There I was, cruising down the road with a playlist of ’90s hip-hop blaring, when suddenly a Mercedes cut in front of me. One moment I was lost in the rhythm, and the next, I was slamming on the brakes, my arm instinctively shooting out to shield my precious cargo—my dry cleaning. In that split second, adrenaline surged through me, and I felt an overwhelming surge of anger.
But then, the driver raised a hand in an apologetic wave, and just like that, my irritation faded. It’s easy to empathize with strangers, isn’t it? I thought of all the wisdom from various inspirational figures that I had internalized, channeling a wave of graciousness in response. Look at me, I mused, a modern-day saint behind the wheel of a vehicle that could rival a school bus in size.
Later, during a family dinner filled with the familiar grudges that come from years of love and shared experiences, I pondered why it had been so simple to forgive that stranger. I glanced at my husband, still nursing a grudge from our last spat, and at my children, grappling with my feelings about the chaos they brought into my life. It became clear: forgiving strangers seemed a breeze compared to the effort it took to forgive those I truly love.
What’s behind this paradox? The people I cherish most—my family, my chosen tribe—are the ones I often struggle to forgive. If someone bumps my cart in the grocery store, I shrug it off. If a stranger steps on my foot in a crowded theater, I easily forgive. Even when internet trolls criticize my heartfelt writing, I manage to let it slide. But if it’s my husband, the man I pledged to share my life with, who chews too loudly during our Netflix sessions? Suddenly, I find myself sulking for days.
Let’s dig deeper. The messiness of family life can lead to hurt feelings. I can’t even stomach discussing politics with loved ones who have differing views, and there are relatives I’ve cut off entirely after painful incidents following my mother’s death. My track record for practicing forgiveness with my family is far from stellar.
This inclination to forgive strangers more readily than those we love is perplexing at first glance. Why is it simpler to extend kindness, patience, and understanding to people we don’t know? I believe the answer lies in vulnerability. Strangers typically don’t know our stories or our struggles. Their actions may irritate us, but they aren’t personal. In contrast, our loved ones see us at our worst, experiencing our rawest emotions and habits. Our relationships are intimate, and therefore, when they hurt us, it feels deeply personal.
We often complicate matters by inserting ourselves into the equation. We think, “But I love you, so how could you act this way?” I’m guilty of this. I resemble a diva in a restaurant, demanding that my loved ones meet my expectations, forgetting that love alone doesn’t guarantee a conflict-free life. Mother Teresa famously advised us to change the world by starting with our families. I think she set that as a high bar because the work within our closest relationships is often the hardest but also the most impactful.
As I navigate this journey, I remind myself to take a deep breath and chant, “Hey, it’s not always about you.” Not a direct quote from Mother Teresa, but a reminder that beneath the anger lies a depth of love. Embracing this perspective can make forgiveness feel almost beautiful.
Summary
Navigating the complexities of forgiveness can be challenging, particularly when it comes to our loved ones. This article explores the reasons behind the tendency to forgive strangers more easily than family, emphasizing the role of vulnerability and emotional investment in our relationships. Ultimately, by recognizing the love beneath our frustrations, we can begin to practice forgiveness more authentically.