“We make quite a team,” laughed Jaylen to her best friend Shirley. “I rarely apologize and you say ‘Sorry’ all the time.”
“I know,” said Shirley, “and funny you should bring that up. I spent the afternoon discussing that very topic.”
“Excuse me?” asked Jaylen.
“You heard me. I met with the company attorneys for three hours getting prepped for appearing in court on a lawsuit they are defending.”
“And what did ‘Sorry’ have to do with anything?” asked Jaylen.
“Everything!” said Shirley. “The discussion began when the lead attorney asked me, ‘What would be your response if the plaintiff’s attorney asks you: “What do you think about the plaintiff tripping over the curb?’” I responded with, ‘I’d say I was so very sorry, that’s what.’ Turns out that was the wrong answer in spades. He said a sentence like that could lose the case! The impression the jury would receive was that company was accepting blame and liability for the fall. He repeated that apologizing is not needed when you have done nothing for which to accept any blame.”
“I’m listening…” said Jaylen, learning forward to show her interest.
“According to the attorney, saying ‘I’m sorry’ is an appropriate response if you personally did something to cause an accident or hurt another person by your negative comments. Or if you were responsible for knocking over the pitcher of orange juice, and so on,” Shirley explained. “In this case, no one personally did anything to trigger the plaintiff’s fall. She was wearing 6-inch heels and talking on her mobile phone when she missed seeing the cement side-walk curb. ‘Distracted walking,’ he called it. He must have asked me 50 questions coaching me learn to say ‘I regret’ instead of ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I regret?”
Yes,” said Shirley, “And I need to practice this. If I did nothing personally to contribute to whatever the other person is upset about or wants to blame me for, then the appropriate phrase is: I regret that happened.’ Just because a person blames you for something does not mean you really did anything that requires an apology.”
Jaylen laughed. “I’ll bet that was a challenge. You say you’re sorry all the time for everything… even for taking up space on the planet.”
“I know,” said Shirley, ruefully. “I grew up being blamed for stuff I never even did and couldn’t come to meals until I said I was sorry. I hated to miss meals and guess I started saying ‘I’m sorry’ about everything just in case I missed a time when something was my fault! Looking back, I think I wanted to please everyone, get everyone’s approval.”
“And some people who are only too happy to make something your fault and blame you—rightly or wrongly—in an attempt to unload onto you any discomfort they might feel about what happened,” said Jaylen.
Shirley nodded. “I did laugh when the team told me about a case where one man was accusing another of some perceived wrong. The second man said, ‘I wasn’t even in town when that happened to you,’ at which the first man retorted with, ‘I’m not saying you did anything. I’m just saying I’m blaming you for it!’ Crazy! The attorney gave me some helpful examples.”
“Like what?” said Jaylen.
“Imagine that I visit a friend who has a large dog—who happens to like me very much, incidentally. The dog takes a flying leap to greet me and knocks over an expensive Tiffinay lamp in the process. I did nothing to cause that accident. The appropriate response is, ‘Oh, I regret that lamp is broken. I know it was a favorite of yours.’”
Shirley continued. “On the other hand, imagine that I throw my coat toward the couch and it accidently hits the lamp instead. I am responsible for that and the appropriate response would be, ‘I am very sorry. What can I do to make this right?’”
“Interesting,” said Jaylen. “Very interesting. In the past saying ‘I’m sorry’ is clearly something I should have done more than once.”
“Good plan,” said Shirley, laughing. “Together we might want to work on changing our occasional sorry behaviors.”
———
Some believe that males have a tendency to apologize less often than do females. In this current society—albeit a generalization¾many females tend to over-use the phrase I’m sorry while some males fail to say “sorry” even when fully appropriate to do so. Studies suggest this is because females may possess an enhanced sense of what constitutes offensive behavior. Once you are aware of this, you will likely observe instances when “I regret” is the appropriate response and when “I’m sorry” is the better option.
And you can learn to moderate your own behavior appropriately. For example:
However, sometimes it is not that simple and straight forward. For example, a good friend says “You hurt my feelings when you said that!” Everything is about perception. If that individual is taking something personal—even if that was not the intent—you have a choice. You could say, “I regret you feel bad since I had no intention to hurt your feelings.”
On the other hand, if you realize that what you said was insensitive, then “I’m sorry” would be appropriate—but you need to mean it! Saying those words when you do not mean them will likely come across as insincere. And if you say “I’m sorry,”—as Benjamin Franklin put it—avoid making excuses in an attempt to justify when you did.
Mark Matthews made a good point when he said “Apologizing does not always mean you’re wrong and the other person is right. It just means you value your relationship more than your ego.” And as Craig Silvey opined, “Sorry is a question that begs forgiveness, because the metronome of a good heart won’t settle until things are set right and true. Sorry doesn’t take things back, but it pushes things forward. It bridges the gap.”
So what’s the problem if you do overuse the phrase “I’m sorry” or use it inappropriately? There can be several potential negative outcomes:
———
As the two friends continued to chat, Shirley shared her reflections on the topic. “I learned a lot today. I’m realizing that there is often no reason either to blame or to take blame needlessly. In life, sometimes stuff just happens.”
“And I am realizing it will be helpful for me to ask myself, ‘Did I really do something wrong here?’ If yes, I will apologize,” said Jaylen. “If not, I will use the phrase, ‘I regret’.”
“When I catch myself saying ‘I’m sorry’ out of habit, I plan to ask myself the same question,” Shirley said. “And if the answer is no, I will choose to avoid communicating that I think I did!”
Jaylen laughed. “I’ve learned something today because you learned something!”
Together these friends do make quite a team. No regrets expected, going into the future!
Candy wheeled herself into my office and announced, “My body is falling apart, it is, and the doctors can’t seem to explain what’s happening or find a treatment that works.”
I looked carefully at the woman. Pain lines were etched into her middle-aged face. Worry lines, too.
