Fuck you to that person who made me feel like shit on behalf of someone who had already forgiven me

We have a generation of young people…so terrified of having the wrong opinions that they have robbed themselves of the opportunity to think and to learn and to grow. I have spoken to young people who tell me they are terrified to tweet anything, that they read and re-read their tweets because they fear they will be attacked by their own. The assumption of good faith is dead. What matters is not goodness but the appearance of goodness. We are no longer human beings. We are now angels jostling to out-angel one another. God help us. It is obscene. It is Obscene: A True Reflection in Three Parts, by Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie

I am not good. I am certainly not an angel. But I try to grow.

When I was young, I took the criticism of others very seriously. I more closely heeded the words of those standing by than the words of those against whom I acted. This is not to say that I have not done despicable things and betrayed the trust of those whose trust in me seemed well founded. But those people were never the ones who were most outraged at me; they were hurt, broken, collapsed, but they didn’t seek to punish me.

Those whom I hurt (and I won’t go into details except to say that it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking but worse than anything you’ve done) I can’t speak for. But I have spoken to some of them, and I know some of their pain. I learned the pain of not knowing the eyes of the familiar face in front of you, and I learned the pain of looking through those eyes.

But those who heard were outraged and made it their business to inform everyone. Which is admirable, in its way. For what else can you but gossip when you hear of something about which nothing can be done?

And so it was those loud voices that I heard and repeated to myself, the voices of those “speaking for” those I hurt, whom they had never met but whose cause they champion.

I can’t ask for forgiveness because it’s not about me. I can say “I’m sorry” to the ones I hurt. I think they know. And that isn’t good enough, since it’s not their voices causing me guilt. I lived for years in guilty agony not because of the harm I did but because of my community rejecting me. And I tortured myself with that guilt in order to cover up the pain of what I did, because the structure of guilt is easier to think than pain. Because no human being (or at least, not I) can inflict pain without feeling pain, and that pain is sweeter and more agonizing than rejection; it is more difficult to face, for at its bottom is the recognition of impossible acts done but not understood. For if you understood, you could not have done them; and understanding, you know longer know how they could have been done.

I learned this: it is not my place to criticize others; it is not my place to “speak on behalf of” others. I can criticize myself. There is always an opportunity to criticize, because I am human and therefore ignorant. I am not excusing: I am telling the truth. I am flawed, and this does not excuse my flawed behavior. But it does give me an opportunity to learn. And if I can also learn from the flaws of others, then I might behave better in the future than I did in the past. And when I don’t behave better, since I am human rather than angel, then at least I will have more experience to learn from.