by Logan Lynn
VOICES
There. I said it.
In The Trenches
Forgiveness is
a huge pain in
the ass
My hurt is my hurt. As so many of us do, I
carry it on my back, bring it with me to bed,
and keep it fed and alive so it can grow along-
side me as I make my way through the years. I
notice more and more that there is a deep sense
of my identity found in and around my own
history of suffering and that I still sometimes
guard those old feelings with my life even now,
years after the initial infliction occurred. Much
of the connection I feel to my humanity seems
to have been formed during sad times, more
than once having had the experience of step-
ping closer to my true self in moments when all
had otherwise been lost.
Recently, after I reviewed Lee Hirsch’s docu-
mentary “Bully” for another gig and recounted
my own horror story of being tortured by my
peers as a young man for being ginger, queer
and different, I received a message on Facebook
from a name I had not seen for nearly twenty
years but instantly recognized. In a flash I was
transported back in time and broke into an all-
too-familiar sweat, my hands cold and clammy
with panic. The message was from one of the
ringleaders of this group of mean kids I had
grown up with and I have always counted him
as one of my primary tormenters from back
then. Suddenly I was 14 again and all alone in
the world, just me and my teenage fear.
As I had done many times before in locker
rooms, classrooms and hallways when I spot-
ted this particular bully, I puffed myself up and
prepared for the worst. Once I had worked
through the acute PTSD around even seeing his
name in my inbox, I opened the message and,
to my surprise, took in the following words:
“Hey Logan, I read several of your stories on
The Huffington Post. In short, I just wanted to
say that I’m very sorry for any bullying that I
did when we were younger. I know that’s not
much (if any comfort), but I wanted to say it. I
sincerely hope my own kids are more tolerant.
Congrats on your sobriety and best of luck with
your community work.”
Logan Lynn is a Portland based musician, activist and
writer. He is a regular contributor to the
Huffington Post .
Reach him at Logan@JustOut.com
14
JustOut.com
It was strangely comforting. I burst into tears.
This jerk had made me cry before, no doubt -
but this was different.
It took me four days to work up the courage to
respond to him and even then I didn’t know
what to say (or if I should say anything at all).
The idea that true change had come to this
mean boy was unfathomable to me on some
level. How could someone once so twisted
and cruel have opened his eyes to the hurt he
had caused? Did he deserve to be forgiven or
should I just let him suffer with the memory
of having tortured me, just as I have suffered
from the lasting impact of the torture all these
years? Was I, in fact, re-injuring myself by ac-
cepting his apology? The waterworks began
again, only this time I felt something leave my
body as I cried, the pain now turning from
adolescent and overwhelming to grown up and
irrelevant.
On some level I would have preferred to remain
angry at him, but that just promises to make me
sick and keep me traumatized. So, I chose to
open the vault; every mean thing this kid had
ever said to me released, every book knocked
out of my hand replaced, and every wad of snot
spit in my face returned to the back of the bul-
ly’s throat from whence it came.
Ultimately, forgiveness is a selfish act...at least
it usually starts that way for me. In this case, I
chose to reply to his note so that I could close
the chapter and move on. He and I will most
likely never be friends, but I can appreciate the
man he has become. It takes bravery to cop
to the things we are most ashamed of. This is
something I’ve had to do a great deal of in my
life as well, so I can relate to that struggle. I
thanked him for letting me know he was sorry,
told him just how hard it had been for me back
then (something I had always wanted to do),
and I shared how happy I was to hear that he
had also turned out cool in the years since.
Be yourself and honor your experience in the
world every day so that others will, too. Let
your pain shape you rather than shackle you,
and let love and new joy replace your old an-
ger when the time is right. As it turns out, we
aren’t actually required to carry it on our backs
forever. Who knew?
June 2012