Forgiveness & Its Violator

by lilysauvage

 

 

I originally started this blog, because I am on a venture toward freedom found in forgiveness, and I have been getting some discoveries along the way. The way I’m doing it is to read one chapter per week of “Choosing Forgiveness” by Nancy Leigh DeMoss and then meeting with a womyn from my church to go over the workbook part of it together. I’m halfway through the book now, and today, I started a list of all the people I’ve not forgiven and what they did to me. Mind you, I’m not talking about forgiving my neighbour for littering or an old high school teacher for humiliating me in front of all my classmates (although, come to think of it, maybe Mr. Getchel should go on the list, too..??). No, I’m going for the jugular; I’m attempting to forgive my sexual violators. (And yes, there is an “s” at the end of that horrible word.) I figured that if I can forgive those creeps, I can forgive anyone, right? Including my high school gym teacher, my husband, previous co-workers, a local shopkeeper, ex-boyfriends…to name a few! (You know what? I’m over Mr. Getchel. Couldn’t care less about sports.)

One of my reasons for being so unable to forgive is the good ole obvious:self-righteousness. So ugly. It’s pretty embarrassing to admit this, but I am really attached to that one. But being attached to it like I am has kept me from accepting God’s grace, which is precisely what I need in order to extend it toward others. My self-righteousness has me in a place of feeling I don’t even need his grace for my sins, because hey, those sins are NOTHING compared to how I was wronged, right? So as long as I feel that way, I miss out both on feeling his infinite grace and extending it toward others. Ugh.

Knowing this, why do I stay so attached to my self-righteousness? Why do I choose to miss out on so much peace and compassion and gentleness? I got my answer to this today.

Holding onto this self-righteousness is a way to self protect!

Hear me out, please. When my first sexual violator committed his heinous act on my little 5 year old body, needless to say, I was never the same. Instead of making him the monster, I became the monster. At least in my own head I did. And if I could eventually become a monster in a more concrete way than just feeling like one, I could make sense of that creeping feeling that I was a monster (which often had me more than a little confused). And later in life, when the rage set in, I did just that. But from that moment onward, I was convinced that anyone who looked at me could see the monster if only they looked closely enough. (This was only exacerbated with each violation, of course.) So I learned to keep people at arm’s length. Especially my male partners, as I got older. One way to do this, I learned, was to cheat. One foot in the door, one out. And I ran. As fast and as hard as I could, away from the monster. Away from me. Away from the innocent little girl who absorbed my first violator’s monster and every one after that.

By the time I left my second of two abusive husbands at age 26 (the second of whom was married with two kids when we started our affair), I decided it was high time I adopted an entirely new attitude if I was going to survive the life of a single womyn – one who couldn’t escape judgement as married, so would surely attract ten times that amount otherwise! I became a feminist, and I celebrated my independence abundantly and began to discover things that made me feel powerful again. I developed an overall strive toward sexual freedom and hedonism in every sense of the word as I knew it. And I stopped apologising for doing things that my male counterparts did all the time, yet who still managed to escape societal judgement. And voilà, the seed of poloyamoury was planted.

So basically, and to glaze only the tip of the iceberg, I was a slut in high school, a two-time divorcee/cheat/marriage-wrecker before I hit 26 (not to mention a single mom with two kids under the ages of 6 also at age 26), who eventually became a feminist with unshaven armpits, lesbian-turned-bi-sexual, polymourous, 3-times divorced/4-times married, twice-hospitalised for anorexia, Sunset strip clubbing, private dancing (yes, that kind), hormonally-challenged (aka “mad”), art (aka “nude”) modelling, free-spirited (aka “rebellious and mouthy”), tattooed, new-age-turned-Jesus-following actress. And I was still running as fast as I could from the monster I knew was really me.

Yeah, I was judged a lot. Still am, I’m sure. What’s not to judge? Don’t get me wrong, some of those things on that list above are not things I feel I need to change about myself, even as a follower of Jesus. I know many would disagree, but that’s not what this post is about… My point is that I really cannot recall a day in my life when I didn’t feel judged or prone to it – given enough time getting to know me. Including today…So you see? Being self-righteous protects me from those piercing eyes, sideways glances, quiet murmerings, fearful and worried expressions, outright insults, subtle criticisms, and blatant dislike. Being self-righteous allows me to own my sins and/or easily-judged ways without shame, without contrition. Contrition that leads to feeling God’s grace.

And this all stems from sin. Sin committed upon me at a ridiculously young and innocent age. And it’s those sickos that I have to forgive. This isn’t gonna be easy, is it…