The Myth Of Forgiveness Chapter 17

The Myth of Forgiveness weaves together past and present, showing how unspoken pain can linger beneath everyday life. Expect a character-driven unfolding with tenderness, tension, and small moments of clarity as the truth comes closer.

Transcript

Chairs were set in a circle,

With sunlight pouring across the floor in golden stripes.

The facilitator stood in the circle before they began,

Her voice warm and wise.

Some of you are new to this work,

She said,

Glancing around the group.

So let me start by sharing what we'll be exploring together today.

This is what's called a family constellation.

You can think of it as a way to set up invisible patterns that shape our lives.

You'll be invited to choose people here to represent members of your family.

Perhaps an illness,

Maybe a dynamic in your life.

You can even set up parts of yourself to explore within a constellation.

People are chosen from the group to represent someone in your family,

Or a diagnosis,

Or an issue that has seemed stuck for years.

We will be standing in the center of the room,

And I may ask you to repeat what we call in this work,

Healing sentences.

A statement that brings acknowledgement,

And often peace.

You see,

Our bodies carry memory.

You might believe belong to you.

What we will explore here today is that these emotions,

Experiences,

And memories can be shared across generations.

Today,

We'll be exploring old loyalties,

Unresolved grief,

Family pain,

What's been passed down without words.

When we bring it into the open,

We finally have a chance to do something different with it.

She let the words settle before continuing.

This isn't about blame or fixing.

It's about seeing without judgment.

When something long unseen is finally acknowledged,

Then you can respond differently.

The room was quiet,

As if everyone sensed the depth they were about to step into together.

The facilitator chose Vicki,

Who she guessed to be about 40,

Who seemed exhausted.

Her face holding a squint,

As if warding off an impending migraine.

The whole group noticed her voice shake as she spoke.

I haven't spoken to my mom in years.

Every time I think about her,

Or when it's her birthday,

Or Mother's Day rolls around,

I feel hurt and angry all over again.

As if all of it just happened yesterday.

I can't imagine ever forgiving her.

When I was 18,

I was in an impossibly tough situation.

She wasn't there for me.

In fact,

She let me handle everything on my own.

I tell myself I don't care anymore.

But the truth is,

I hold back in every relationship I have.

I can't trust people.

It's like I'm just waiting for them to disappoint me.

Her tone was tight.

Her eyes brimmed with tears that she tried to swallow back.

The facilitator suggested that she choose a representative for herself and one for her mom.

In the center of the room,

The mom's representative immediately turned her body toward the edge of the circle.

Her face turned towards the floor,

Her arms stiff.

The representative for Vicki stood rooted in place,

Her shoulders hunched,

Fists clenched at her side.

The distance between them was palpable.

The facilitator nodded,

As though this configuration was exactly what Vicki had described.

Say to your mom,

You let me down at a time that I really needed you,

And I don't have room for you in my heart after that.

The representative repeated the words,

Her voice breaking.

Her mom's representative shifted,

Her chest rising in a sharp breath,

Her eyes lowering to the floor,

As if struck by those words.

Vicki,

What can you tell me about your mom's childhood?

She held the facilitator's gaze.

My mom lost her parents in a fire.

She was out that night at a sleepover.

She was just 18 and came home to a completely different life that next morning.

She hardly ever talked about it.

With warmth and understanding,

The facilitator stepped closer to her and asked,

Vicki,

Please look into your mom's eyes and say,

You let me down at the same age when you lost everything.

Your mom,

Your dad,

Your home,

Your entire family.

You couldn't be there for me like I couldn't be there for you.

With warmth and understanding,

The facilitator stepped closer to her and asked,

Vicki,

Please look into your mom's eyes and say to her,

You let me down at the same age when you lost everything.

Your mom,

Your dad,

Your home.

You couldn't be there for me like they couldn't be there for you.

I was just 18 years old and I needed help.

It didn't occur to me to consider your own past,

Your own pain.

I was so young and I could only look at my own pain.

Vicki looked shocked.

Of course she knew the family history but hadn't yet connected the dots for how the pain of the past had replicated.

The facilitator left space for her recognition to land before sharing the next part.

Mom,

You're the one who gave me life.

Thank you for this gift of life.

If it's all you could give me,

It's more than enough.

The words fell into silence like a weight.

Something changed.

Mom's representative turned just slightly,

Not fully,

But enough to face her daughter.

The daughter's fists unclenched as tears slipped down her face.

The facilitator spoke into the moment.

Forgiveness isn't about saying what happened was okay.

It's seeing the whole picture.

Your mother gave you life and she also shared the pain she experienced,

A very similar pain of having to grow up before you were ready,

Having to handle the difficulties of life all on your own.

Vicki's breath became deeper now,

Her body less rigid.

She didn't embrace the representative for her mother.

She didn't rush forward,

But her chest lifted as though a knot inside had loosened.

For the first time,

She allowed herself to take in both sides of her story at once,

The gift of life and the absence of care,

The presence and the wound.

Lauren felt it ripple through her own chest.

This was not forgiveness as people usually spoke of it,

Like some kind of accomplished task with a green checkmark beside it.

It was a deep understanding as recognition,

As resolution,

The willingness to see the full truth.

She leaned back in her chair.

She knew before her name was even called that it would be her constellation next.

The facilitator turned to her,

Gentle but steady.

