In the stress-filled world we live in today it’s not difficult, even in a short amount of time, to gather up a pile of grievances large and small. Using an irksome tone of voice after a long day is minor, but depletes goodwill over time. (Raise your hand if you’re guilty of sometimes speaking to strangers in a friendlier manner than family members who share the same home. Sadly, I have both hands up.) And what about the bigger transgressions? How we handle both extremes and everything in between has an enormous impact on our physical and emotional well-being.

There are several “Love Language” books available encompassing many variations of relationships by Gary Chapman, but it was a little different version on the same premise, “The Five Languages of Apology” written by Chapman and Jennifer Thomas, that actually got me thinking about forgiveness and delving deeper into the subject.

What I learned as I made my way through each “language” was that words and/or actions that constitute an apology to one person may not come close for another.  Often times, we go about life thinking something was dealt with while in reality it’s still festering – growing into a barrier that could forever impede forward motion.  Thus the reason genuine apologies are a necessity and in return forgiveness.

Further along in my quest to become fluent in asking others for their forgiveness, I stumbled upon a large impediment to feeling forgiven: forgiving myself. And I’m not talking about excusing behavior . . . more along the lines of, “OK. I’ve turned myself inside out and upside down. Held my feet to fire. Admitted I was wrong and handed down some stiff inner-disciplinary action.” Now what?

It takes some backbone to stand up, look the woman in the mirror straight in the eye, and call her out. She can get pretty testy – may even attempt to look away in the hopes of deflecting my fiery resolve.  But standing toe-to-toe and refusing to drop my gaze, I made my intentions clear: The lashing was over and inner-prison time served.

Shoving pride to the side, she squared her shoulders and stood a little taller. With a shaky yet persuasive voice regrets were expressed, responsibility accepted, restitution offered, and repentance made followed by, “Will you please forgive me?”

A blurred reflection revealed a pile of grievances carried for far too long falling to the floor. A chiropractor won’t be necessary. I feel divine.

© 2010 Natalie Whatley