“Tell me about it.”
Candy launched into a fifteen-minute recital of physical symptoms.
Well, more like a thirty-minute litany. Eventually she wound down. Knowing that ‘the body never lies,’ (to quote Alice Miller), I asked Candy whether she thought her ill health might be related in any way to hurtful experiences from her past.
“Oh, it couldn’t be,” she said, quickly. “I forgave everyone long ago.”
“Forgave everyone for what?” I asked.
“For doing the best they could,” she replied.
“Forgave them for what?” I repeated. There was a long silence.
Eventually she said, “I forgave my father for molesting me and my mother for not believing me.”
“At what age were you molested?” I inquired.
“It started when I was three,” Candy said, “and continued until I was nearly eleven. It stopped because my mother’s sister visited us and caught my father touching me inappropriately. She made a huge fuss about it and threatened to report my dad to law enforcement.” Candy smiled ruefully. “My dad was so angry he told my aunt to leave his house and never come back. He also forbade me from ever seeing her or contacting her in any way. I loved my aunt . . . at least my dad stopped molesting me.”
“Ouch,” I said. “You must have been very angry at having had your personal physical and sexual boundaries invaded plus losing contact with your aunt.”
“Oh, yes,” Candy replied calmly. “I’m still angry, but not at my parents. I forgave them. I’m just angry at myself for not preventing it. Also, I didn’t stand up for my aunt.”
“What part of ‘a child is no match for an adult male’ don’t you get?” I asked.
Candy shrugged. “There must have been something else I could have done.”
“Something else besides what?” I asked.
“Well, I told my mother, and she said I must be mistaken because my father would never do anything like that. Thereafter, I decided that it must have been my fault, something I said or did. I’ve taken responsibility for that.”
Same story, same chapter, same verse, I thought. Aloud I said, slowly, “Let me get this straight: You are not angry at your father for molesting you, even though anger is the appropriate emotion when your boundaries have been invaded, nor at your mother for not believing you, nor at being told you could never contact your aunt. But you are angry at yourself for not having prevented the abuse, and you have taken complete responsibility for being molested.”
Candy’s eyes widened. She nodded, albeit a bit uncertainly.
“At some level, your brain knows that a child cannot protect itself from an adult,” I continued. “Therefore, you cannot be responsible for what your father did. I’ll bet your body is hurting partly because your brain can’t believe that you are angry at yourself.” Silence.
“Have you ever contacted your aunt?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Candy shook her head. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never called her because I felt like I must obey my father.”
“And how old are you?” I asked.
Candy actually laughed. “I know, I know,” she said sheepishly. “It’s not like I’m still a little girl at home and must obey my parents, but sometimes I feel like that.”
“It appears to me that emotionally you still act like a little girl who must obey her parents, not like a confident grown-up woman who knows how to take care of herself and does so.”
“Oh my!” said Candy. “I’ve never looked at it like that. There is a truth to what you say, but I could never dishonor my parents by being angry at them. There’s a commandment and all about honoring your parents. You must know that.”
I clearly needed a different approach. “While driving recently, I saw a road-work sign and a highway worker waving an orange flag. What did I know for certain?” I asked.
Candy laughed and said, “That’s easy. You knew there was a road-work sign and an orange flag.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “Based on life experience, what did my brain guess?”
“That there might be something up ahead you would need to deal with,” said Candy.
“Right again,” I said. “The flag was a signal to get my attention. I honored that flag. Sure enough, there was a large hole in the asphalt. I slowed my vehicle and drove around it. I did not stop the car, grab the highway flag, and wave it as I continued on my way.”
I paused, so her brain could catch up. “Think of anger as a highway flag, a signal to let you know your boundaries have been invaded. You can recognize the emotion, get the information it is trying to give you, and take appropriate action, without picking up the flag of anger and waving it for years.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Candy. “I picked up the flag of anger and have been waving it madly, but I directed the anger at myself.”
“Do you still visit your parents?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she replied. “My father even built a ramp at their house for my wheelchair. I visit regularly, but it’s not pleasant. Even before I turn into their driveway my stomach heaves, and I feel sick. Once inside, my father stares at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. Nevertheless, they are my parents, and I must honor them.”
Oh, my, I thought to myself. Aloud I said, “You can honor the position your parents hold in your generational inheritance without subjecting yourself to continued abuse.”
I raised an eyebrow, hoping Candy would continue. She did.
“I was advised to forgive and forget, so that’s what I’ve tried to do,” Candy said, a slight edge to her voice. “Whenever the memories start gnawing at me, I just try to put them out of my mind.”
Ouch, I thought to myself. Those unfortunate and unhealed memories will likely be acted out in illness, which can result in a shortened lifespan.
In her book, The Body Never Lies (2005), author Alice Miller talks about how adults may misapply admonition to honor their parents. In return, parents misuse this admonition to either sweep their dysfunctional behaviors under the proverbial carpet or to continue to control and abuse their grown children. Miller’s position is that individuals who were seriously abused in childhood, thinking they must honor their parents, try to do so through repression and emotional detachment, since they cannot build up a relaxed and trustworthy relationship with parents whom they still fear consciously or unconsciously.
“Have you ever heard of counterfeit forgiveness?” I asked. Candy shook her head.
I defined counterfeit forgiveness as saying, “I forgive you,” without moving through the process of genuine forgiveness and recovery. Counterfeit forgiveness involves pretending, minimizing, denying, repressing, or taking inappropriate responsibility for something that you could not prevent and that should never have occurred. For grown children, this can result in their allowing their brains and bodies to remain emotionally battered in any number of unhealthy ways, continuing to accept abuse from dysfunctional family members or others, or even abusing themselves.
Candy actually stuttered when she said, “B-b-b-but I never heard anything like this before, and I wouldn’t know where to b-b-begin!”
