When I was a little girl, I thought that the princesses in all of those fairy tales got their happily ever afters because they were so good. They were kind, forgiving, pious, sweet, gentle, patient and loving. They never wasted time being hateful, even toward those who truly deserved it. They were Technicolor angels, floating through life with gentle smiles and sparkling eyes. They never got drunk, fought, swore or even stuck out a tongue. Because of this, I reasoned, I should strive to be as good as I could possibly be and, if I was successful, I too would be rewarded with a fairy tale ending.
When some villainess threatened my well-being by being cruel and mean toward me, I reacted by retreating, like Snow White, into a fantasy world where, if I was kind and patient enough, no one would hurt me. I extended every ounce if energy I had wishing kind and happy things onto this person as though I could will her to afford me with an ounce of compassion. When that did not work, I switched to another kind of magical thinking, wherein I simply attempted to control fate with extreme worry. This, coupled with the extreme goodness, was utterly exhausting but I persisted.
I persisted with this worry princess voodoo until I was left, more like Bambi then a princess, standing between two forces which were hell bent on colliding and without the strength to move myself out of the way. Still, I reasoned, if I was good enough, and strong enough, it would not hurt me. Predictably, it did hurt me. When those two forces finally did smash into one another, six months ago, it hurt so badly that I thought that all of the goodness has been beaten out of me. I thought that I would never heal, never grow, and never be whole.
However, no matter how badly I was wounded or how angry I was, I could not let go of the idea that I could overcome all of this pain and be ok if I just willed myself to remain good. I openly practiced patience and understanding while secretly wishing death and dismemberment upon another human being. It was hard and painful, but I kept it up. I made myself a martyr for the cause of my own fairytale, all the while believing that my comeuppance would come on its own.
And then, a few days ago, I was given the chance to truly show my goodness chops when the person who had wounded me so badly was suffering and asking for my forgiveness. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t forgive her and I spent the next day being angry with myself for this. Then, a few words from the wisest woman I know put it all into sharp relief for me. I don’t have to be a saint to be better than someone who is cruel, and I don’t have to be better than her to be good enough to deserve my happily ever after.
It is these words, and the wisdom that is contained in them, that has finally, after six months of suffering in pious silence, set me free.
What a fucking relief.
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