Mistakes and Forgiveness: Part 2
Mistakes and Forgiveness: Part 2
If we can forgive ourselves for our mistakes, why is it so hard to extend that grace to others?
Image: Sarah Kilian via Unsplash
Yesterday, I wrote about learning to let go of mistakes, so that we might learn from them, but not let them define us.
“Feeling bad about past mistakes is a good thing. It means you’re self-aware. You’re accountable. You have a conscience. You’re evolving. As
wisely put it, ‘recognizing moments of bad judgment is a step toward recognizing good judgment.’But still, for those of us who want to be better people tomorrow than we were yesterday — or in fifth grade — it’s easy to self-flagellate for some of those mistakes, to wallow in the resulting shame or resentment or humiliation.”
- from We Can't Let Our Mistakes Define Us
As I was writing, I started veering into a whole other tangent (I do that a lot, as you’ll come to see) about how the world doesn’t currently seem to allow for mistakes much. Then I decided to hold that idea for another day. Which is, evidently, today.
So, hi! Welcome to Part 2. This may have a few tangents of its own so thanks for bearing with me.
When I was writing about “the world,” I was thinking about the internet, specifically.
The internet, in all its mistake-preserving, error-reminding, cruel meme-ifying, pile-on internety-ness and how that flies in the face of empathy and its connection with the essential need to forgive.
(This is not a cancel culture discussion by the way, so let’s not go there please.)
If we all have some regret, some mistake, some misguided statement or action we wish we could undo — as we all do — wow, can the internet make it hard.
From a parenting perspective, I think of how today, something problematic that a child said or did might live on as a blurry photograph of a scribbled note, a cruel illustration, a screenshot of a text, a surreptitiously recorded video, all of which can be easily preserved by an internet that holds onto absolutely everything without favor or apology.
Children are growing up with the perfectly reasonable cautionary warning that every mistake a person makes can be be documented, shared, amplified, preserved, posted on the front page of a national newspaper next to their name, sent to a college admissions officer.
Lordy.
(And I’m not talking about bullies and trolls, bona fide jerks, or the racist/misogynistic/homophobic asshats of the world who seek to hurt others with intention; I’m talking about overall good people who make mistakes here and there, as we all do.)
Maybe this kind of a warning to kids is good, in a way — more looking, less leaping. More empathy. More thinking of others. More considering the consequences of our actions. But I think it also puts children in a place where a growth mindset can be incredibly daunting.
Who wants to be willing to make mistakes if that mistake can define you in the eyes of others?
This is not to say that children’s shouldn’t be online; I’m on Team
when it comes to responsible kids having access to social media and the internet for all the good it can do, connections it can create, and creativity it can inspire. (That's another post of course.)Unfortunately, in many ways, the internet was not designed with respect to our humanity — or at least the part of our humanity which, as the saying goes, necessarily includes making mistakes.
To err is human…
And that goes doubly for kids, who are destined to make many, many many mistakes on the way to becoming fully formed adults.
Okay Liz, so how about those fully formed adults that you speak of? How about their mistakes?
I think a whole lot about those people who may once have made an arguably terrible mistake — even something that really hurt me personally. Then, I try to identify my feelings about them now. Like one of those decision trees.
Am I holding onto it? Am I still angry? Do I still carry ill will? And: Is that the thing that defines them in my mind, the thing I still think about first when I hear their name?
Because then, as my youngest daughter would say, “that’s a me problem.”
If we are working on forgiving ourselves for our own mistakes, shouldn’t we work on extending that same grace to others?
You know what? Let’s make one of those decision trees right here and now! (My first! And wow, probably my last because that took far too much effort.)
It’s rudimentary, but it’s basically a peek into my thought process.
Clearly for me, empathy, forgiveness and acceptance has a lot to do with a person’s sincerity and their growth trajectory.
Three stories
I think a lot about a child in my daughter’s class, years ago, who sent a pretty offensive text in a group chat. The kid’s parents handled it so beautifully, apologizing to me and the other parents, creating consequences for their child and new rules around phone use, putting the training wheels back on the tech, and continuing to raise that child into a young adult who, by all accounts, would not make that same choice today.
I think a lot about the girl who bullied me horrifically in camp a zillion years ago, finally meeting her again as an adult and seeing that she was basically the exact same person she was as a teenager — snarky, full of herself, not at all self-reflective. She turned to her own teen who was with her when we ran into each other and she laughed, “I was kind of a bully to her as a kid!”
(Her teen in fact looked mortified; here’s to kids doing better than their parents.)
I also think a lot (like, a lot) about Sarah Silverman, when she acknowledged that her previous use of the f-slur in her comedy was lazy and hurtful; you don’t get a pass just because you’re liberal or “have gay friends.”
She later went on to say that she’d be a pretty crappy comedian if she couldn’t find new ways to be funny without using a slur that hurts people.
That’s some serious self-reflection and growth there. I admire that.
It’s not you, it’s me.
One other thing I try to remember— because it’s super easy to forget — is that forgiveness has a lot to do with where I am today. Or as I’ve quoted before, we don’t see people as they are, we see people as we are.
If I’m not in a place of forgiveness, if I’m drudging up some long-ago infraction, if I see someone only as the sum total of their worst moments, even when there are tons of great ones, that says more about me than about them.
There’s a frightening ease with which the internet can bring out our worst selves because it holds onto everything, just there for the plucking when we want to search for it, hold it, wield it like a weapon.
Let’s do that less.
We have all in some way been the bully and the bullied. We have all said things we wish we could take back. We are all imperfect and complex, with room for growth if we are willing to work at it. We are all — well, I’d think the vast majority of us — deserving of compassion and second chances.