My children have a habit of telling stories about me and the things I did to them that I swear are not true. More than that, I sometimes say that they are making things up. Then this morning, I remembered something I used to do to my children and thought, "How could any loving mother do that to her children?" And I am a loving mother. I always put the welfare of my children first. Yet, there it was, my memory of me doing something I would not want posted on Facebook.
It occurred to me how easily I recall my childhood and the ways I thought I had been mistreated. But when it comes to recalling my parenting, those memories are harder to access. And because my children's memories do not match the image I have of myself I negate them.
Our memories are selective and reflective of our own subjective experiences. Much like the dozen witnesses who all see something different at the scene of an event, what we hold to be true is merely our perspective. Forgiveness is the key to freedom.
I forgive ______ for not being what I needed them to be to me at that time.
Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.
Still letting go...