m pretty sure it had been less than 6 months from the time I found out.

It was nighttime.  The bedroom lights were off.  He was getting into bed, and I stopped him.  I embraced him in the dark.  We stood together, naked, which seemed only fitting as there could be no barriers for what I had to say, and I told him that I loved him.

Then, I gave the blame back to him; I told him I understood that what he did wasn’t my fault.

I told him that I forgave him.  There were tears.

We stood like that, in the dark, holding each other and crying, for a very long time.

I wish that I could remember all that was said that night; it’s like the remnants of a powerful dream that elude you when you try to bring them back.

I know it was profound, but I can’t remember why, exactly.

Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting; otherwise, I wouldn't be here writing about it, reliving it.

What forgiveness was, for us, was a new beginning.