I encouraged her to find an experienced counselor who could help her move through the recovery process. When Candy said she knew no counselors, I gave her three names that she might want to interview.”
Six months later when I answered a knock on my office door, I was surprised to find Candy standing there. Standing, mind you. She was using a cane—to help her stand and walk. Naturally, I was interested in her story.
“I’m putting it together,” she announced, “and I feel better than I have in years. Do you know that I’ve been married three times to abusive men? In effect, each time I married my father!” And she was off and running. Candy had been collaborating diligently with her counselor. She was connecting the events of her childhood and three marriages with her health issues.”
“You were right,” she said. “There is a connection between my past and my current health. When I told my parents that I was taking a break from visiting them, my father said that I was no longer his daughter and that he never, EVER, wanted to see me again! I was persona non grata and was never, EVER, to communicate with either of them in any way.”
“How are you managing that?” I asked.
“I was shocked at first. However, it has turned into an immense blessing. You cannot imagine my relief not to talk to my mother every day on the phone, not to have to see them and be stared at in that scary way. Oh! I reconnected with my aunt. It is wonderful! I feel as if a dark cloud has lifted for the first time in my life.” Candy smiled widely.
Candy had not only been abused by others, but she had abused herself by becoming stuck in the lethal trap of counterfeit forgiveness. She had turned the anger, designed to help her identify how badly her boundaries were being invaded, against herself. Fortunately, Candy recognized this and took immediately corrective steps to improve her life. In another six months she may be able to discard her literal cane—as well as her metaphorical crutch of well-meaning but unenlightened excuses. Counterfeit forgiveness.
Eyes downcast, hands jammed into jean pockets, he paced my office. Beyond the fact that he’d announced his name as Carlton, he had paced in silence. I thought about saying, “Just give me the bottom line.” However, I knew that his male brain would likely do that, anyway—when it was ready.
More pacing.
More silence.
Eventually, Carlton rattled off a series of bottom lines.
I asked more questions. Carlton was just starting to repeat how perfectly matched they were—for the third time—when I held up my hand. He noticed the gesture.
“There’s an elephant in the room, Carlton.” When he looked bewildered, I said, “You were a ‘perfect match in every way.’ Yet she didn’t value the relationship enough to be monogamous. How many emotional and sexual affairs did you say she had during your marriage?”
“Multiple,” he replied.
“How many did you have?” I asked. He shook his head. “None.”
“You did ‘everything together’ and yet she left because you didn’t give her enough time?”
He nodded. “That’s the reason she gave when she left.”
“Did that make sense to you?”
Carlton looked at the ceiling for a long moment. “I think I was just so shocked and devastated that I needed to believe whatever she told me.”
“You are telling me you take ‘complete responsibility for her leaving’?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“It makes no sense,” I said, puzzled. “The reason is never the reason. I repeat, there’s an elephant in the room.”
Carlton stopped pacing. “Oh, I get it,” he said. The widening of his eyes suggested that this was a new concept. “If the reason is never the reason, I wonder why she really left?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied, “and you may never know. Brainstorm. There could be a combination of reasons.” I suggested possible contributors.
“Do any of those fit for you?” I asked.
“Probably all of them,” Carlton replied with his first smile, albeit a wry smile.
“Well, that water has already gone over the dam,” I said. “While it is important to identify what happened and learn from it, the question is, where do you want to go from here?”
His answer was immediate. “I need tips on how to genuinely forgive. She ‘moved on’ the day she walked out—perhaps even years before she physically left. I’m trying to move on, but I haven’t gotten far. I mean, her leaving was a big loss—especially the part about traveling and performing together.”
“Have you reinvented yourself in terms of performing?” I asked.
Carlton laughed. It sounded authentic when he said, “Professionally, I found another and much healthier collaborator. We are going great guns. We make an even better team. I don’t know. I just feel like in other ways I’ve not ‘moved on.’”
“First,” I said, “avoid confusing genuine forgiveness with loss and the need for grief recovery. They represent two separate journeys, although they may overlap at times. Grief recovery is important. For everyone. Otherwise, you risk developing a slush fund of unresolved grief. Then, when another loss occurs—even a comparatively minor loss—that slush fund of unresolved grief can come rushing forth and trigger a tsunami of overreaction. That can not only be startling for everyone involved, but extremely unhelpful.”
Carlton nodded.
“Second, the process for moving on differs for every brain because every brain is different. Naturally, the time frames differ, as well. Moving on involves choice. If the person is saying ‘I am trying to move on,’ the brain may not get in gear in the way it would if the person were saying ‘Carlton, you are moving on. You are happy and fulfilled.’ Speak in the present tense and use your given name and the pronoun ‘you.’ That will help your brain get in gear.”
Carlton nodded again and repeated, “Carlton, you are moving on. You are happy and fulfilled.”
“Here’s a last tip. You may want to do some Family-of-origin work. Recent studies indicate that the selection of a partner likely reflects only 30 percent about that individual, while the remaining 70 percent reflects your own personal history. Likewise, only about 30 percent of the problems you experience are related to the other individual. Fully 70 percent reflects your personal experiences, your personal baggage, and so on. Family-of-origin work can help you identify your 70 percent, which can assist you in resolving problems. If you are looking for a relationship—a close, trustworthy friend, perhaps—it can help you view the potential relationship with more knowledge. This may help you recognize “baggage” before you are enmeshed in the relationship and either work on it in advance or determine that ‘love is not enough.’”
I pointed out that serious relationships resemble a “business” in the sense that you need to see the big picture as well as the details and not think that “love can absolutely conquer all.” Love will not necessarily motivate another individual to work on her or his issues, which is essential for two individuals to meet in a healthier middle. Genuine forgiveness and a healthier future go hand in glove.
“Thanks,” Carlton says. “I am beginning to get the picture. It seems scales are falling from my eyes. My challenge is to view the whole sorry mess in a new way. I can do this. After I digest some of this stuff, may I come back and chat with you again?”
