Let it go

I have a lot to be angry about.

My parents divorced when I was two, leaving me without *one* memory of a life within a nuclear family and a childhood of layovers at O’Hare. My dad was diagnosed with Stage Four non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma when I was eighteen, and instead of a summer working at a camp for adults with disabilities, I spent it in chemo boot-camp, just me and my dad, learning a whole new language: Rituxan, large B-cell, follicular, CHOP. When I was eight months pregnant, my house – and neighborhood – were engulfed in flames, my baby’s recently completed nursery in ash. The week my son learned to smile, I lost my ability to do the same. Just Bell’s Palsy the doctors said. *Just* paralysis.

I know anger. It’s familiar. It’s easy. It’s a scapegoat. I can deflect the responsibility for my own emotions through the anger I have for my life’s circumstances. It’s easy to believe that others, that extenuating circumstances, are responsible for where we are, right now, in this moment. But you know what? Anger doesn’t serve me. It isn’t helping me get where I want to go or be who I want to be.

Being mad about my parents’ divorce(s) when I am thirty years old is insane. Begrudging my father for the poor parenting choices he made doesn’t change anything about the moment I am living in right now. Getting angry at my husband for being late doesn’t make him any earlier. Being angry only does one thing: hurt me.

Let it go.

Let go of the anger and you will find that love, happiness, peace are standing in the doorway behind it.

 

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