Self-Forgiveness

Two years back on my 42nd birthday, as I sat alone in my favourite corner of the coffee shop, staring at the delicate pattern of froth on my Irish coffee and its beans. The usual throng of well-wishers and obligatory birthday messages had come and gone, leaving me in a state of uneasy contemplation. The day was supposed to be joyous, yet I felt a lingering emptiness that had shadowed me for as long as I could remember.

In my career, I’ve been doing fairly well with all failures , still thriving strong. Many others would only dream of achieving the professional milestones I have, whether it be in my work, intellectual development, or becoming an author, I have always been growing and developing, and I have the best time management skills to take advantage of the learning and growth possibilities that present themselves. However, no honour or career success had ever been able to satisfy the emptiness I felt on the inside. An internal chorus of “This is not enough” or “You could have done better” with each success, and strong self-criticism with every failure.

In comparison, my personal life and work are very different from one another. Friendships have been shallow, relationships have been ephemeral, and I have frequently found myself alone with my own critical thoughts rather than with those of loved ones. I’ve come to see that I had erected walls around my heart so high that it was difficult for me to see through them. In addition to robbing me of the joy, the incessant self-criticism had also kept me apart from the individuals I so desperately wanted to connect with.

I was sitting in the coffee shop when I suddenly had a very moving childhood recollection. I thought back to when I was younger, stating all the things I needed to get better at while facing a mirror. Though intended to be uplifting, my father’s remarks had sown the seeds of unrelenting self-criticism. My father would always tell me to always want to be the best and put in best efforts, leave no stone unturned. Those remarks had become a harsh mental monologue that did not allow for self-compassion throughout the years.

After letting out a long breath, I choose. I was sick and weary of having to live under the scrutiny of my own judgement. Giving myself forgiveness would be my birthday present to myself. I asked the waiter for some writing sheets right away and started writing a letter to myself. I extended forgiveness to myself for all the things I thought I had failed at, for not being flawless, and for feeling inadequate. As I wrote, tears clouded my vision, but they were tears of relief rather than grief.

My journey towards self-compassion began in the weeks that followed. I shared my fears and hardships with others, allowing myself to be open and vulnerable. Unexpectedly, I discovered that people were more than happy to provide encouragement and comprehension.

Gradually, over the past two years, I have constructed a comfortable and fulfilled life for myself in my own mind. And thus, I am able to find joy in the little things in life, like going for walks, making meals, laughing with friends, conversing with my fish, tending to plants, getting dressed up, writing, occasionally binge-watching etc.

My successes and disappointments in the workplace or personal life are no longer defined on who I was (past); rather, they are now one aspect of a rich experience of my complex life.