Brilliant … But Bouncy

I Felt Misunderstood.

I awoke one morning and hopped on Facebook to find a memory. I was pleasantly reminded that it’s been seven years since my one-time best friend announced that she never much cared for me, had no interest in being friends with me, and then blocked me on Facebook.

A few hours later, I got a whirlwind of panicked messages from the administrator of the Belmont Parents Facebook page. The Belmont Parents page was my lifeline to Dylan – the only way I could keep in touch with the university without bothering Dylan. I cherished my time with other parents who, like me, wanted to be a part of their child’s college experience.

It’s a long story, but I inadvertently angered the university president. Quite honestly, it was someone else who pissed off the president. But in his fit of rage, the president demanded that the administrator take down the Parents page. Instead, the administrator told me that I am no longer welcome on the page, and removed my name from the group. No more lifeline to my son.

The very next day, for the first time in 40 years, I heard from the girl – now grown-up – who bullied me mercilessly in school. Her name – Mindy – and her 12-year-old face have been forever etched into my memory, unwelcome but scalded into my brain. I found out quite suddenly that Mindy had no idea who I am.

In sixth grade, Mindy told someone to hold my arms behind my back; then she beat me to a pulp. Now, 40 years later, she didn’t know my name. Eventually she figured it out, probably from an old yearbook. “Don’t be so bitter,” she said. “You’re looking well!” I wanted to crush her skull with a tire iron. Tell ME not to be bitter, I thought. (I did not actually respond.)

Simultaneously, I started an exchange with an old friend. Excitedly I announced that I would be in her neighborhood in a few weeks. I tried to find a time to see her after 30 years, just for an hour. There was no enthusiasm in her response; in fact, it was obvious that she didn’t want to see me. I took back my offer without making her feel bad, as is my way.

Day after day, I was feeling more and more alone with the help of “social” media. I started to realize that Facebook wasn’t doing me any favors.

After days of being pummeled, I could hardly speak without crying. I turned to my husband, who is here in real life.

“Nobody likes me,” I sobbed. I blathered on about friends I admired who don’t admire me. Bill’s response – while well-intentioned – actually made it worse. I went to bed feeling more alone than ever.

I could not say my customary night-time prayer. “Thank you for today” wouldn’t come out. I wasn’t feeling thankful. I felt misunderstood, belittled, betrayed, wronged, conflicted, confused, and just … hurt. I felt like people everywhere owed me apologies, but no one was ever going to apologize.

And I know from years of trying to be a better person that when I feel like I deserve an apology, I usually need to forgive someone for something. But I was too alone to even make sense of that.

So my prayer on this night was this: “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to forgive.”

The answer came almost before I finished my sentence. It said:

Everyone.