The High Road

"I let no man drag me down so low as to make me hate him." Booker T. Washington

I know what it is to hate. My late mother abused me when I was a child, and for a period of time, I hated her. And she deserved it. My hatred was a normal, natural emotion, a perfectly logical result of her cruelty. It's a long story, and it was a long, complicated journey, but I was able to let go and forgive her. She never acknowledged anything she had done, she never said she was sorry, she never asked for forgiveness. Forgiving her was something I did for myself. Hatred was eating me up inside, and really hadn't she done enough damage already?

When I was an adult, the abuse was over, so I sought a relationship with my mother. It was a guarded, somewhat uneasy one, but a relationship nonetheless. When she died, I had not one regret, for I had shown her kindness and consideration. And I never, with a vengeful attitude, gave her back even a fraction of the pain she gave to me. I am not that person.

I have been extraordinarily blessed with loving family members who nurtured me when I was growing up. I have no idea how I would have turned out without them. I have the most wonderful group of supportive friends. I went on to become a mother myself, and now I have grandchildren. I survived and now I thrive.

The high road. It's the only way to go.

Susan