The answer was yes.
The woman made her way slowly and haltingly into my office and sank into a chair, obviously in great discomfort. Attractive, in her early forties, her mahogany hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. As she began her story, tears coursed silently down her face and fell into hands clasped tightly in her lap, hands that showed signs of arthritic disfigurement. Slowly, haltingly, the story emerged. A decade earlier, Jaylee had returned home from a meeting to discover her husband in bed with the babysitter.
“I’ve tried to get over it,” Jaylee said. “We got a new bed and redecorated the room. We went to counseling. I’ve tried everything. I really have! Nothing worked. Every time I look at him, I see in my mind’s eye, the two of them in our bed amidst rumpled sheets. To add insult to injury, the doctor recently diagnosed me as having an autoimmune disease. I am always in pain. Everything about my body aches. That makes everything worse.”
“Have you tried changing the picture in your mind’s eye?” I asked. “Every time that old picture pops up, have you purposefully replaced it by thinking about something else and creating that picture?”
Jaylee shook her head. “I don’t cotton to that phony psychological stuff.”
I smiled. “It’s brain function stuff, and everything begins in the brain.”
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her .eyes. “As I said, I have tried everything, but nothing has helped. Finally, I told him to move out.”
“How is that working?” I asked.
Silence. More tears.
“It appears that you are still sad,” I said. “It’s been ten years since the incident occurred. What are you still sad about?”
Her entire demeanor changed in a nanosecond. Her black eyes flashed fire and indignation. “What do you think I’m sad about?” she shouted. “Are you a complete moron? He ruined my life. That’s what I am sad about!”
It appeared that sadness was the least of it. More anger than sadness leaked out as Jaylee raged about the gross injustice of life. After all, she was the victim here. She had been a good wife and mother. She did not deserve this. Repeat, SHE did NOT deserve this. Finally, she wound down, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Are you by chance stuck in the cycle of rehearsing?” I asked.
“What do you mean ‘rehearsing’?” Jaylee demanded. “I plan to tell my story to anyone who will listen for as long as I live!”
“For what purpose?” I asked. “It is a done deal. Are you playing the victim card for sympathy or pity?”
Jaylee glared. “I’m trying to help others,” she blazed. “I never want this to happen to anyone else. Yesterday I was ticked off, though. A woman in the doctor’s waiting room fell asleep before I could finish telling her all the details. How rude! Anyway, I always feel better after I tell my story.”
Suppressing a smile, I pictured the scene in the waiting room. “Help me understand how repeating all the gory details of your story will help prevent something similar happening in another person’s life?” I asked. “Is there something you could have done to avoid your husband becoming involved with the babysitter?”
Silence. That cold glare.
“You may indeed feel better after rehearsing your story,” I said. “When you tell your story in living color, you relive it and trigger the emotion of anger. As anger arises, adrenaline is released. As adrenaline rises, dopamine is released—which makes you feel better, momentarily. People often become addicted to their own adrenalin and dopamine.”
“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that what happens in my mind can impact my body like that, do you? I’m smarter than that!” Jaylee’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Have you ever wakened from a scary dream in a cold sweat, your heart pounding, gasping for breath?” I asked. “Perhaps you dreamed you were falling through space or that you were being chased and running for your life? Your brain perceived the event and your body reacted as if the event were real, pumping out adrenaline and cortisol.”
Jaylee continued to glare at me balefully.
“When you tell and retell your sad story, and it is a sad story, as if it happened yesterday, your body reacts as if the event were happening all over again.”
This time Jaylee waved her hand dismissively.
I tried another tack. “Have you forgiven your husband?”
“Are you joking?” she snorted, shaking her head. “Nope, Nada, Zip. Oh, he asked me to forgive him, multiple times, but it was all just too egregious. It’s too late now, anyway. He remarried last month. Besides, why should I forgive him? He doesn’t deserve it.”
“None of us deserves to be forgiven for our mistakes or faux pas,” I said.
“Faux pas!” Jaylee fairly screamed the words. “Did you say faux pas?” You must be kidding! What he did was absolutely unforgiveable. He ruined my life. He owes me. Faux pas, indeed!”
I squelched another smile. My French heritage had bubbled up before I’d considered that the word indiscretion might have been a better choice. “You could still forgive him,” I said. “It’s never too late. The individual in question could have died, and you could still forgive—unless you are looking for revenge. You forgive for you—and for your health and well-being.”
More silence. More glowering.
“Forgiveness does not mean that you deny the other’s responsibility for injuring or hurting you. I does not mean you condone injurious behaviors, minimize and justify the wrong, or excuse the act,” I explained. “It certainly doesn’t mean that you choose to reconcile or remain in an abusive relationship or environment or that you waive your right to justice and appropriate compensation.”
.”What he did was not fair,” Jaylee said. “What part of that do you not get?”
“It was unfair,” I replied. “However, unforgiveness is injurious to your health. When you forgive you are choosing to be healthier. The act of forgiving allows the body to turn down the manufacture of catabolic chemicals and instructs the subconscious to banish negative thoughts from the mind. Forgiveness has less to do with others and everything to do with the you. Studies have shown that the who forgives benefits the most. Forgiving appears to be crucial to healthy living.”
Jaylee continued to glower.
“Think of it this way,” I continued. “Forgiveness is a gift you give to you. It is a way to stop harboring destructive feelings that sap health and happiness. A way of helping yourself to feel better. If you choose unforgiveness, you will likely be the one who pays most dearly.”
“I told you. It’s not fair. What he did was not fair or right,” Jaylee said.
I nodded in agreement. “What he did was not fair or right. Forgiving him doesn’t make what he did fair or right. It doesn’t erase what happened. Forgiveness is about you and your health.”
