In an unexpected moment, I found myself caught off guard by a sudden stop from a sleek car. One minute, I was lost in the rhythm of my playlist, the next, I was inches away from a pair of glaring taillights. Reflexively, I slammed my brakes, my arm instinctively shot out to shield my precious passenger—though, in reality, that “precious” was just my dry cleaning. As adrenaline coursed through me, my toes curled around the brake pedal, bracing for impact.
Initially, I felt a surge of irritation. But when the other driver waved an apologetic hand, my anger dissipated. Who hasn’t made a mistake behind the wheel? I thought, channeling my best inner saint as I returned the wave. In that moment, I felt like a champion of forgiveness, a modern-day Mother Teresa jammin’ to some ’90s hip-hop.
However, later that evening, during a family dinner punctuated with shared grievances accumulated over years of love, I found myself pondering the ease with which I forgave the stranger. I glanced at my husband, still nursing residual irritation from our last disagreement, the details of which had faded into obscurity. Then there were my four kids, whose chaotic arrival into the world still haunted my thoughts. It struck me that forgiving a random driver was far more straightforward than forgiving my own family.
Why is that? These are the people I love most fiercely, the ones I would sacrifice anything for—even lay down in traffic if it meant protecting them from harm. Yet, they often bear the brunt of my frustration.
Accidentally bump my cart in a store? No problem, I forgive you. Accidentally step on my foot in a crowded theater? It’s all good. Even when faced with online criticism for sharing my vulnerabilities, I manage to extend grace. But when it comes to my partner—the one I chose to share my life with—chewing too loudly while we watch Netflix? I can hold a grudge for days. When he pretends to sleep while I’m cleaning up after a sick child, all bets are off. I find myself frustrated with the very child who’s suffering, even though it’s unreasonable to feel that way. And then I’m annoyed with myself for feeling annoyed.
Let’s go beyond petty annoyances like chewing and messes and delve into deeper issues. I struggle to engage in political discussions with loved ones who have different viewpoints, and I’ve distanced myself from family members who hurt me after my mother passed away, cutting ties without hesitation.
Practicing forgiveness with those I genuinely love has never been my strong suit. At first glance, it seems paradoxical. Why would we find it easier to extend kindness and patience to strangers than to those closest to us?
I believe it comes down to vulnerability. Strangers don’t know our stories; their mistakes may frustrate us, but they lack personal significance. In contrast, our loved ones—our families, both by blood and choice—hold our hearts. They witness our struggles, support us at our lowest points, and every interaction feels deeply personal. Our emotions become entangled with our expectations: “But I love you! How could you chew so loudly? Why didn’t you see it my way?”
I’m guilty of this mindset, often acting like the diva who demands recognition in a crowded restaurant. I forget that loving someone doesn’t exempt us from conflict, and perhaps a life without challenges would be painfully dull.
Mother Teresa famously advised that to change the world, we should begin by loving our families. This statement is a high bar to reach because it’s with our families that we are often at our most authentic—sometimes, that authenticity is messy. She sets the standard high because the most challenging work has the greatest potential for impact, and in a world that can feel increasingly chaotic, this work is vital.
So, for now, my mantra is simple: “Hey, remember, it’s not always about you.” While not a direct quote from Mother Teresa, it reflects a sentiment worth embracing. Recognizing that beneath our frustrations lies love can make the act of forgiveness almost beautiful.
Almost.
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the contrasting ease of forgiving strangers versus loved ones, exploring the underlying emotions of vulnerability and expectation. It suggests that while we may be quick to forgive those we don’t know, the deep connections with family often complicate our ability to extend the same grace. Through personal anecdotes, it emphasizes the importance of working on forgiveness within our closest relationships.
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