When We Can’t Forgive

When We Can’t Forgive

There are times when we are unable to access the self-compassion needed for self-forgiveness. In this session, Tara explores how, if we get stuck in the conditioning of hatred or anger, we can reach out to a larger belonging and discover the loving presence that, at the moment, is difficult to access within.

We’re turning towards a place of refuge where we can rely on our innate wisdom or buddha nature, our spiritual or future self to reconnect with a more expansive sense of ourselves and who we are. It’s calling on something or someone to help reconnect us with a sense of wholeness. We can call on a mentor figure, dead or alive, whom we trust, and that motivates us to go on.

Which matches your idea of a Being that expresses love and understanding?

Buddha/Jesus/ Mohamed; a friend, teacher, parent, child; someone you don’t know personally; a formless presence

I thought of my parents and some of the painful and pleasant experiences I’ve had with them over the years we’ve known each other. These are ordinary people with their vices and virtues and while my father has died my mother is still alive and kicking. She has her way of being, as do I and we often disagree on how to be or live life.

Only yesterday I argued with her over the installation of a greenhouse on her property. She doesn’t want it and I don’t think it’s fair that my brother has the use of the land and I can’t have a small patch. She has no interest in gardening and doesn’t understand what it means to my partner, Linn, and I, to grow our own to be more in tune with nature. What she likes is everything to be neat and tidy and her family and property seem to me like an extension of herself.

I on the other hand am not too fussy about how things look, nor do I like other people telling me how they’d like me to look or how I should be. So, needless to say, we clash regularly.

Her way of being represents the microcosm or macrocosm where possession is nine-tenths of the law. Rebels, like me, who don’t agree with private ownership of the planet and the unequal distribution of resources, find it hard to accept these unnatural laws, especially when I feel they are destroying the planet.

And yet I can love and forgive what I see as my mother’s shortsightedness in this regard. I can’t change her opinion and don’t want to be in conflict but I do feel it’s worth arguing about and I will continue to do so. Of course, I could do more of what she’d like me to do and “in turn” get more from her as a form of reciprocity but that’s also manipulative behaviour and I wouldn’t be tidying the garage to suit myself but to keep her from harping on at me.

While I could take everything pertaining to me and hide it away, out of sight and out of mind, the material problems of our lives won’t go away until we’ve dealt with the real messiness in our lives.

Self-Forgiveness and Making Amends

For self-forgiveness to be complete, we need to offer our sincere prayer, care and sometimes, active help to those who have been injured. In this session Tara guides us in offering our heart’s care where there has been an injury, even if the person is no longer alive.

When it comes to self-forgiveness we’re sometimes afraid that we will condone and permit ourselves to behave in the same way again and again if we don’t punish ourselves or others for our so-called sins.

I am reminded of was the time I hit my father in frustration with his resistance to whatever I was doing to try and help him. I felt ashamed and afterward confessed to a friend who absolved me. Though I felt a sense of relief at being forgiven. I knew in my heart that power over others is weakness disguised as strength and I was still guilty of abusing the power I now had over my father. Now I was the bully, as I told him and he was as defiant as I was when it was the other way around.

When it happened again I didn’t feel like I had to confess again. I could forgive myself and was able to realise in time that my father’s lashing out at me and in turn my lashing out at him was due to the extremely stressful situation we were both in at that particular moment and what we said and did to hurt each other was a way of releasing that pent-up energy and emotions of fear and anger, resentment and hopeless frustration.

However, we were always able to make amends and apologise to each other in our own way. I was able to ask for his forgiveness and he would say forget about it or that there was nothing to forgive as he had already forgotten and had learned to let go and no longer held on to the painful memories where we unintentionally hurt each other. Instead, we were able to remember all the kind acts and gestures of love at the end of his life and I’m so grateful to remember the happier moment we spent together, as well as his wisdom when it came to living.

For a long time, I lacked the self-compassion to let go and carried the hurt and anger and deep down sadness of feeling I was not good enough in his eyes. Especially after an offhand remark, he made that Maya, my partner, at the time was too good for me. I had held on to this as a source of pain and suffering to determined to transform myself and become a worthy and successful person despite him and yet for him. Though the irony is, when I eventually confronted him, I could by his face he had no recollection of having spoken those words that cut me in two, as I described in this poem about:

My Parents

My parents always found some way

To save me from that rainy day

Some spent sipping pints of stout.

Cigarette stuck in my mouth.

I thought of them, no doubt,

When the money ran out.

Dad had to dig deep in his pocket,

Pulling a few pound from his pay packet:

The weekly wage that had a long way to go

But no matter what they had to pay

Seldom if ever did I hear them say no.

And what little thanks did I show?

Lent a hand at the weekend

Every now and then

Before I’d be gone again.

Now though I remember mostly sad things about him

Rubbing cream on his cracked skin;

The hard hands of a hard man,

Whose crude kind of love I couldn’t understand

Oppressive silences after we’d argued again

Eventually, though we’d both give in.