“I don’t feel like forgiving him,” Jaylee said. “I told you. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“You do not forgive because the other person deserves it. You forgive in order to let go and move on with your life. Feelings follow thoughts. As Dr. Wayne Dyer put it, ‘If you want to change the way you feel, you need to change the way you think.’ Change your thoughts and you change your feelings.”
Jaylee shook her head forcefully. She would have none of it. Rising from the chair, she painfully made her way toward the door.
“Think about it,” I suggested. Her parting comment sounded like, “I’ll think about it and let you know.” It was difficult to be sure. Her words sounded like they were being forced out through gritted teeth.
Days passed. The weekend came and went and was followed by another yet and another.
On morning I noticed a message on my phone. I heard Jaylee’s bitter voice: “I’ve decided. I won’t do it. I’ll die first.”
The line went dead.
Jaylee may well die before her normal life span has been reached or may exist in a state of pain and ill health. Such devastation might have been minimized if not completely avoided had she been willing to forgive. Bitterness can be very destructive to one’s health. It can be more destructive than the event or betrayal itself. It is expensive.
As long as you refuse to forgive, who and whatever happened will occupy a rent-free space in your mind. (Isabelle Holland)
Without forgiveness there is no future.
–Desmond Tutu
Eyes downcast, hands jammed into jean pockets, he paced my office. Beyond the fact that he’d announced his name as Carlton, he had paced in silence. I thought about saying, “Just give me the bottom line.” But then I realized his male brain would likely do that, anyway—when it was ready.
More pacing. More silence.
Finally he delivered a series of bottom lines:
“My wife left me five years ago.”
“We’d been married nearly fifteen years.”
“We did everything together, a perfect match in every way.”
“I’ve taken complete responsibility for her leaving. I didn’t give her enough time.”
“I forgave her right away. Must have been caught in the counterfeit forgiveness trap, though, as nothing has changed for me.”
A few pointed questions gave me some additional information. He was just starting to repeat how perfectly matched they were, when I held up my hand. He noticed the movement.
“There’s an elephant in the room, Carlton. Do you see it?” I asked.
Carlton turned to me with a look of bewilderment.
I explained. “You were a ‘perfect match in every way’ and yet she didn’t value the relationship enough to be monogamous. How many emotional and physical/sexual affairs did you say she had during your marriage?”
“Several,” he replied.
“How many did you have?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“You did everything together and yet she left because you didn’t give her enough time?”
He nodded. “That’s the reason she gave when she left.”
“And you’ve taken ‘complete responsibility for her leaving’?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“It makes no sense,” I said emphatically. “The reason is never the reason. I repeat: There’s an elephant in the room. Do you see it?”
Carlton stopped pacing. “Oh, I get it,” he said. However, the widening of his eyes suggested that this was a new concept for him.
“If the reason is never the reason, I wonder why she really left.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied, “but there are a plethora of possibilities. For example:
“Probably all of them,” Carlton replied with his first smile, albeit a wry smile.
“It’s all water over the dam, now,” I said. “While it’s important to identify what happened and learn from it, the question is, Where do you want to go from here?”
His answer was immediate. “I need tips on how to genuinely forgive. She ‘moved on’ the day she walked out. I’m trying to move on but haven’t gotten very far. I mean, her leaving was a big loss for me.”
“First,” I said, “avoid confusing genuine forgiveness with loss and the need for grief recovery. They are two separate journeys, although they may overlap at times.”
I suggested he read the article on my website entitled, “Loss Recovery—Grief Recovery Pyramid,” which would give him tips on how to manage losses. Grief recovery is important. For everyone. Otherwise, you risk developing a slush fund of unresolved grief. Then, when another loss occurs–even a comparatively minor loss–that slush fund of unresolved grief can come rushing forth and trigger a tsunami of over reaction. That can not only be startling for everyone involved, but extremely unhelpful.”
Carlton nodded.
“Second, the process for moving on differs for every brain because every brain is different.” Naturally, the time frames differ, as well. Moving on usually needs to involve a clear choice. If the person is saying “I’m trying to move on,” the brain may not get in gear in the way it would if the person were saying “I am moving on now” or “I have moved on.”
Carlton nodded again and said, “I am moving on. Now.” I smiled.
“This brings us to the path to forgiveness,” I said. “Genuine forgiveness and a healthier future go hand in glove. There are some specific strategies that you can use as a guide. Think of them as seven life-saving steps.
Step 1: Identify what happened to you.
Acknowledge the event or situation simply, clearly, and honestly. Avoid pretending either that the event or situation was no big deal or making more of it than is warranted. Take responsibility for the contribution you made, if any. Never take responsibility for anything you did not contribute. Avoid blaming others in an effort to displace some of your discomfort onto someone else. Realize that your goal is to create a future that is better than your past. Start moving from a victim stance to that of a survivor, one day at a time. A victimstance allows what happened in the past to control your future. A survivorstance allows you to create a healthier future regardless of what happened in the past.
Step 2: Outline the consequences to you.
There may be primarily negative outcomes from the event or situation. but some positive outcomes are also possible. It is important to have as accurate and balanced a picture as possible. Mentally step away from the situation and ask yourself how others might view the event, might perceive what had happened. This can help you look at the event or situation is a slightly different way. At times it can result in your identifying positive outcomes that you had missed. Genuine forgiveness acknowledges the consequences and faces the pain. It works through the process so that the pain no longer dominates your thinking and no longer triggers anger and thoughts of revenge.
Step 3: Make a decision to forgive.
