I’m done beating myself up about having difficulty finding resolve when someone does harm to me. It’s been a long-standing fight fest with myself as I beat down on my inability to let shit go.
No lie, I spent about nine months in therapy discussing why I still haven’t felt any guilt in the grief I have around my late brother’s passing. See, the thing is, we weren’t speaking when he died. And the last true conversation I had with him just months before his untimely passing? I told him “You’re dead to me.”
It’s crazy because when he first died, I beat myself down to the ground. It reminded me of Maya Angelou in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. How she said she didn’t speak for so long after harm was done to her because she felt like she willed the death of her abuser forward. I mean God forbid a woman have retribution?! But I digress.
When he died I felt awful because my mom had constantly told me that speaking like that was unbecoming and that my siblings were all I had. But shit— they don’t uphold that tenet, so why should I bend over backwards to keep the peace? But I’m getting ahead of myself here, that’s a blog for another day, let me step back and recenter.
The Root of the Grudge
When he passed, I asked myself: Why didn’t I just accept his apology? Why didn’t I just move on? I battled with that because I knew from an early age that holding a grudge was just something I could– and would– always do.
From arguments with my mom’s sisters to disagreements with friends, I think stems from feeling like no one stood up for me growing up. When it came to being abandoned by my father, I had to take the guardianship of myself and my feelings very fucking seriously. And bitch, ain’t NOBODY crossing me and thinking we moving on. Yeah, you gon’ move out my way and imma keep it the fuck moving.
The Incident
So what happened with my brother? Well, my siblings, cousins, and I would always get drunk on the weekends when I came home from college. We’d call my brother pretending we needed rescuing when literally we would just be tipsy laughing in my aunt’s living room, safe and sound. But he always came to see about us. He rescued us in his own way, which is definitely notable and something I hold dear when I recall our relationship.
But one night, a week before my college graduation, we went out as a family to celebrate. Mind you, I’m the first of my mom’s kids to graduate college. I was trailblazing, and I was doing that shit FOR US just as my mother always told us: “We are a unit, behave as one.”
That night, my brother was upset at men trying to talk to me and my sisters. I mean, we was out looking like the baddest bitches in the city, what did he expect?!
Anyways— he gets into a bar fight, police were called, and of course come one come all— everyone was in the fight.
It ended up with my brother fleeing the scene and my two sisters and my cousin being arrested and cited in one of the most racist parts of town. Because one of my sisters had prior issues with the law, she was detained. That jail time ended up costing my sister the ability to attend my graduation.
Someone who, on so many occasions, uplifted me and helped me through some difficult times wasn’t able to attend because she was INCARCERATED behind our brother starting a jealous and irresponsible bar fight. Can you believe that?
So what was my response? Irritation. Screaming. Crying. And in that moment, telling him he was dead to me and as long as he lives to never speak to me again. I graduated in May of 2012. My brother died in January of 2013. We spent those eight months in the same spaces, at the same family functions, existing around each other but never truly speaking.
Was it that deep? Well to me, yes it was. Because my mother raised us to be one band, one sound! Even in her dying days, she stood us in the hallway of our home and told us to let go of any beef. So for my sister–an important instrument in the “one band, one sound” – to not be able to attend the final concert? Something not only my mom sacrificed a lot for, but we all sacrificed for? It was devastating.
Wow— imma pause for a moment because outside of therapy.. and my lifelong best friend, Alexis… I’ve never told my side of this story to anyone. It feels cathartic like a small weight lifting off my shoulders.
Okay moving on— I say all that to say— when I think about my forgiveness game, I realize that it is VERY WEAK. I think it stems from a lot of moments early in life where I should have been taken up for, supported, and protected – and I wasn’t. And now that I am grown and have the ability to do so for myself — I overstand the assignment.
So I’m coming to terms with things. Instead of going round and round in therapy paying $80 a session to talk through how I can “better be open” to forgiving people who do harm to me… I just have decided not to.
I’m by no means saying that I’m not open to reconciliation, but I am saying that I’m no longer beating myself up when I don’t feel inclined to do so. I had a friend I had a hard break with, and nearly 6 years later, there was a little reconciliation. And after that? They just went on pretending like nothing ever happened. And for some reason… I just couldn’t let the shit go.
Did I still have beef? No. But could I go on pretending and acting like shit was perfect and we were the best of friends? Also.. no. Lmao.
Because here’s the thing – when we reconnected after all that time, I thought maybe we both grew, maybe things would be different, but nope. Same tendencies that broke us apart in the first place started showing up again. The I love you texts, randomly commenting on things as if we spend insane amounts of time together, just made it all uncomfortable for me.
And you know what? I tried. I really did try the whole forgiveness and moving forward thing. I gave it a real shot. But forcing myself to be cool with someone when my gut telling me otherwise? Nah. That ain’t it.
So here’s where I’m at now, and I’m finally okay with it. I’m not forcing forgiveness anymore. If my peace costs distance, then distance it is.
Does that mean I’m walking around with hate in my heart? No.
Does it mean I wish bad on people who did me wrong? Well, depends lol.
It just means I’m no longer available for the bullshit. It means I’m no longer convincing myself that keeping the peace is more important than keeping my sanity. It means I’m finally good with the fact that some doors are meant to stay closed, and I’m the one holding the key.
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