It was an ordinary drive when suddenly a luxury sedan appeared out of nowhere. One moment, I was lost in my off-key rendition of classic ’90s rap, and the next, I was inches away from its taillights. I slammed on the brakes, instinctively extending my arm to shield my precious passenger—my dry cleaning, a rather absurd moment of maternal instinct. The adrenaline surged through me, and I was furious.
Yet, when the driver offered an apologetic wave, my anger melted away. I thought to myself, “Who hasn’t had a moment like this?” Drawing from the wisdom of various spiritual teachers, I returned the gesture with a gracious wave. In that moment, I felt like a modern-day saint, a true champion of forgiveness, even while navigating the chaos of life in a hulking SUV.
Later that day, during a family dinner filled with long-held grievances and loving banter, I pondered why forgiving that anonymous driver had been so simple. I glanced around at my husband, still simmering with irritation from our last argument—though I could hardly recall the details—and at my four children, who still had me grappling with feelings of resentment for their chaotic entrance into my life. It dawned on me that, indeed, forgiving strangers was far less complicated than forgiving those closest to us.
But why is that? These are the people I cherish above all, the ones I would go to great lengths for, even laying myself in harm’s way for. Yet, they are often the ones I find it hardest to forgive.
A stranger colliding with my shopping cart? No problem. I forgive you. A fellow moviegoer stepping on my foot with a stiletto? That’s just life. I readily extend my forgiveness. Even when someone criticizes my writing online, I can brush it off—everyone has their opinions, right? But my husband, the one I vowed to share my life with, who chews too loudly during Netflix binges? I can hold onto that irritation for days. And when one of my children is sick and creates a mess, I find myself not only frustrated with her but also with myself for feeling that way.
Moving beyond the trivial matters of daily life, I reflect on the deeper issues, such as how difficult it is to engage in political discussions with family members who hold opposing views, or how I severed ties with certain relatives after my mother’s passing without a second thought.
Historically, practicing forgiveness with those I love has proven to be a challenging endeavor. It seems counterintuitive, doesn’t it? Why do we extend grace to strangers while struggling to do the same with our loved ones?
The answer, I believe, lies in vulnerability. Strangers do not know us personally, so their missteps, while frustrating, do not feel like personal attacks. In contrast, our loved ones are intimately acquainted with our flaws and fears; they witness us at our most vulnerable. This depth of connection makes their actions feel personal, which complicates our ability to forgive.
We tend to complicate things by inserting our emotions into the equation, thinking, “I love you, so how could you act this way?” I know I am guilty of this. I often react as if I’m a diva demanding special treatment, expecting that love alone should shield us from conflict, failing to realize that a conflict-free existence would be dreadfully mundane.
Mother Teresa famously suggested that to change the world, we should start by loving our families. I interpret this as a lofty goal, reminding us that the most challenging work has the most significant potential for impact. To navigate the complexities of our relationships, especially during turbulent times, requires effort and grace.
For me, this translates to a daily practice of taking deep breaths and reminding myself, “Hey, it’s not always about you.” Although this mantra may not be a direct quote from Mother Teresa, it encapsulates the spirit of her message. When faced with anger, I strive to uncover the love that often lies beneath the surface, which can make forgiveness feel almost beautiful.
Almost.