Recognize the value of forgiveness to your life and health. Think of decisional forgiveness as a behavioral intention to resist an unforgiving stance and to respond differently toward a transgressor—in your mind, if not literally in person. State your behavioral intention to stop hanging on to an unforgiving stance and to mentally respond differently. In effect, it removes the enemy outpost in your head that has been staffed by the person who hurt you. Otherwise you’ll live in the past and be held hostage to the person who caused you pain. Forgiveness neutralizes the power of the person in your past and allows you to move forward. This doesn’t mean you choose to associate with the person, however. You may choose to be in the same room for short periods of time (e.g., at family gatherings if the person is a relative or at holiday gatherings if the person is a friend) or you may not. It’s entirely up to you. In the same way, trust must be earned. Forgiving does not mean trusting injudiciously. You may never trust the person again. Again, it’s entirely up to you.
Step 4: Embrace emotional forgiveness.
Think of emotional forgiveness as the replacement of negative unforgiving emotions with positive other-oriented emotions. Emotional forgiveness, which involves psycho-physiological changes, has more direct health and well-being consequences. If you have been harboring anger and resentment, replace those thoughts and emotions with positive emotions. While it has often been said that love is blind, so is anger. Emotional forgiveness is a process of altering your one-dimensional perspective into a more inclusive big-picture dimension. If you fail to forgive, the person who hurt you still holds you as an emotional captive. Forgiveness doesn’t erase what happened or make up for it or even balance the score. It does keep you from spending the rest of your life with the person who did you wrong.
Step 5: Alter your personal perspective.
Your perspective reflects your brain’s opinion. Forgiveness doesn’t change what happened. Rather, it is designed to alter your perspective. It’s the old 20:80 rule. Only 20% of the negative effect to your brain and body can be laid at the door of the event or situation. About 80% of the negative effect involves your personal perspective, i.e., the weight you give to what happened, the importance you place upon it. You may not be able to do anything about the 20%; you most certainly can do almost everything about the 80% because it involves your own brain’s opinion and you can alter your opinion. Use whatever works in your life. For example, if you embrace Christian ethics and believe that the Deity loves everyone, then ask yourself how you can refuse to forgive someone whom God loves?
Step 6: Stop continual rehearsing.
When you rehearse, you tell your story again and again from your own perspective. You may rehearse to others; you may rehearse to yourself. Usually you include only the bad, sad, angry, and hurtful aspects. In the process, you may trigger the release of adrenalin (offering a momentary shot of energy) and, as adrenalin levels increase, so do dopamine levels, which help you feel better for a short period of time. Some people actually become addicted to the adrenalin and dopamine released during rehearsal. In addition, because the brain wants congruence, while you are rehearsing, your brain will search for other memories when you felt the same way: sad, angry, or hurt. This can begin to snowball until you really feel quite rotten.
Step 7: Develop a mindset of gratitude.
As Martin Luther King put it, “Forgiveness is not an act, it is a perpetual attitude.” You can create a forgiveness mentality and hone the requisite skills to change your thoughts from negative to positive. When recalling the event or situation (as you undoubtedly will), immediately focus on something for which to be grateful. It is physiologically impossible to be fearful and grateful at the same time. When an old memory crosses your conscious mind, you may need to take a moment and move through decisional and emotional forgiveness again. Then, embrace an attitude of gratitude.
“Do you have those seven steps written down anywhere?” asked Carlton. “I’d like to be sure I remember them all. This is doable.”
I promised to send them in an e-mail. With a brief smile and handshake, he was gone, his steps definitely lighter than when he had arrived.
The bottom line? The path to forgiveness is never easy. It is, however, a prescription for health. Yours.
When we react to other people, we join their dance—and why dance with a person you don’t like? Forgiveness allows you to stand on the side and watch them dance. You don’t have to dance with them if you don’t want to. You can dance the dance you enjoy with whomever you enjoy.
—Dick Tibbits
The woman made her way slowly and painfully across my office and into a chair. Her name was Jayla. Attractive face, in her early forties, mahogany hair pulled back in a low pony tail. And obviously in great discomfort. As she began her story, tears coursed silently down her face and fell onto hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Several years before, Jayla had returned home early from a meeting to discover her husband in bed with the babysitter. “I’ve tried to get over it,” she said. “We got a new bed and redecorated the room. We went to counseling. I’ve tried everything, I really have, but nothing has worked. Every time I looked at him all I could see in my mind’s eye was the two of them in our bed amidst rumpled sheets. And to add insult to injury, a few weeks ago my doctor told me I had an autoimmune disease. I’m always in pain. Everything about my body aches.”
“Have you tried changing the picture in your mind’s eye?” I asked. “Every time that old picture pops up have you purposefully looked at a new replacement picture?”
She shook her head. “That psychological stuff doesn’t work with me.”
I smiled. “It’s brain-function stuff.”
She rolled her eyes and continued. “As I said, I tried everything but nothing worked. Finally I asked him to move out.”
“And how is that working?” I asked. Silence and more tears.
Finally I said, “It appears to me that you are still sad. It’s been five years since the incident. Tell me specifically you are still sad about.”
In a nanosecond her entire demeanor changed. Her black eyes blazed fire and indignation. “What do you think I’m sad about?” she shouted. “Are you a moron? He ruined my life. That’s what I’m sad about!”
It also appeared to me that sadness was the least of it. Jayla was livid! For several minutes she raged about the injustice of life. After all, she had been a good wife and mother and did not deserve this. Finally she wound down and took a deep breath.
“Have you tried forgiving him?” I asked.
“He asked me many times to forgive him but I couldn’t,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. “It was all just too egregious. Now it’s too late. He remarried last month. Besides, why should I forgive him? He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”
“None of us deserves to be forgiven for our faux pas,” I said.
“Faux pas!” Jayla screamed. “Are you kidding me? What he did was absolutely unforgivable. It ruined my life. Faux pas indeed!”
I couldn’t help smiling, although I did my best to squelch it. My French heritage had bubbled up. An unfortunate choice of words. “You could forgive him,” I explained, “as a gift to yourself. It’s never too late to forgive. The person could have died and you could still forgive.”
