i forgive you

Her name was Karen, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget her no matter how hard I try.

I was a girl of 12, a 6th grader, only months into my new life as a woman, impressionable, sassy and semi-confident. I found pleasure in making people laugh, as I still do, which often translated into acting out in class. I passed notes, I talked, I laughed, I tried to make others laugh, and I sought the approval of all of my little elementary school friends. I had crushes on boys in my class, spent all my time riding bikes with my best friend and gossiping about the other girls at school. I was a typical 6th grader…just with a little attitude and a lot of boredom with school. But that day changed me in a way I can’t even begin to express.

She probably doesn’t even remember me, but there are only small, infrequent pockets of time that she was not present in my life over the past 16 years. Her words are ingrained in my soul, the look on her face forever burned into my eyes, her impression on my life everlasting, the feeling of her hand pulling at my shirt one I will never forget.

Karen was a young substitute teacher; I’m guessing she was possibly even younger than my current 28 years at the time our paths crossed. For 16 years now I’ve carried her memory as my secret burden, sharing it with only those closest to me when I was at my weakest points. But I thought of her frequently. I didn’t let go.

I’ve often wondered if she felt guilty for what she did or if she blocked it out, I’ve wondered why she’s never apologized, I’ve wondered how she could possibly neglect facing her actions. I’ve wondered if she had any clue of the impression she left on that poor 12 year-old girl, or the way she plagued the life of a 14, 16, 19, 22, 26, and 28 year-old woman.

She probably has no clue how much of a role she’s played in my life. She’s been my secret hatred. My scapegoat. My nightmares. My shame. My judgment. My pain. My excuse. My blood would boil when I thought of her; my eyes would well up even after all these years. In high school I wanted to TP her house. In college I wanted to call her up and colorfully tell her what I thought of her. Often times I’ve wished the pain she caused me on her children, and at other times I’ve prayed that she wouldn’t hurt anyone else the way she hurt me.

But I never forgave her. How could I, after all. How could I let go of the hurt she caused, the insecurities she perpetuated in my life, the visions and flashbacks and anger, the self-hatred she instilled in me at such a young age, the loss of trust, the loss of time, the loss of my spirit.

The young teacher couldn’t have possibly intended to change a child’s life in the way she did, and I imagine it’s easier to go through life not knowing the pain you caused, and continue to cause, someone. I imagine the days pass without her thinking about what happened, and while I don’t think about it every day it’s definitely been a permanent fixture in my life.

And all of this made me realize recently that I still haven’t forgiven her for what she did. I still haven’t made my own peace with the fact that she made a horrible mistake that day back in 1989, one that would forever change the life of a young girl and shape the mind of a young woman. It was easier to stay mad at her, to hate her, to call her names in my head, to hope that karma would truly show its face in her life. She’s the only person I’ve ever truly hated. But she’s not worth my negative energy anymore.

I realize that I’ve probably hurt people in my life. We all have. I don’t think she woke up that morning with the intention of breaking a young girl down, and I don’t doubt that she regretted her actions to some degree. I know that my behavior in class provoked her, but I was the child and she was the adult, so these excuses hold little value in my mind. I don’t know her and never did, so I don’t know if she laughed it off later over coffee with her husband or if she cried herself to sleep that night knowing she’d made a huge mistake.

I never once thought I could forgive her for the way she made me feel or the confidence she stole from me that day, but I now realize that holding onto the anger and hurt only causes more anger and hurt for me, and not for her. My life is too good to allow those thoughts to creep into my mind. My heart is too big to remain hateful toward someone I don’t even know.

So, Karen, I forgive you. Not because I feel bad for thinking any of the things I’ve thought over the years, but because I am tired of carrying your negative energy around in my life. I’m tired of allowing myself to believe the nasty words you spewed at me in front of my entire class during one of the most impressionable periods of my life. I’m tired of hating you. I’m tired of succumbing to your hatred and allowing your words to taunt me. I’m ready to recapture my spirit and let your negative energy escape from my soul. I’m ready to let go.

My only hope today is that she did learn a lesson at my expense, and that because of this she has not allowed herself to do this to any other young children. As a teacher she touches the lives of children daily and I hope that I took the beating for all of the rest of the kids she’s taught over the years, and that from that moment on all of the contact she had with those other kids was positive.