forgiveness (or a close approximation)

reflections on what it means to truly move on

I hold grudges for a long time. Even when I tell people I’ve forgiven them, there’s often still a part of me that’s still brewing with some unresolved rage.

When I was home for the holidays in December, my mother ran into the mother of a girl I went to elementary school with. Apparently, we had gone to the same college program when studying abroad at the same time. My mother seemed absolutely shocked when I said that I didn’t see her (though, in a place with tens of thousands of students, it shouldn’t be so surprising). But I believe that my mother wasn’t really shocked that we didn’t cross paths, but rather that I wasn’t reacting like her, wishing that I had seen her.

If I ran across the country to avoid the painful memories of growing up in my hometown, I sure as hell wouldn’t have been delighted to see someone I know while on a completely different continent. Apparently, an ocean isn’t enough to separate me from my past.

I’ve thought about whether anyone from my hometown deserves to know this new version of me, a person who goes by a completely different name now and has lived so much life outside the tiny four-mile radius town I grew up in. But what’s even harder is being haunted by the fear that I haven’t changed at all.

photo taken from when i had lived across the pond. i still miss it every day.

When I was back for the holidays, I also went to a small house party held by one of my few friends from high school. I had gone to one two years prior and didn’t have a great time, burdened by that haunting feeling of being the same person I was when I was in high school.

One classmate I had gone to middle school with didn’t recognize me. I had just gotten my shortest haircut yet, one that was so short that it appalled my mother and caused her to almost have a very public meltdown in one of the three banks in my town. It should’ve hurt (and admittedly, it did a little) when he pointed at me and asked, “What’s your name again? You look familiar.”

I smiled and waved at him. “Hi, I’m transgender. I go by Sam.”

The two other trans people I had been talking to burst into laughter at how plainly I stated it. It was such an oddly empowering moment to be able to say that in front of the very people I had never thought would be able to come out to.

Later in the evening, after a smoke break, I was gathered in the kitchen with two cishet guys I had been super close with in middle school. Oddly, these two guys were some of the first people to call me Sam. They’re now typical fratty guys, but they were completely comfortable around me to the point where we were laughing about the time we tried to write a book on Wattpad together.

For the longest time, I’ve held a grudge against most people in my hometown and my high school for the way I had been almost completely shut out socially. I never really felt that I got any closure for all the hurt I suffered. In my head, it made sense to blame these people and stay so angry with them for so long.

At this party, I realized that everyone has changed and grown since then. The people in my head that I’ve been furious with don’t exist anymore. I’ve been fighting with ghosts and trying to win.

pictures from a place i wouldn’t have been if i didn’t leave my hometown

I still did feel a little out of place at this party. Out of about 30 people, I was one out of three people who was studying at an out-of-state college. Most people I know at that party and in my hometown have no intention of ever leaving this state. Meanwhile, I was gearing up to pack up my life and move thousands of miles away for the foreseeable future.

One of my writing buddies I met up with earlier that month had said that he hates the idea of talking to someone for the last time and not knowing it. He likes the idea of a clean goodbye.

For me, this party did feel like a goodbye. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad I got to see people from my past. I’m glad I got to see who they are now and how they’ve changed in the many years I haven’t seen them. But I don’t think I need to really see them again. I’m happy with ending everything on good terms and finally banishing the ghosts in my head.

All this isn’t to say I’m completely healed from everything that’s happened to me in my hometown. Most days, it feels like I never really will be.

What I do know is I think I’ve reached forgiveness. I don’t really know who the recipient is. Maybe I’ve forgiven the past versions of my high school classmates. Maybe I’ve forgiven myself for holding onto my grudges with a death grip. For the first time in a long time, that quietly simmering rage isn’t really there anymore. It has no use; it’s of no comfort anymore.

Even a few months ago, getting to this point where forgiveness, or an approximation of it, had felt completely unachievable. But weirdly, that’s how progress seems to work. There may be days when I slip back into that familiar anger, but for the most part, I think I’m done with letting anger define my past.