You Don’t Have to Forgive Someone… Even If They’re Family
Actress Jennette McCurdy’s new book, I’m Glad My Mom Died, has stirred up a frenzy of discussion in every corner of the internet. In the first day it was available to the public, it had already sold out on Amazon and many local bookstores. As with any celebrity memoir, the behind-the-scenes gossip has been a popular jumping-off point, but some of the most interesting discussions have been around the title itself.
Many are outraged at the idea of being grateful for anyone’s — especially your own mother’s — death. Others are celebrating McCurdy’s clear-cut decision to acknowledge the reality of her mother and the harm she caused.
In case it’s not obvious yet, I fall squarely into the second group.
As consumers of all types of media, we are repeatedly force-fed this fairy tale story about forgiveness. We watch character after character have a flat, two dimensional relationship with their parent where they are treated horribly. Then we wait for the inevitable end of the arc — when that character forgives them.
This forgiveness is rarely earned. It’s a matter of plot convenience. Someone is usually dying, in immediate danger, or the parent claims they have changed. If we ever see a change on screen, it’s a sacrificial death in the vein of Darth Vader, not a parent putting in the daily work required to realistically repair years of damage.
I applaud McCurdy for the authentic way she’s processing her grief. Seeing that sort of representation is incredibly rare, and it’s one that the world needs a whole lot more.
Grief is a complex thing. Anyone who has been through therapy or bereavement services will know that you are told repeatedly that it’s okay to feel any and all feelings. Even in the best of circumstances, there will be moments that you feel anger, hurt, or guilt. When the person you lost caused you repeated suffering, that intensifies.
Too many times we have been told that we have to forgive someone when they have made zero effort to earn that forgiveness. In some cases, maybe we have forgiven them. Repeatedly. Constantly. And then we get burned yet again every time.
Forgiveness is not some magical cure. It doesn’t repair damage or mend bonds all by itself. Apologies with no actions are just meaningless noise.
McCurdy’s way of processing her mother’s death is healthy. It is clear she’s spent time looking inward and really understanding all that she’s been through because of her mother — the good and the bad.
Now before you sharpen your pitch forks and light your torches, I want to specify this is not me advocating that we all stop forgiving everyone for everything. If someone steals your yogurt at work or cuts you off in traffic, you probably shouldn’t hold a grudge until your dying day.
I’m certainly not suggesting that we treat parents as perfect beings who aren’t allowed to make mistakes, because they will and they do, and that’s okay.
What I’m asking here is that we all take a page out of McCurdy’s book. The next time someone asks for your forgiveness for some sort of ongoing trauma — especially when that person is family — I hope that you ask yourself if they really deserve it or have made any attempt to earn it. I hope you really think about whether there’s any evidence they won’t immediately do it again.
And to those of you who love to quote the old line of, “You’ll regret not making amends when you die,” I say this: don’t let the door hit you on your way out. Or do. I honestly couldn’t care less.
I am clearly still alive and therefore can’t know for sure how I would feel on my deathbed knowing there are people I have not forgiven. But you know what? Neither can you.
I was a caregiver for my own mother as she died from cancer. Besides the similar cause of death, our relationship could not have been more different from McCurdy and her mother’s. We were incredibly close, and overall, she was genuinely the best mom I could have had.
When my mother received a terminal diagnosis, she chose not to tell her estranged father. He lived ten minutes from us, but in the 3 years she was sick, he never once reached out. She forbid any of the family from reaching out to him until after the funeral because she didn’t want him to make her funeral — or the remainder of her life, for that matter — about his regrets.
As usual, my mother was spot on.
Her father learned of her death the summer after it happened, when he finally reached out to a family member because he needed something from them. In a single meeting he went from shocked to angry, and accused my mother of causing his life-long absence because of a perceived slight when she was 16. He then spent a few weeks trying to reconnect with grandchildren he’d barely met (or never met) and children who had long since outgrown their need for his approval. By the time winter came, he’d returned to old habits and disappeared from our lives once again.
Before she died, my mother assured me many times that she had no regrets from her life, and I believe she meant it. I don’t believe she ever forgave her father, but she didn’t let her anger destroy her, either. She healed without him. And seeing how he reacted when he did know, I have never doubted that she made the right choice.
It’s a myth that you can’t have peace without forgiveness. A selfish lie told by those with a desperate need to have their own guilt and wrongdoing absolved.
You find peace when you let yourself understand and feel all of your emotions around something that has happened to you. It might be a confusing mix of anger and sadness, joy and guilt — in fact, it probably will be. However, as long as you’re working through it honestly and safely, there’s no wrong way to process your trauma.
If forgiving someone is what helps, then great! Do that. Seriously.
But if what you need is to cut that person out of your life? To remember them for who they actually were, rather than who you wish they’d been? Well, that’s what you should do instead. You can still forgive them someday if you so choose, but that doesn’t mean you have to let them keep the pattern of hurt churning.
It doesn’t matter if you’re friends. Or family. It doesn’t matter if it’s your own parent or child.
The truth is, if you want to be remembered as a good person when you die, you have to be a good person when you live.
