On Forgiveness

I forgive myself for the times I was too loud, obnoxious, annoying, grouchy, surly, mean.

I forgive myself for the times I was a bad communicator, afraid to be honest, a liar.

I forgive myself for trying to bend myself into shapes I couldn't fit in, for growing tired of the contortion, for the resentment toward other's when I thought they were the ones keeping me bent.

I forgive myself for seeking love externally in places I didn't belong, ignoring boundaries, complicating friendships to the point of ruin, placing myself at the mercy of predators, losing sight of myself in order to please others.

I forgive myself for not screaming, for not reporting, for not knowing, for not telling anyone, for protecting abusers with silence.

I forgive myself for projecting into the future, for making up stories, for living in delusion.

I forgive myself for breaking hearts.

I forgive myself for not knowing, for figuring it out as I go, for the jealousy and secret hatred I feel toward people who have loving families.

I forgive myself for being so cruel toward myself, for believing I was not worthy of respect, for looking down on the parts of myself that are vulnerable.

I forgive myself for the death of my dog.

I forgive myself for needing others, for needing help, for needing to be loved, for needing my feelings to be heard, for needing to be understood, for needing autonomy, for needing patience and compassion, for needing time, for needing therapy, for needing comfort, for needing food and water and shelter, for needing silliness, for needing safety, for needing boundaries, for needing connection, for needing creativity, for needing to care for myself.

I forgive myself for suffering for so long, for holding on to old thinking and old fear.

I forgive myself for the cruelty in my blood.

I forgive this shame that I carry.

Thank you.