Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Studies Blog

Shades of forgiving.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Recently, I was involved in an online situation that turned ugly and personal in attack.

Since it had all happened "behind closed doors" from the public view, I was allowed to delete all of my comments and participation; I did not want those to be my last words on the site. I was incredibly annoyed at myself for having been convinced of the idea of going back and explaining myself (never explain yourself, Julie!); it would have been better to have quietly removed myself as originally planned. Some things are better left unsaid. And even if they aren't, I certainly wished I'd done a better job of saying them. As it was, the hoped for removal of myself with class and kindness and non-burned bridges was gone and I was, quite frankly, stunned. Stunned at both myself and another person.

Initially I was angry and reacted as such. I felt as if some kind of curtain were ripped back and I saw, at long last, how I was really viewed and thought of in a place that I had initially considered a safe zone. I felt stupid and patronized, as if I'd just been tolerated there, but not really thought of as belonging.

Later, though, as all of you self-blamers out there know, I decided it was all my fault and that I deserved it. Who was I to think that I should have even tried to join in with those people? That I had anything of value to add? That I was little more than as the person described me: passive-agressive, defensive, using the women's card as some kind of ploy, emotional, unable to understand and take part in what a true discussion consisted of. I blamed myself to a great extent. I felt foolish -- clearly, they'd all been thinking this and had just been putting up with my silliness until now!

That, however, is a lazy way of refusing to see truth. It does take two to tango. It's not all the other person's fault, and it certainly isn't all my fault.

The person involved emailed and wondered if there was any way we could "work this out." The choice of words was mildly bemusing to me at that point.

Work it out? What work? What out? It felt as if everything had already been "outed."

I left the email sit for a day and thought and prayed about it. One thing about my flash-anger is that it is gone very quickly and at that point, I'd long moved passed anger to being hurt to blaming myself to wondering and thinking about what it really was I should do. I responded truthfully, informing the person that what had happened hurt me very much but that I wasn't angry and, essentially, to just let bygones be bygones. I had no further desire to haggle the ins and outs of this particular situation; I felt as if it were a God-thing, that I should take this opportunity to move on.

Here's the catch: I also asked this person to no longer communicate with me.

I didn't mean that out of anger, but out of a desire to truly put this down.

I can't be sure, but historically, I believe I have confused the concept of forgiving and being forgiven in such a way that I was unable to also to purposefully remove a person or situation from my life that was proving to be toxic. After all, I'd think, isn't that unforgiveness, the refusal to let a person back in as it was before?

I'm leaning towards "no."

That is a trap, thinking that forgiving and letting go and not holding something against a person also must involve putting yourself back in the same path of the same problem should you or that person have yet to reach a place of change. God's forgiveness is unconditional, the perfect model for us, but it is forgiveness that still demands we live with the effects of our sin and behavior.

Forgiving and being forgiven is a separate issue from making wise decisions about the people in your life.