Some definitions for forgiveness focus on reducing unforgiveness. Many acts have the potential to reduce unforgiveness and are thus often confused with forgiveness. As one researcher put it, successful vengeance will eliminate unforgiveness, but no one would confuse vengeance with forgiveness.
I explained that at least two types of forgiveness pop up in the literature: decisional forgiveness and emotional forgiveness.
Jayla could begin with decisional forgiveness and, hopefully, move on to emotional forgiveness. “The bottom line,” I explained, “is that forgiveness and forgiving appear to be critical to high-level wellness living.”
According to internationally renowned cardiologist, Herbert Benson, “There’s something called the physiology of forgiveness. Being unable to forgive other people’s faults is harmful to one’s health.”
As recently as a few years ago it would have been difficult to find much information on the physiology of forgiveness. Few people realized that “forgiveness research” even existed. Although the field is admittedly new, it has grown exponentially over the past decade. Studies have shown that there is not just a psychology underlying forgiveness but a physiology as well. An inability or unwillingness to forgive has been linked with a variety of health hazards. In fact, it appears that the one who forgives, benefits more than the one who is forgiven. Who knew?
“But it’s not fair. What he did wasn’t fair or right,” Jayla said.
I nodded in agreement. “What he did wasn’t fair or right. Forgiving him doesn’t make what he did fair or right. It doesn’t erase what happened. As Valerie Harper put it, ‘Forgiveness is giving up the wish that things could be different.’ Forgiveness is about you and your health. When you forgive, you tend to benefit more than the one who is forgiven.”
“But I don’t feel like forgiving him,” said Jayla. “I don’t want to forgive him.”
“Think of it this way,” I continued. “Forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself, a way to stop harboring destructive feelings that sap health and happiness. A way of helping yourself to feel better. Forgiveness just might improve your health.”
As the Doctors Fox put it, when you say, “I forgive you” you’re also saying, “I want to be healthy.” The act of forgiving allows the body to turn down the manufacture of catabolic chemicals, and instructs the subconscious to banish negative feelings from the mind.
Silence.
“Forgiveness has less to do with others,” I said, “and everything to do with the forgiver. In this case that would be you.”
More silence.
Finally Jayla shook her head violently. She would have none of it. Rising from the chair, she painfully made her way toward the door.
“Think about it,” I urged.
Her parting comment sounded like, “I’ll think about it and let you know.” It was hard to be sure. Her words sounded like they were being forced out through gritted teeth.
Several days passed. The weekend came and went and was followed by another. Then one morning the you-have-a-call light on my office phone was lit. Picking up the receiver I accessed voicemail and heard Jayla’s bitter voice: “I’ve decided. I won’t do it. I’ll die first!”
I replaced the receiver, regretfully. Yes, Jayla probably would die well before her life-span had been reached¾a devastation that might have been avoided had she been willing to forgive.
Forgiveness is a choice. Do you need to forgive yourself for something? Anybody in your life you need to forgive? How healthy do you want to be? Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. Do it.
When forgiveness is offered too quickly, it may not be forgiveness at all.
It may just be avoidance.
—Dick Tibbits
Candace wheeled herself into my office and announced, “My body is falling apart, it is, and the doctors can’t seem to explain what’s happening or find a treatment that works.”
I looked carefully at the woman. Pain lines were etched into her middle-aged face. Worry lines, too. “Tell me about it.
Candace launched into a fifteen-minute recital of physical symptoms. Well, more like a thirty-minute litany. Eventually she wound down. Knowing that “the body never lies,” (to quote Alice Miller), I asked Candace whether she thought her ill health might be related in any way to hurtful experiences from her past.
“Oh, it couldn’t be,” she said, quickly. “I forgave everyone long ago.”
“Forgave everyone for what?” I asked.
“For doing the best they could,” she replied.
“Forgave them for what?” I repeated. There was a very long silence while I waited.
Finally she said, “I forgave my father for molesting me and my mother for not believing me.”
“At what age were you molested?” I inquired.
“It started when I was three,” Candace said, “and continued until I was nearly eleven. It stopped because my mother’s sister visited us and caught my father touching me inappropriately. She made a huge fuss about it and threatened to report my dad to law enforcement.” Candace smiled ruefully. “My dad was so angry he told my aunt to leave his house and never come back. He also forbade me from ever seeing her again. I loved my aunt . . . But at least my dad stopped molesting me.”
“Ouch,” I said. “You must have been very angry at having had your boundaries invaded like that and then also losing contact with your aunt.”
“Oh, yes,” Candace replied calmly. “I’m still angry, but not at my parents. I forgave them. I’m just angry at myself for not preventing it. And I didn’t stand up for my aunt.”
“What part of ‘A child is no match for an adult male’ don’t you get?” I asked.
Candace shrugged. “There must have been something else I could have done.”
“Something else besides what?” I asked.
“Well, I told my mother, and she said I must be mistaken because my father would never do anything like that. So I decided that it must have been my fault, something I said or did. I’ve taken responsibility for that.”
Same story, same chapter, same verse, I thought. Aloud I said, slowly, “Let me get this straight: You are not angry at your father for molesting you—even though anger is the appropriate emotion when your boundaries have been invaded—nor at your mother for not believing you nor at being told you could never contact your aunt But you are angry at yourself for not having prevented the abuse, and you have taken complete responsibility for being molested.”
Candace nodded, somewhat reluctantly, I thought.
“At some level your brain knows that a child cannot protect itself from an adult,” I continued. “Therefore, you cannot be responsible for what your father did. I’ll bet your body is hurting partly because your brain can’t believe that you are angry at yourself.”
Silence.
“Have you ever contacted your aunt?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Candace shook her head. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never called her because I felt like I must obey my father.”
“And how old are you?” I asked.
Candace actually laughed. “I know, I know,” she said sheepishly. “It’s not like I’m still a little girl at home and must obey my parents, but sometimes I feel like that.”