What brings you here today?

What would you like clarity around,

Lauren?

Lauren's mouth went dry.

Her voice caught in her throat.

I'm pregnant,

She blurted.

We had fertility issues for years.

A pause,

And then the stilted words,

It's not my husband's baby.

The room stayed utterly still.

No one gasped.

No one turned away.

The facilitator only nodded,

Her eyes soft but unflinching.

All right,

She said.

Let's set up what's here,

You,

Your husband,

The baby,

And the father of the baby.

Lauren rose on trembling legs and stepped into the center of the room.

Lauren chose strangers from the circle.

She chose first the representative for Nathan,

And right away she noticed he stood stiffly,

Arms crossed.

The person chosen to represent Nico shifted from one foot to the other,

Eyes looking anywhere but at the others in the constellation.

Lauren noticed how accurate that felt,

Sensing if Nathan and Nico had been with her in that very moment,

It's likely the stance they would have taken.

The facilitator moved gently,

Getting a sense of each person involved.

Place your hand on your heart,

She told Lauren.

Breathe.

Let's see what unfolds.

After a few moments,

The facilitator asked Lauren about her parents.

Lauren shared that her dad had left the family when she was just a girl,

And her relationship with her mom was difficult.

Actually,

It had always been a challenge.

She didn't need to say much more.

The facilitator felt the importance of adding in representatives for her mom and dad.

Her dad's representative moved the farthest away that the room could accommodate.

The facilitator's voice was compassionate and clear.

Say this to your father.

I've been looking for you,

Dad,

In every man I've ever loved.

Lauren repeated the words,

Her whole body trembling as they left her lips.

She just couldn't believe the accuracy of this statement,

As if it cracked her heart wide open.

Lauren repeated the words,

And her whole body trembling as though something long buried had been unearthed.

The truth cracked open.

The moment she spoke the words,

New images came to mind.

She saw Nathan's nonstop adventure,

Nico's depth,

The way she had tried to stitch them together to recreate the father who had never stayed.

She'd been reaching for men to heal a wound that was never theirs to heal.

Tears streamed down her face.

Her chest ached as though the breath had been stolen from her.

The facilitator's voice carried through the tension,

Low and steady.

Breathe.

Don't try to change anything.

See what's already here.

Let what's here be seen.

What's here to be felt fully.

Lauren felt her body drop into acceptance,

Then a deep sense of relaxation and understanding.

Her breath became slow and steady.

The facilitator stepped closer.

Her tone low.

This baby,

She said,

Doesn't need to carry the pain you're holding.

Let this deep lesson around love and loss remain with you.

Lauren pressed her palm against her belly.

You will not be born carrying what I could never find,

She whispered to the life inside of her.

You will not have to love me for the people who couldn't stay.

The sensation of a mother protecting her child rose up in her body.

Undeniable.

Unshakeable.

Lauren felt the words strong and steady in her body.

I will give you what I've wanted to receive for my entire life.

I've got you,

Sweet little one.

You can count on me.

The facilitator placed a hand lightly on her shoulder,

Sensing the power of this moment.

Yes,

Let that stay with you.

Let this child be free.

Continue to reassure this child that they can count on your love to be steady and stable.

It struck Lauren then that this moment wasn't about forgiving her dad.

Forgiveness felt too small,

Too neat of a word.

What mattered was finally seeing the impact of his absence,

How his leaving had shaped every choice that followed,

How it had lived in her body like a wound that never fully closed.

Now that he was gone,

She might never know what drove him to turn away or what story he carried that made staying impossible.

The constellation showed her that answers weren't always available,

And they didn't need to be.

What mattered was understanding how his absence had marked her and how she could choose not to hand that mark to her child.

In the silence that followed,

Something deeper than forgiveness began to unfold.

It wasn't about excusing dad's absence.

It wasn't about deciding who was right or wrong,

Who was guilty or innocent in all of this.

It was about seeing how much larger the story was than her own decisions.

Her father leaving,

Her mother's silence,

The fragile thread of love she'd been trying to mend for years,

The invisible forces that had been shaping her life,

Her choices,

All along.

The constellation showed her what she'd always sensed but never named,

That we are born into stories already in motion,

That we repeat certain themes in our life because something unseen is still looking for completion.

Nico and Nathan's parents and their love,

Betrayal,

And loss came flooding into her awareness as tears continued streaming down her cheeks.

The clarity was undeniable.

There were a number of forces that had shaped the situation.

She now found herself living,

And she made a commitment right there and then that this child wouldn't carry the echoes of absence that had defined her own childhood.

And in that circle,

With strangers standing in for people she loved and lost,

Lauren felt a profound release.

Not the clean slate people promise when they talk about forgiveness,

Something deeper,

An understanding,

A seeing,

And with it,

A thread of peace as steady as the heartbeat she carried inside of her.

The night after the workshop,

Lauren had the deepest sleep she could remember.

No dreaming,

No tossing or turning,

Just deep,

Restorative sleep.

She woke up with a renewed sense of hope,

Trusting she would give her baby so much of what she'd wished for as a little girl.

She spent the day on her own in deep reflection.

Thankfully,

Her phone didn't ring.

She didn't have anywhere to be.

It was just the day she needed to be with her thoughts,

Her feelings,

Herself,

After the workshop had revealed so much.