Although some things are not so easily forgiven

Now there’s nowhere for me to run or hide away

From what your slip of the tongue did that day

What a sad last impression you’ve made

Cut now in two

Like the worm beneath the blade of the spade

I wreath and wriggle away from you

For I cannot say what I’d like to

Part of me died that day Dad

And I’m sorry son was all you had to say

For all this sadness to have faded away.

The part that died was my ability to forgive and forget until I had physically got it off my chest. I had told Maya and written about it, as a way of trying to literally transform it but I couldn’t physically get it off my chest until I had confronted him. I could see by the look on his face that he realised how wrong it was to say such a thing to his own son and told him that he could when he asked ‘what do you want me to say,’ say you’re sorry, which he was, but couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to at that moment.

We can’t force someone to feel sorry or apologise. Nor are our attempts to resolve a conflict always going to be met with acceptance. Situations come to mind, right now, where my apology was rejected, though I can’t remember an incident when I turned down another’s attempt at reconciliation.

Ah, yes, an old friend’s offer to go for a coffee to whom I hadn’t spoken since he intervened in relation to an ex-partner of mine suffering from PTSD. Even though at the time I was grateful for his intervention, and knew his intentions were honourable I felt betrayed by his judgement and subsequent treatment of me due to his feelings. I was blissfully ignorant for a time that he was angry and ambiguous about our friendship and didn’t understand until he wrote some months later as to how I had offended him. His judgement of me without ever having heard my side of the story or what it had been like for me, living with someone with PTSD is what caused a rift in our friendship and led to the boundary.

When I bumped into him the day he suggested we go for a coffee, he was with a mutual acquaintance, and I invited them both to my apartment. However it didn’t happen that day and we’ve not had that coffee since. Although we’ve greeted each other on the rare occasion we’ve meet in town, we’ve not really spoken since that time and I doubt we’ll ever be intimate friends again. I feel I could never open-heartedly trust him again. However, I’ve forgiven him and send my prayers of Metta and forgiveness to both him and my ex-girlfriend. For the time being that is the way it is and maybe the way it will always be. What will be, will be but I can at least see him now without the same sense of betrayal of friendship or anxiety.

There is still a felt sense of some pain and suffering, which is perhaps why our invisible boundaries keep us apart but I have learned so much about love and friendship from these failed relationships. They motivated me to seek help in order to heal and better understand myself.

I’ve come a long way since then and I continue doing my rounds of forgiveness and letting go by mostly living as a better person to makes amends for self-ignorance. I didn’t know how to be more self-aware and take better care of myself in emotionally fraught situations in the past, that continue to represent themselves, giving me fresh opportunities to practice self-compassion and forgiveness.

I don't share to be confessional. Stories from my life and how I’m working with my own issues serve to demonstrate that we all, even mindfulness teachers, have our shadow or dark side to deal with. We all need to bring what we think is taboo to the table to shed some light on our true nature.

I heard of a podcast with a writer, interviewed about his style who said when you're telling a story, you can either set yourself up as the hero or you can set yourself up as a fool. He said, "And I always take the stance of the fool." I realised that while I’ve wanted to be the unassuming hero of my stories, most of the time, they are told from the standpoint of being the unconscious fool recognising my ignorance and being humble enough to share it, for the sake of others.

I find Truth to be personal and engaging. But again, there's a fine line between something being too raw and confessional and something leading toward nurturing our true nature. So while I try to be aware when sharing personal experiences from my life they may not be relatable or maybe even triggering to some people. So, it’s important to take care of yourself, while reading these thoughts and to remember these are just my thoughts and we are not our thoughts, and definitely not my thoughts.

If I'm reading a book on trauma, or lovingkindness, or listening to others giving a talk on whatever, something's going to really touch me around my own experience of these feelings. Whatever the topic, if it feels safe for you, really let those feelings be alive inside you. That’s how we learn to empathise with one another. I heard someone say there are only two types who celebrate when they go through a hard time: comedians and Dharma teachers but there are many more of us who go through the catharsis of these experiences with us, who haven’t chosen to creatively express or share it.

I received an email from Stephan Wolfert, with whom I recently participated in an online workshop. It was part of the two day International Social Justice Summit, organised by the Trauma Research Foundation (TRF), a community of researchers and clinicians who are committed to developing innovative methods for the treatment of people of all ages who have experienced trauma. The conference was hosted by Bessel Van Der Kolk M.D., author of the New York Times best seller The Body Keeps the Score, and Licia Sky, C.M.O.H., who is a Boston based artist, singer-songwriter, and bodyworker who works with traumatised individuals and trains mental health professionals to use Embodied Self Experience in movement, theatre exercises, writing and voice as tools for attunement, healing and connection.