“It appear to me that emotionally you still act like a little girl who must obey her parents, not like a confident grown-up woman who knows how to take care of herself and does so.”
“Oh my!” said Candace. “I’ve never looked at it like that. I think there is some truth to what you say, but I couldn’t dishonor my parents by being angry at them.”
I clearly needed a different approach. “While driving recently, I saw an orange highway flag ahead. What did I know for certain? I asked.
Candace laughed and said, “That there was an orange highway flag ahead.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “Based on life experience, what did my brain guess?”
“That there was road work ahead,” said Candace.
“Right again,” I said. “The flag was a signal to get my attention. There was a large hole in the asphalt. I slowed and drove around the hole. I did not stop the car, grab the highway flag and wave it as I continued on my way.”
I paused, so her brain could catch up. “Think of anger as a highway flag, a signal to let you know your boundaries have been invaded. You can recognize the emotion, get the information it is trying to give you, and take appropriate action¾without picking up the flag of anger and carrying it around with you.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Candace. “I picked up the flag of anger and have been waving it madly, but directed the anger at myself.”
“Do you still visit your parents?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she replied. “My father even built a ramp at their house for my wheelchair. I visit regularly, but it’s not pleasant. Even before I turn into their driveway my stomach heaves, and I feel sick. Once inside, my father stares at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. But they are my parents, and I need to honor them.”
I raised an eyebrow, hoping Candace would continue. She did.
“I was advised to forgive and forget, so that’s what I’ve tried to do,” Candace said, a slight edge to her voice. “Whenever the memories start gnawing at me, I just try to put them out of my mind.”
Ouch, I thought to myself. Even when an individual tries to put memories of abuse out of his or her mind, the body remembers. Without taking the path of genuine forgiveness, those unfortunate memories will likely be acted out in some type of illness that can result in a shortened lifespan.
In her book, The Body Never Lies (2005), author Alice Miller talks about how some adults misapply admonition to honor their parents and how some parents misuse this admonition to either sweep their bad behaviors under the proverbial carpet or to control their grown children. Miller’s position is that individuals who were seriously abused in childhood, thinking they must honor their parents, try to do so through repression and emotional detachment, since they cannot build up a relaxed and trusting relationship with parents whom they still fear consciously or unconsciously.
“Have you ever heard of counterfeit forgiveness?” I asked. Candace shook her head.
I explained to her carefully how, ass often the case, some type of counterfeit exists for the genuine article. Forgiveness is no exception. Counterfeit forgiveness involves pretending, minimizing, denying, or repressing. For some grown children it means, allowing their brains and bodies to remain emotionally battered in any number of unhealthy ways, continuing to accept abuse from dysfunctional family members.
Genuine forgiveness, on the other hand, involves giving careful thought to identifying what happened, the life-long consequences, and what needs to be done for personal recovery and healing. It involves choosing and systematically following through with these choices and behaviors:
Current studies indicate that forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself for prolonged health and well-being.
Counterfeit forgiveness, on the other hand, can actually be deleterious to one’s health and longevity. I defined counterfeit forgiveness for Candace as saying to her parents, “I forgive you,” without moving through the process of genuine forgiveness and recovery.
To say that these concepts were new to Candace would be putting it mildly. She actually stuttered when she said, “B-b-b-but I never heard anything like this before, and I wouldn’t know where to begin!”
I encouraged her to find an experienced counselor who could help her move through the recovery process and then recommended three that she might wish to interview.
Six months later I answered a knock on my office door to find Candace standing outside. Standing, mind you. With a cane, but standing. Of course I was interested in her story.
“I’m putting it together,” she announced, “and I feel better than I have in years. Do you know that I’ve been married three times to abusive men? In effect, each time I married my father!” And she was off and running. Candace had been working diligently with her counselor and she was connecting the events of her childhood with some of the choices she had made in adulthood.
“You were right,” she said. “There is a connection between my past and my current health. When I told my parents I was taking a break from visiting them, my father said that I was no longer his daughter and that he never wanted to see me again.”
“How are you handling that?” I asked.
“I was shocked at first, but it has turned out to be a very good thing. It is an immense relief not to talk to my mother every day on the phone, not to have to see them and be stared at in that scary way. Oh! And I’ve reconnected with my aunt. It’s great!” Candace smiled widely.
In a perfect world, healthy functional parents would take great pains to protect their children and avoid abusing them in any manner whatsoever.
Ours is not a perfect world.
To “honor” abusive parents may simply involve acknowledging the position they hold in your generational inheritance and refraining from exhibiting ugly or abusive behaviors toward them. At the same time, moments of contact may need to be limited—or stopped altogether, if abusive behaviors continue.
Counterfeit forgiveness is a form of crazy-making. At one level you think, “I’ve forgiven the person,” but at a subconscious level your body not only remembers the abuse but acts out the pain daily.
Candace had not only been abused most of her life, but also had become stuck in the lethal trap of counterfeit forgiveness. She had turned the anger, designed to help her recognize how badly her boundaries were being invaded, against herself. Fortunately, Candace recognized this and took immediately corrective steps to improve her life. In another six months she may totally be able to discard her literal cane—as well as her metaphorical crutch of well-meaning but unenlightened excuses.
In the familiar fairy tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” a false perception existed, to the humor of all. However, like the foolish crowd who cheered for the naked Emperor, a person who practices counterfeit forgiveness pretends that the Emperor actually is wearing clothes. Unfortunately, those assumptions (whether rooted in imagination or denial) could result in serious physical symptoms. And there’s nothing funny about that!
Are you ensnared in the lethal bondage of counterfeit forgiveness? That which is counterfeit is not real. Forgiveness, above all else, should be real. Practice genuine forgiveness—or pay dearly.
Note: You may want to read the companion articles “The Physiology of Forgiveness” and “Path to Forgiveness: Seven Life-Saving Steps.”
