Forgiveness and liberation aren’t possible if we don’t feel our feelings
It’s important for us to feel all of our feelings as a step towards moving past our pain. Only then can we liberate ourselves from its grip.
I know that I’m supposed to enjoy the journey, not just the destination—the process, not the result alone. But that’s always been hard for me. I’m very results-oriented and like getting things done. That makes me a good worker, a fast thinker, and fairly productive. But I’m learning that getting to the end as fast as possible isn’t always best. Sometimes I need to slow down and notice what is around me. This is especially true when it comes to forgiveness and liberation.
When I explained to my spiritual director that I wanted to get past my pain, she made a good point. She said that if I never really felt it completely and processed it, perhaps I would simply keep re-encountering it and replicating it—as humans tend to do. But processing is painful, arduous, and seemingly counterproductive. Why would I want to feel the harm done to me in order to move past it?
She wondered if I believed God could hold it with me. Intellectually, I do believe that. I have faith that God can hold my pain along with me. But wouldn’t it be even better if God would just take it from me? Apparently, that’s not how it works. God can give me courage to feel all my feelings, as I work through them, to forgive those who harmed me, and to work for liberation.
This was disappointing news. I didn’t want to remember how I’ve been hurt. I don’t particularly want to recall my mistakes, my naiveté, the decisions I made as a younger person. Certainly, I’ve contemplated them, and thought through them, and vowed to do better in the future. However, much of that occurs in my brain, and not, as my director would say, in my body.
She helps me quiet down and feel all that’s happening with my body—something that a fairly cerebral person such as myself, doesn’t always notice. In tuning into the pain I’ve experienced, I can also stop and appreciate the joy along the way. Skipping to the end doesn’t just keep me from feeling my sorrow, it can also keep me from feeling my joy.
The invitation to feel my feelings isn’t an obligation. It’s not particularly urgent. But I do think it is necessary, especially if my goal is to forgive those who hurt me, as well as to work for a world where such pain is eliminated. Facing the pain I’ve experienced in relationships and because of the sinful condition of the world is essential if I want to do something different now. And that is motivating. I agree to give my pain the healing time it needs.
That’s the reason for taking a personal retreat—even though it conflicted with the courageous and bold action of Mennonites calling for a ceasefire in D.C. It’s the reason I keep appointments with the professionals I work with. Self-care is not selfish; in fact, it’s something we owe to each other.
Without this kind of attention to the inner life, people become resentful, angry—and paradoxically, more self-centered. They become dismissive of people’s pain, and sometimes become accomplices to those who have oppressed them. I think this is especially true of racial minorities, gender minorities, and queer people. The oppressor would love to have us on their side. I think we saw this clearly when Tim Scott resoundingly endorsed Donald Trump. We had a Black Senator endorsing a White Supremacist candidate. We see similar patterns with Nikki Haley, Vivek Ramaswamy, Ben Carson, and Clarence Thomas—all of whom ally with oppressive force against their own interests. An alliance with those who oppress us can a way to avoid our pain. It damages us, and also the movement for our liberation. I am sympathetic with those who want to ignore the past, insisting that everything is fine. But everything is not fine, and the sooner we realize that, the better. For a person of color or a queer person—I am both—to be able to articulate the pain of racism or heterosexism helps us “come out of the closet.” Coming out is scary, without doubt.
Liberation can’t come if we don’t consider and reflect on the oppression we’ve faced. It’s a painful and isolating process. I do not believe that sharing my experience of pain is enough to convince those who hurt me to seek reconciliation or to offer forgiveness—but I do think it’s good for me. It is hard to do it alone, though. Solidarity, then, with other people who have been oppressed and hurt like me helps me walk the path. It helps me empathize with other minorities who have had similar experiences, too. Finding a loving community to hold my pain with me, without judgment, is exactly what letting God hold it with me is like. So as I process my feelings in safe places– some private, others communal, and others public—I make way for new possibilities.