I want to talk a little (lot) bit more about forgiveness.
You know that thing when you say a word enough times in a row and it starts to sound foreign? Like table. Say it repeatedly for a minute, then see if it still has meaning to you.
I mention that because I feel that way about certain words, and not just from repeating them. I wrote yesterday’s post about it, and I want to continue unpacking what forgiveness means to me–and why it is so fraught.
As I said in that post, I was raised to believe that my emotions didn’t matter, that I didn’t matter outside of what I could do for other people. My father was cold, emotionally distant, and deeply selfish. Narcissistic, even, in the classic sense of the word. Not a diagnosis–just how I experienced him as a father. He was obnoxiously sexist–well, let me clarify. He didn’t like anyone in general, but he esppecially hated women. Or rather, put them in a very restrictive box. I’ll give you one example.
The last time he was here, my brother, my mother, my father, and I went to Costco. While we were there or shortly thereafter, my father said it must be so hard for the housewives (and, yes, he used that word) to shop there. I was confused and asked him why he said that. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know and I should have just kept my mouth shut, but something inside me just would not let me.
This is pretty typical of our relationship, by the way. I know my father is deeply sexist. He has been all my life. I know he is going to say ignorant things about women, and sometimes, I think he does it just to get under my skin. Or at the very least, he simply does not care. I say that because he’ll often preface what he’s about to say with, “I know Minna won’t like this”–then why the fuck say it? It’s on par with, “I”m not sexist, but”–yes, yes you are. Even if you have that one female friend who totally says you’re a feminist, man.
I know my father is goading me. I know I should just let it go, especially now that he has dementia. But I can’t help myself. It’s as if something inside of me just won’t let it go. I’m sure it’s partly the neurodivergency in me, but I am a grown-ass person. I know what he’s doing. I should be better than that.
Anyway, back to Costco. He said that for people like us (my family), ti wasn’t a problem (shopping at Costco) beacuse we were smart people. But for the average housewife, it must be so overwhelming!
I cringed at how gross he sounded. I mean, ‘housewife’? Treating the women who were shopping at Costco like they were somehow lesser than him. I informed him in as even a voice as I could muster that shopping at Costco was no different than shopping at any other grocery store in the grand scheme of things. Yes, Costco was huge, but most people map out their route when they go grocery shopping and then stick to it.
Granted, Costco does change up their stuff more frequently than other grocery stores. Plus, they have freebies that other grocery stores do. But at the end of the day, it’s just a grocery store. And, as I pointed out to my fatherr, roughly 75% of the people in Costco that day coded female. Which means that maybe it’s not such a hard thing to do?
I didn’t realize until later what was actually going on. My father was feeling threatened by shopping at Costco. When he said that it must be hard/confusing for ‘the housewives’ to navigate Costco, he meant himself. He was feeling uncomfortable and tired, and he could not stand that. He had to displace that on those ‘housewives’ to make himself feel better.
Well. That took up most of the post, and it was only supposed to be background as to why I hate the word ‘forgiveness’. Hm. Which way to go. Ok. Let’s try to pull it together.
And, yes, I specifically mentioned my father because he’s the prime example of someone I’ve had friction with all my life.
When I was in my late twenties/early thirties, he was flying back to Taiwan from Hawaii, swinging through Minnesota as he went. We were at odds as we often were (are). I was deeply depressed at that time and hated him. Straight up hated him. As I took him to the airport so he could fly back to Taiwan (through Los Angeles), we somehow got into an argument because he felt I was not appreciative enough for all he did for me (monetarily). He wasn’t completely wrong, but he also wasn’t really right.
After we argued vociferously about it, he finally snapped at me in exasperation, “If you don’t appreciate what I’ve done for you, why should I love you?!”
Something broke in me that day. I knew he did not love me; I’ve known it since I was a kid, but to hear him say it made it that much harsher. All the fears and doubts in my head were actually true.
Here’s a weird fact about me. I’m always catastrophizing and thinking of the worst-case scenario. When that actually happens, I’m at my best. Probably because the outside circumstances were finally in line with what I felt deep in my soul. So while it hurt to hear that from my father, it also was a relief in a strange way. I knew it to be true, and it was gratifying to have the affirmation that it wasn’t just me.
I looked at him and simply said, “It’s your job to love me.” I couldn’t say anything else because my throat was suddenly clogged with tears. He called me from LA when he got there and hesitantly said that he loved me. That was the last time I heard that until his dementia worsened considerably.
I brought it up in my next therapy session because it was still bothering me. I knew it cost him a lot to say that to me, but I felt nothing when he said it. Then I felt guilty about feeling nothing. My therapist said that two seemingly opposite things can be simultaneously true. What she meant was this could be both a big thing for my father and a small thing for me. It seems so simple when I write it out, but I truly did not think of that before she said it.
Taiji helped me so much in my relationship with my parents. I moved through the hatred, the deep resentment, and the hurt I felt on the daily. Would I say I forgave them? No. Would I say I let go of the anger? Mostly. There’s still a lingering sadness, but it’s because of how cruel dementia is. So very cruel.
I can honestly say that my relationship with my parents is the best it’s ever been. But not for the reasons you might think. I’ll get more into that tomorrow.