You can’t forgive in advance

A few years ago a young trans friend shared an important lesson with me, a painful one to learn. “You can’t forgive in advance.”

My friend, let’s call them Noah, was having a hard time visiting their uncle. He was generally supportive when they came out as non-binary, but he struggled with their pronouns and new name. He eventually grew so frustrated trying to remember the change that he had gave up trying and simply reverted to using the name and pronouns he was familiar with.

Noah loved their uncle and visited him often. They would say to themselves, “It’s ok. He is old. I know he loves me. I know it’s hard for him. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” But when they left a visit with their uncle, they would feel exhausted, overwhelmed, and sad. What had once been a relationship that brought them joy, love, and support was now becoming a real burden.

That is not what forgiveness is supposed to feel like. Forgiveness is an act of liberation, of freeing ourselves and the other from our anger in hopes of moving forward with more compassion and grace, whether or not that involves repairing the relationship. Forgiveness should make us feel lighter, less overwhelmed, and able to focus on other things more clearly. No matter how much Noah tried to explain their uncle’s behaviour to themselves, they felt more and more burdened.

This is how Noah learned this lesson. They realised they were trying to practice forgiveness for a hurt that had not yet happened. They would prepare for a visit by stocking up on grace for their uncle, but that did not prevent them from being hurt every time he misgendered them. No matter how much grace Noah extended beforehand, it did not reduce the hurt they experienced whenever they heard their deadname.

Stocking up on grace is not a bad practice, and it may help us have a better encounter than if we hadn’t. But it is not the same as forgiveness. Noah figured out that the only way to forgive their uncle was to willingly visit their uncle in vulnerability, experience the hurt, and then make the choice to forgive him each and every time. To them, this was an act of love.

I remembered this recently when I was in a group conversation where an individual targeted me for something I said about my sexual identity. I partly expected it. When I am confronted by someone who has clearly come prepared with a speech, my practice is to remain silent unless asked (I learned that from Jesus in front of Pilate). My response is rarely adequate in the moment and tends to feed the speaker rather than de-escalate. One person tried to stand up for me, which I appreciated, and I let them know afterwards. 

To cope with remaining in the room, I started making excuses in my head for what had just happened. “These folks haven’t learned allyship. This person’s position was easy to assume. I should have known better.” In the midst of that, I remembered Noah’s lesson. You can’t forgive in advance. You have to enter the situation with vulnerability, experience the hurt, and choose forgiveness—as Jesus says, “Even seventy times seven times.” When the conversation moved on, I took a deep breath and focussed on all the parts of my body that were on high alert: my pounding heart, my swirling stomach, my eyes heavy with unshed tears, my shaking hands. I kept focussing on my breath, allowing the hurt to metabolize through my body in all these physical responses. I bracketed my thoughts about what had happened, explaining it, or trying to learn from it. I just paid attention to the hurt. I knew in my head that forgiveness would come. This is not a group I want to abandon. 

As the days passed, I debriefed the experience with a loved one and invited Forgiveness into my heart. Like Noah’s visits with their uncle, forgiving this one hurt does not protect me from being hurt again. I may have to forgive again, maybe many times. Perhaps, as the relationship evolves, I will be able to express myself and my hopes for future engagement. Or I may need to leave it if growth becomes impossible.

For now, though, like Noah, I will enter the next encounter with the knowledge that I am more vulnerable than I think I am, but that is also my superpower. This encounter will not shut me down in the group; I will grow more compassionate for those who need my compassion.