There are people in this life who make me weary.
You know who I mean — the lover who discarded me; the boss who denigrated me. Even the kids who relentlessly bullied me in grade school. For many years, there was an entire cast of characters in my psyche I thought I was done with.
Except that I wasn’t.
They still chimed in from time to time, simply as disembodied voices in my head. And why? Because again and again, I invited them in.
The truth is I longed to let them go. Forget those bully kids and that impossible-to-please boss. And what about the toxic lover? I longed to get rid of her, too.
How I craved some much-needed space in my head. Once I had it, then all kinds of kind, lovely, nourishing things could grow in my mind instead.
So I decided to set these angry rants free.
A book I was reading at the time suggested it would be as simple as writing a letter to each person I was still resentful with. I would never send the letter, of course, but instead just write it. That, alone, would free up space in my heart.
A very surprising thing happened as I began to write. I started with my former lover, a person I felt had done me wrong in many ways. I really let it all hang out as I wrote.
Spiritual bypass was not allowed — I scrawled every last one of my petty, crude, pissy thoughts. I gnashed my teeth on paper. I told her exactly what I thought of her … and then half way down the page, the tone suddenly shifted.
All of the sudden a small awareness of my role in the relationship became clearer. I found myself writing, “Of course, I invited you into this dynamic by being a vacant, pliable victim … so we acted out our little drama just like actors in a play.”
Whoa. Really?
Yes, really.
The fact was I was being so nakedly honest gave me no recourse but to be honest about my own responsibility, too. Did she mistreat me? Did she use me? Did she manipulate and control me?
Absolutely! And did I manipulate her right back?
I certainly did.
Every time I was silent and let my former lover abuse or control me, I fed our off-kilter dynamic. Every choice I made that didn’t serve me merely cemented the unhappy lockstep we both found ourselves stuck in.
As I continued to write my letter to her, I discovered what a great thing our break up actually was. In fact, it came as a relief when she dumped me.
Furthermore, now I could actually see how critical this relationship was to my personal growth.
As a direct result of that break-up, I found my way into work that helped me become humble again. I learned to live in a far healthier way and discovered a new, far deeper spiritual connection.
Out of this work, I also found the truly happy, deeply loving marriage I am now in.
Our greatest teachers often show up as irritants in the path – the rock around which we must flow. The bully kids taught me to protect my most sensitive self, and let her only be seen in ways that are safe and whole.
The obnoxious boss taught me how low my standards were, and how to aim higher with the next job I got – and then the next, and the next after that.
Again and again, life conspires to bring the very best teachers our way, whether we like them or not. I say our souls demand it – for how else can we really grow?
By finally telling the truth, I owned the entire picture of what had happened. Here was my safe forum to truly express myself, and so discover the lessons buried behind the grief.
Now I found I truly was ready to let go of the hurt, the pain and the anger.
At the end of the letter, I was filled with compassion, empathy and even gratitude for this remarkable woman I had once loved. I knew that part of me would even love her for years to come, whether or not we ever spoke again.
I had been reborn — simply because of one small, thirty-minute exercise.
If you are carrying resentment towards anyone in your life or your past, why not lay your burden down? All that you will lose is the artificial crutch of your resentment.
There is an innate joy that awaits all of us. It lives on the other side of humility, honesty and willingness.
I invite you to write a letter of your own – a letter you never send. For, if nothing else, it will be a supreme act of self care.