Letter from the Editor

One time I got so mad at my little sister that I poured a cup of ice water on her head indoors, and walked away. Her hair was soaked, along with the hardwood floor of our dining room. When I was expected to apologize, I refused, and reaped deep consequences for it, but walked away with the pride to which my 11-year old self was so desperately trying to cling. I didn’t apologize because, even though what I had done was wrong, I didn’t feel sorry.  

This small incident happened over 10 years ago and, although my sister probably couldn’t recount it if she tried, I remember it like it was yesterday. The more thought I put into it, however, I think the vividness of this memory is a consequence of how consistently this same theme of wronging someone and not feeling sorry for it has occured in my life since then. To some degree, I think my capacity for forgiveness sometimes still operates at an 11-year old level.  

What does it look like to apologize when we don’t feel sorry? I, who am so emotionally driven, am not compelled to do anything unless I feel it to be true, but what about when the things we feel to be true speak in contrast to what is actually the true thing to do?  

In the name of honesty, I confess that on my darkest of days, at my worst of worsts, I operate under the belief that love is something to be earned. I let the cultural anthem of strength convince me that apologies and forgiveness are a sign of weakness, of vulnerability, and that the people who are the most unapologetic and act most unaware of their faults are the ones who come out on top. Success looks like stainless steel, and the women who become shiny are those who do not take the time to recant anything that they have said or done…right? Wrong. This is not productive, this is not strong. 

But I’m learning that the mentality of my darkest days is often the mentality that is in need of the most change. I am learning that the gentlest, kindest people do not care so much about what they feel than they do about how other people feel. These people would gladly lay down their pride in the name of reconciliation; they would renounce their qualifications in a second if it meant someone they love got to come in first.  

“What would it be like”, I find myself wondering, “to allow my heart to change into a woman who could forgive on the days when I don’t feel like forgiving and to apologize until I actually feel sorry; to forgive so many times over, that I actually find myself to have forgiven, and to have been forgiven in return?” 

This is my vow, my promise to myself, that gentleness will be the words that I use to sing along to the anthem of forgiveness. And this is my promise to myself that I will not leave myself off of the list of those I am responsible for forgiving. Gentleness is ours if we invite it to be; we will feel like we have forgiven if we practice it enough to learn how.