There are some words that I just don’t understand or get. I mean, I know them on an intelligence level, but I don’t get them on a cellular level.
One is gender, but that’s more the concept of gender. I’m not talking about that in this post because that’s not the point. I want to talk about another big picture word that I feel gets too mired down in toxic Christianity. (And maybe other religions, but that’s the one I know best.)
Fair warning: My bias is that I grew up in a very sexist, patriarchal, conservative with a small-c, toxic, and just overwhelmingly negative Evangelical Taiwanese church. It was awful, and my lasting memories are, quite frankly, scarring. I walkekd away from the church in my early twenties, fought about it with my mother for about ten years (while being intensely angry at a god I didn’t think existed), and then made my peace with it.
However, any time the word/concept of forgiveness comes up, I become incandescent with rage. Or at least I used to. it’s not as bad now, but I still involuntarily grimace when I hear/read the word. And no matter how people try to explain it in a positive way, I still view it as a negative.
“Forgiveness does not mean forgetting.”
“Forgiveness just means getting past the anger.”
“Forgiveness is for the forgiver, not the forgiven.”
These are the common phrases, and they never fail to elicit a huge eyeroll from me (even if it’s mental).
I was reading an old Captain Awkward post, and the idea of forgiveness came up. One commenter made several comments that closely mirrored how I feel about it. I’m not going to say the name, but she talked about how it bothered her after she left her abuser how people wanted her to perform being a good victim by at least giving lip service to forgiving her abuser (paraphrasing).
I appreciated that she didn’t just push back on forgiveness itself, but that she embraced anger. She mentioned how anger helped her, and I really related to that. Growing up, I was told that any so-called negative emotion I showed was not ok. Oh, it wasn’t said in those specific words, but believe me, I knew it. By the look on my mother’s face. By the way my father shouted at me if I dared show I was not happy.
People were supportive, but there were still murmurs of, “Oh sure, anger for a while, but then–you let go of it, right?” To which she defiantly said that her anger was what healed her. Again, I’m paraphrasing, but she rejected the idea that you had to let go of your anger at any point.