I have recently come to discuss the word “hate” in our home as we have a kindergartener who is explorative with his feelings. He uses it so innocently, “I hate homework!” Carefully examining my face as the word rolls off of his tongue knowing the reaction he would get. And thus the talk of not using this word unless we really, truly, mean it began.
It got me thinking about myself, as lately my talks with my sweet five-year-old often do. I consider the choices I’ve made, who the person I am and who I would like to guide him to become.
I now realize this outcome is unmeasurable
In that, no matter what I do to steer him he will always make his own decisions. He is his own person, small at the moment, but someday he will be “big” (probably a whopping 6’4 at that). I suppose the idea of something I created, someone I love, this little beautiful being experiencing such a pain of hate is an uncomfortable one. After all, I believe hate consists of many emotional pains before it is relinquished to the full level of hatred.
Anger, sadness, loneliness, after periods of uncountable time, will do terrible things your mind.
These thoughts make me ponder the consequences we, as human beings, impose on ourselves when we chose to influence hate. Something many people don’t consider when they’ve decided they truly “hate” someone or something passionately is that,
it steals a part of your soul.
hate consumes you, just like a disease.
Instead of investing the time to allow your thoughts decompose, allowing your mindfulness of others and their life, you find yourself corrupted in the littlest ways. Using judgement to convince yourself that to come in contact with this person, or action, would be the absolute worse case scenario in a day to day scheme of things.
I learned the hard way, a past friendship, things went drastically wrong when there was a major mis-communication involving my significant other (long story cut short- but this tale shall be saved for another day). I professed my hate for this woman involving herself too closely in our lives and nearly ruining our marriage. I was a scorned woman,
hatred ran like a vicious snake through my blood.
For a long time, I felt a cold empty ice chunk where her friendship existed and, so I thought, was clearly gone. Actually, I made sure it was gone because of the bitter spite towards my husband constantly consuming our relationship. I even went to the immature extent of blocking her on every social media platform. Almost everything reminded me of the instance; writing about it was unbearable. As if writing about the whole incident was the peak of the iceberg, not long after, I had a quick encounter with the force behind the bitch imbedded into my soul and
I realized what a callous being I was becoming.
Something had changed inside of me. Not only did I have an odd unsettled feeling about the whole ordeal, but I kept having the same dream with her in it. As if this premonition-of-sorts drew me to finding peace with the past.
I was still hurt, but a force to be reckoned with.
Untouchable with emotions, rough like a rock weathered from centuries of hurricanes. To my own demise, I got the gusto to communicate with her over some time. Consciously allowing my emotions to come full circle and telling her how I really felt. Finally, a beginning to the healing process almost two years later. Sadly, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done… Speaking to someone I swore my hate ran so deep. Someone I wished horrible things for. Ultimately, someone else’s actions caused me to
question everything I’ve ever known about myself.
Experiencing the true emotion of hate caused me to lose a little sliver of myself and maybe admit to hating things about myself. It forced me to change who I am for a better person. I don’t believe I will ever be the same person I once was before being so hurt, but walking away from this knowing I know longer live with the consuming hatred is incredibly satisfying.