The storm has passed. My wounds are no longer bleeding and I’ve walked the road to my family’s restoration. I’m in a good place.
Except, there’s still one missing piece to the puzzle of my journey. I still must face the one lurking demon.
I must forgive the other woman.
I’ve learned enough on my journey to personal freedom to know that I will never experience the fullness of life chained to the ghost of someone in my past.
Now, I’m not talking about a forgiveness where I forget about her until I meet someone with her name, then I secretly hope she loses all her hair. Or this isn’t the forgiveness where I forget all about her until a dreadful memory is triggered, then I secretly hope her favorite puppy dies.
I mean the kind of forgiveness that hopes all the best for her in life.
Yet, how do I forgive someone I met three times and will more than likely never meet again? How do I forgive a girl who betrayed the universal bond of sisterhood?
It’s so much easier to call her all those seedy names and let time erase her memory, but we all know nothing will be erased. So, when I am tempted to cuddle my acidic teddy bear, Unforgiveness, and I want to stuff my hate in a closet of my heart, I remember my own story:
My first encounter was a professional one, well, all of our encounters were professional ones, but my heart was spinning and dizzy. Matt and I were living in complete turmoil, but I couldn’t define the source of our angst, so I lived like a paranoid wife. I lived in denial.
Immediately, my time with someone else stopped the spinning and his presence calmed my inner turmoil. He made me laugh, he made my heart warm and secure, things I hadn’t experienced for a very long time.
Walking away from one of our friendly encounters, I thought, I wonder if this is how affairs start. Good thing that will never happen to me. I didn’t care if that’s how they started because, it wasn’t going to happen to me.
I continued to look forward to our encounters and I delighted in how I seemed to light up his world when I walked in the room. It was a nice escape from my dark reality. It was easier than facing the pain.
Every part of my being burned in shame as soon as I sent the text. By all standards it was innocent, but I knew it was too friendly. I knew I had crossed the line. I knew I was standing on the edge of the other woman pit, but within days, the truth of my life’s darkness was revealed. The truth of Matt’s affair jerked me back from the edge fast and furious, spinning me into a dark swirling chaos.
Nothing happened, but only because someone else in my life took that step into the other woman pit first.
So, now when I want to stand high and mighty, when I want to declare such icky behavior is beneath me, I remember my own story. I remember how the fall from my rag of a righteous pedestal is a mere tumble.
Remembering this makes forgiving the other woman possible.
You can read more of my story here: The Day I Never Dreamed About
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