Why Gryffindor-like courage would be a good thing for me to have right now...
Wow, wow, wow. I'm still shaking as I sit here typing.
Today was not supposed to go down like it did. I had a nice schedule all written out for myself for this afternoon and tonight and it all just blew up in my face when I sat down to talk to my campus pastor this afternoon. I recently had a huge fallout with my roommate, which ended with me moving into a not-so-nice dorm with my best friend. The move was a wise decision, but as I learned today, I left on the worst terms possible. I don't want to tell the full story here, but the last things I said to my former roommate were screamed in her face in full-out fury and hurt.
Flash-forward about three weeks, when today, my pastor, in his masterful, brilliant, BAM sort-of way, just came out and showed me how I basically have taken all my own hurt and feelings of not-living-up-to expectations, (particularly with regard to my mother, and consequently, to God), and projected them on her. Because I feel so upset that I have to apologize all the time for my shortcomings, and she wasn't apologizing to me for not living up to expectation.
I burst into tears; I won't deny it. Sitting there on the Terrace, sobbing my eyes out, I realized that my pastor was absolutely right. I'm furious with my mother, with God, and especially with myself for being a failure. My mother's reaction has always been to passive-aggressively attack me, so that's what I did to my roommate.
I agreed and admitted to all of it, and cried and sobbed some more. My campus minister told me that the first thing I should do, even immediately, is to seek reconciliation. He advised me to even try to meet with my former roommate this afternoon, which I am embarrassed to say, I haven't done. My courage (small as it is) hasn't gone that far just yet, but I did go back and fell on my bed in tears. After crying for another half-an-hour or so, I picked myself up, walked over to my desk, and sat down at my computer and wrote this:
Dear __________,
I owe you a huge apology. The things I said and yelled at you the day I moved out—you never deserved them. I may have been felt like I was hurt enough to be justified in screaming at you, but I wasn’t. I’m so sorry.
I met with my pastor today, and whoa—I got a shock. He explained to me how the way I dealt with you is the same way my mother deals everyday with me: this passive-aggression, fueled by resentment on her part when I don’t do exactly what she wants, when she wants. That’s exactly how I treated you.
What came out that Monday was really an anger and frustration that I’ve had pent-up for years; I just deflected it all on you, because after spending most of my life apologizing to other people for not living up to their expectations, it angered the hell out of me that you didn’t do the same. In those moments that I shouted at you, I was really just realizing my worst fear—in failing to live up to expectation, you had become me, and I had become my mother. I’m sorry for hating you for not living up to any expectations I had of you as a roommate. Perhaps I could have been disappointed, or even upset, but I never should have hated you so for it—especially when I know what it feels like to fail others.
I still believe what you did—or allowed others to do—was highly disrespectful, but I was equally, if not more, disrespectful in the way I handled it. Nothing could ever justify me screaming at anyone the way I did that day. Nothing could ever justify me taking out every bit of anger from my life on you at that moment. And nothing can justify me in just walking away, without forgiving you, and without fully apologizing for my part in the disaster.
Is there sometime, maybe next week, when we could meet, maybe just get coffee or something? I don't have class in the early afternoon on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I'm done on Tuesdays and Thursdays and 2:00pm. I just feel like there’s this crucial piece lacking from a written apology that needs to be said aloud, face-to-face, in order to make it real and honest.
_________, I sincerely apologize for however I hurt you—the things I said, the way I said them…I’m sorry for all of it. So, so sorry.
Love (or rather, learning to love better),
Margaret Ann
Today was not supposed to go down like it did. I had a nice schedule all written out for myself for this afternoon and tonight and it all just blew up in my face when I sat down to talk to my campus pastor this afternoon. I recently had a huge fallout with my roommate, which ended with me moving into a not-so-nice dorm with my best friend. The move was a wise decision, but as I learned today, I left on the worst terms possible. I don't want to tell the full story here, but the last things I said to my former roommate were screamed in her face in full-out fury and hurt.
Flash-forward about three weeks, when today, my pastor, in his masterful, brilliant, BAM sort-of way, just came out and showed me how I basically have taken all my own hurt and feelings of not-living-up-to expectations, (particularly with regard to my mother, and consequently, to God), and projected them on her. Because I feel so upset that I have to apologize all the time for my shortcomings, and she wasn't apologizing to me for not living up to expectation.
I burst into tears; I won't deny it. Sitting there on the Terrace, sobbing my eyes out, I realized that my pastor was absolutely right. I'm furious with my mother, with God, and especially with myself for being a failure. My mother's reaction has always been to passive-aggressively attack me, so that's what I did to my roommate.
I agreed and admitted to all of it, and cried and sobbed some more. My campus minister told me that the first thing I should do, even immediately, is to seek reconciliation. He advised me to even try to meet with my former roommate this afternoon, which I am embarrassed to say, I haven't done. My courage (small as it is) hasn't gone that far just yet, but I did go back and fell on my bed in tears. After crying for another half-an-hour or so, I picked myself up, walked over to my desk, and sat down at my computer and wrote this:
Dear __________,
I owe you a huge apology. The things I said and yelled at you the day I moved out—you never deserved them. I may have been felt like I was hurt enough to be justified in screaming at you, but I wasn’t. I’m so sorry.
I met with my pastor today, and whoa—I got a shock. He explained to me how the way I dealt with you is the same way my mother deals everyday with me: this passive-aggression, fueled by resentment on her part when I don’t do exactly what she wants, when she wants. That’s exactly how I treated you.
What came out that Monday was really an anger and frustration that I’ve had pent-up for years; I just deflected it all on you, because after spending most of my life apologizing to other people for not living up to their expectations, it angered the hell out of me that you didn’t do the same. In those moments that I shouted at you, I was really just realizing my worst fear—in failing to live up to expectation, you had become me, and I had become my mother. I’m sorry for hating you for not living up to any expectations I had of you as a roommate. Perhaps I could have been disappointed, or even upset, but I never should have hated you so for it—especially when I know what it feels like to fail others.
I still believe what you did—or allowed others to do—was highly disrespectful, but I was equally, if not more, disrespectful in the way I handled it. Nothing could ever justify me screaming at anyone the way I did that day. Nothing could ever justify me taking out every bit of anger from my life on you at that moment. And nothing can justify me in just walking away, without forgiving you, and without fully apologizing for my part in the disaster.
Is there sometime, maybe next week, when we could meet, maybe just get coffee or something? I don't have class in the early afternoon on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I'm done on Tuesdays and Thursdays and 2:00pm. I just feel like there’s this crucial piece lacking from a written apology that needs to be said aloud, face-to-face, in order to make it real and honest.
_________, I sincerely apologize for however I hurt you—the things I said, the way I said them…I’m sorry for all of it. So, so sorry.
Love (or rather, learning to love better),
Margaret Ann
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