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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 650437" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Forgiving ourselves is an act of humility. That is what I have found. I needed to acknowledge my powerlessness.</p><p></p><p>And ineptness.</p><p></p><p>And failure, and the grinding pain that attends that.</p><p></p><p>And I came through it so amazed Echo, that I had been through all that. That these things really happened to me. That this really was how it all came out. I have gone through a time of naming my story an ugly one.</p><p></p><p>And it is such an ugly story, all the things that have happened to me, and to my children.</p><p></p><p>There is so much that is ugly, there.</p><p></p><p>But that is where forgiveness for myself was.</p><p></p><p>And behind that Echo, like right immediately behind that, was a cherishing of myself and a gentleness and a kind of acceptance I had never imagined.</p><p></p><p>It made me cry for myself, for my sadness, for my losses. I had never cried for me. When I cried, I had cried in rage, or in frustration, or just an overload of shock. I had never really acknowledged how lonely I have been through this, or how deeply tired I am.</p><p></p><p>An ugly story.</p><p></p><p>Mine is an ugly, ugly story.</p><p></p><p>But see me standing up, see me doing what I can, and falling in love with myself for my bravery in the face of it, for my refusing to turn away or pretend ours is a pretty story.</p><p></p><p>See me, loving all of us, anyway. Not defiantly. Not any more. Ours is an ugly story. But those are my children, my people. I have been fortunate to have loved so deeply, to so completely have that kind of joy in my life. </p><p></p><p>And there I found forgiveness.</p><p></p><p>It had something to do with not judging myself ~ with sort of crashing through the belief that I was someone who should have been able to do this better. It had something to do with that. Loss of hope, that was in there, too. I hear myself all the time now saying, "I don't know. I just don't know." Not I will find out or I will take care of it or anything like that.</p><p></p><p>I wish I could describe it better.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 650437, member: 17461"] Forgiving ourselves is an act of humility. That is what I have found. I needed to acknowledge my powerlessness. And ineptness. And failure, and the grinding pain that attends that. And I came through it so amazed Echo, that I had been through all that. That these things really happened to me. That this really was how it all came out. I have gone through a time of naming my story an ugly one. And it is such an ugly story, all the things that have happened to me, and to my children. There is so much that is ugly, there. But that is where forgiveness for myself was. And behind that Echo, like right immediately behind that, was a cherishing of myself and a gentleness and a kind of acceptance I had never imagined. It made me cry for myself, for my sadness, for my losses. I had never cried for me. When I cried, I had cried in rage, or in frustration, or just an overload of shock. I had never really acknowledged how lonely I have been through this, or how deeply tired I am. An ugly story. Mine is an ugly, ugly story. But see me standing up, see me doing what I can, and falling in love with myself for my bravery in the face of it, for my refusing to turn away or pretend ours is a pretty story. See me, loving all of us, anyway. Not defiantly. Not any more. Ours is an ugly story. But those are my children, my people. I have been fortunate to have loved so deeply, to so completely have that kind of joy in my life. And there I found forgiveness. It had something to do with not judging myself ~ with sort of crashing through the belief that I was someone who should have been able to do this better. It had something to do with that. Loss of hope, that was in there, too. I hear myself all the time now saying, "I don't know. I just don't know." Not I will find out or I will take care of it or anything like that. I wish I could describe it better. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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