Perhaps you have heard someone say, especially in response to an abusive childhood, They (in this case parents) did the best they could. This continues to rankle me because I simply do not believe it is true in many cases, nor does it lead to the genuine forgiveness we might seek to cultivate. Besides, everybody seems to be saying it, which dilutes its effectiveness and meaning – at least to me.
When I look back on my own life and review my parenting skills, I cannot say I did the best I could, because I could have made different choices. The thing is, I didn’t, and I can’t change history. We all have to live with our choices and their outcomes. It is, however, what we choose to do with that awareness in the moments that follow that contains the seeds of transformation and healing.
As a young mother, I may have lacked the patience to do better, though the gods knew I had the heart and the ongoing desire. Having possessed these assets allowed me to do what I was capable of, and for that I give myself compassionate credit, despite the inevitable and ongoing stumbling in breaking new ground.
If we can admit our imperfections, forgive ourselves and ask forgiveness of others; if we can humble ourselves on a moment-to-moment basis as is possible, we have the fundamental tools for radical change. And when I say radical, I do not mean fast or easy or instant. Rather I mean what my online dictionary calls “characterized by departure from tradition; innovative or progressive.”
As human beings, it is the nature of deep and abiding personal change that it requires heaps of patience and time – indeed, perhaps a lifetime. But as we move more profoundly into the process, we discover a deep well of genuine compassionate understanding and – here it is – forgiveness. We begin, if we’ve not begun before, to truly live our lives with awareness and attention. We begin releasing any ties that bind us to a past not of our choosing. We become liberated, we become free.
No one save saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. ~ Guatama Buddha
Mother and Child - Mary Cassatt
Bela, I am SO enjoying your blog. This post in particular sparks my passions. I am a child therapist now. I have found that much of the work that I do is with parents who are very confused about what to do with those moments of awareness that you mention. Also, the phrase “I did the best I could,” has been something I have always called into question. I have found that rarely is it truly appropriate!
Thanks, Sarah, for your kind and thoughtful response. Glad to hear of your profession, and that you find the post thought-provoking.
Sometimes it’s difficult to keep in mind, particularly for those among us who were blessed with abusive, severely flawed adults playing the roles of parent to us, that they were just kids when they were doing all that. I’d argue they did the best they could, within the context of their own lifetimes, experiences, and accumulated wisdom. Life’s a tough gig, tough for them, trying to recover from the lousy job their own parents did [while they tried to recover from the lousy job THEIR parents did] ad infinitum.
Human beings are just human beings. Not much good at being anything else. Particularly when they’re young, but later, too.
Thanks again, Jules, for your comments. You make a compassionate plea for forgiveness of those who preceded us, for sure. So important to grant it, for those who acted from ignorance and prior conditioning as well as releasing ourselves in the forgiving.
That said, I believe I wrote this more with a wary eye toward making excuses in this life, in the here and now, for my own self, my own generation and those that follow. We have the tools now, and if we plead ignorance, it seems to me it’s more of a choice than ever it was before.
And you are right in suggesting the innate flawed nature of human beings. We have the greatest potential for unsurpassed and surprising goodness, just as we often unknowingly cast ourselves back into shadow, for one reason or another. The dance of life, I believe it’s called.