Dreaded Mail
I received a card in the mail a few days ago. Nothing fancy. Cute cover. In it contained an apology. A too quick apology. The wounds are still too fresh and I am not open to it, apology.
I was raised quite well, and because of my upbringing, almost in every hour of every day since receiving this piece of mail, I find myself at odds over what to do. My upbringing would tell me to nicely and graciously accept said apology and forget it.
My pretty newly acquired self who has gone through the trenches and has had long bouts of depression because of desperately trying to please others and has gone through extensive hours of therapy because of it, says a polite, “No thank you.” to this apology.
It isn’t that I haven’t forgiven the horrible things that were done. I pretty much have. But accepting this apology seems like opening up the fortress I’ve built around my heart where this person is concerned. I fear that by actually acknowledging this apology that I somehow leave a chink in the armor to get speared again, and that isn’t acceptable.
So, for now, the note sits, and the voices of my upbringing still ring in my head and I continue to wrestle.
ugh, Beth, this is an ugly conundrum. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this at all.