These days, when I'm not falling into bed and passing out, I'm reading The Power of Kindness by Piero Ferrucci. A few nights ago I came to the chapter on forgiveness, and have since reviewed it several times over, because its an issue with which I've grappled for many years. On the whole, I'm terribly understanding - sometimes to my detriment, I'm sure - and willing to let go of the past. There's only one person in my life I haven't been able to forgive, who so badly and regularly hurt me that even writing this is a struggle. In this case, I equate forgiving him with condoning his behavior, giving him an out of sorts. So I read this chapter with great care, hoping for some fresh insight. Almost immediately, Mr. Ferrucci addressed one of my concerns:

"First of all, it is not the same as condoning. If I have been a victim of an injustice in the past, I might be afraid that it will be repeated or its gravity underestimated. I might fear that the one who committed the injustice will get away with it, perhaps even laugh behind my back."

Hit the nail on the head there. That's absolutely a fear of mine, especially the repetition of said injustices. So what say you, sir?

"That is not it. Forgiveness means only that I do not want to continue feeding anger for an age-old wrong, hence ruin my life. I forgive, yes, but I keep well in mind the harm done to me, and I will be mindful that it does not happen again."

I accepted that response, then paused. I asked myself, "But what of wrongs that have lasted years, that are still ongoing even? How do you manage this when the hurt is occurring in your present, and not just isolated in your past?" Apparently Mr. Ferrucci anticipated these questions:

"This decision is not easy. On the contrary, it is, first of all, nonrational, because accounts do not balance. How can you possible forgive abuse that has gone on for years, such as a slander that has ruined your life, or a betrayal that has disintegrated your family?...forgiveness is also - or feels - dangerous: It exposes us not so much to the repetition of the original harm as to feeling vulnerable and open. We feel vulnerable because our identity, like ivy that grows over an old column and clings to it, is attached to the wrong we have received. We feel that if we forgive, we lose our identity, and thus we feel insecure."

Hmm. I understand part of this explanation. My identity is, to a limited extent, tied into this relationship, this history of hurt. But I'm not hesitant to forgive because I fear it will compromise my sense of self. No, I question because, as cruel as it may sound, I'm not sure that forgiveness is entirely deserved. Herein lies my real dilemma: How do you forgive someone who refuses to apologize? Someone who, worst of all, will often flat-out deny any wrongdoing, and point the finger at anyone else? How do you forgive someone who has never accepted responsibility for their actions? For a good five years, this has been my issue.

As I should have expected, Mr. Ferrucci didn't cover that material, besides stating that "being able to forgive and being able to say sorry are two sides of the same coin." He did say this: "Sometimes, however, forgiveness is impossible. Try though we may, we cannot find it in us to forgive. The offense has been too serious, the hurt too great, and forgiveness seems impossible. But there is still a way out. It is in just such a situation that we can understand what it truly means to forgive. It is at this point that we need to change our viewpoint...We can observe [our problems] from a distance. We move, as it were, to another place inside ourselves...if we find in ourselves the place where we feel happy and whole, forgiveness is already a fact."

That sounds good in theory, but I don't find it particularly helpful. I tried a similar approach, cutting off all contact almost a year ago, until I felt secure and happy enough with my life to attempt some kind of reconciliation. I don't care to elaborate, but after making brief contact in November and sharing a kind exchange, a month later I received an email so full of vitriol that I could only once again meet him with silence. It takes two to heal wounds such as ours, and I'm afraid we're in a stalemate.

So thank you, Mr. Ferrucci, for not thinking me unkind in not yet forgiving someone for their wrongs. And thank you for differentiating between forgiving and condoning, because I'd previously mistaken the two as one in the same. As much as I've gained from these ten pages of wisdom, I think I need a little more help on the subject. Stay tuned :)