There's a lot of stigmas attached to entering even a virtual room, much less a performance space or any therapeutic program if you're not obliged to, which is why these programs are always voluntary. It’s better if we choose to participate of our own accord, and we do if we’re drawn to getting to the heart of what makes us tick.

Bessel says, in his book, that survivors of trauma are creative, they must be to survive. I have found that to be true in my own case, as well as in my intimate relationships. In fact, Stephan Wolfert who co-runs a program called DE-CRUIT; treating trauma through Shakespeare and science, says that everyone they have met within prisons, addiction centres, etc., are actually artists who have had the art beaten out of them.

I wrote to him after our session with a couple of questions:

I'd like to know how people feel after they've performed a part?

"Lighter" is the word that we hear the most. In fact, it has become the question that we use as a litmus test as to whether or not we need to do some box-breathing or not. If they feel "heavier," which is rare, we bring them (using theatre and therapy techniques) back into the room and back into this moment, via breath work and eye movement. However, this is made possible by hours of practice beforehand. The intent of the "performance" is to fully have memories/emotions, feel them fully, survive them, be supported by others and then recover from them (very often in a new way). Further, we ensure that everyone has people/resources to reach out to after the "performance".

Also, is it only people who consider themselves traumatised that do this training, as not everyone wants others to know they're suffering from PTSD?

Many, and in the early days nearly all, enter the room without having any acceptance or understanding that they may have endured trauma. If they served in combat, then, in some cases they are more likely to enter the room with some ideas about trauma. But since we know that the majority of this began in childhood, they end up going backwards and bumping into their own A.C.E. [Adverse Childhood Experiences] score. And, because of the group's acceptance of our trauma or attachment disorder, the individual is more willing and more able to accept their own. 

I first heard this proverb listening to a talk on trauma with Peter Levine, another great teacher on this subject. We can’t change our past, nor can we change the truth of our experiences but as the old Jewish proverb says we can change the story and thus change how we feel or interpret it.

I think that the arts, can change how we feel about ‘the heartache and thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to’ Hamlet (Act 3 Scene 1):

According to Robert Popa, ‘heartbreak is the core of Hamlet’s character, that it is “the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to” that defines him, not madness. From the actor’s perspective, it is imperative to gain an in-depth understanding of the thoughts within the character’s mind, as well as all the feelings within the character’s heart, for a truthful performance.

Scholarship suggests that Hamlet is either on a path toward madness, given the visitations of his father’s Ghost, or that he is an intellectual, perfectly sane, and only feigning madness on the path toward avenging his father’s murder…

Hamlet’s multiple heartaches, in conjunction with his compounded stress, may have induced a psychotic break. More specifically, an acute psychosis, that peaks in intensity and transparency in the Closet Scene. The psychosis is triggered when he confronts and berates his mother. This type of mental illness, or “madness,” would be the most suitable and realistic in portraying the character…

[T]o play the role of Hamlet [one] should focus on the emotions within the character’s heart, truly understand the world surrounding our protagonist, contextualize his text, and then decide the fate of his mental health. If the heartbreak is extreme enough, it most definitely affects the mind.’(http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:42004175)

While I agree with the author, that Hamlet’s heart is broken, his behaviour seems symptomatic of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) to me.

Shakespeare has become a mentor and friend and I’ve really felt an intimate affinity with him, since studying Much Ado About Nothing with Madame Jones-Davies as part of mes etudes de Langues, Literature et Civilizations a la Sorbonne. I felt his sensitivity as a human being and storyteller through his comedies and tragedies and know in my heart that in many ways these stories are not just his literary legacy but his autobiography, his story. And just as find myself in his characters and tales, I also imagine there are many writers who see all aspects of themselves and humankind for that is what he was capturing in everyday life by absorbing the thousand shocks that flesh is heir to.

I imagine we all have our ways of coping with the joys and sorrows of our lives. The joy and the ecstasy, the traumas and the tragedies that befall us all. But not many of us desire to delve deep enough to get the core or heart of our joy and suffering. That is what writers, dharma teachers, and many other creative artists and facilitators, such as I, do on a daily basis, whether or not we get laid or paid, for doing so.

Coming out of the proverbial closet about one’s depression, addiction, trauma, or Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) or whatever we happen to have experienced has become a career for some if not many of the professionals performing in the dramatic, post-dramatic, and traumatic, and post-traumatic fields. By transforming our experiences and ourselves in the research and development of our auto-ethnographic studies, to become the everyday experts of our own lives, I feel is an admirable pursuit if we can with our hand on our hearts, truly get to the heart of ourselves. I’m uncertain as to whether I am courageous enough to truly unmask and face myself but that at least is my intention, as a human being.

However, as a writer, author, performance artist, mindfulness teacher or creative facilitator, or any other definition I publicly call and identify myself with, I have the much more onerous task and responsibility of creating a story that will do no harm.

That is the Hippocratic oath all healers of our humanity take. And who or what is more powerful than the storytellers and their stories that transform our ailing societies and civilisation.