It's nearly that time of year where the raised Catholic guilt is at it's holiest and strongest. That time of year where you're supposed to think about babies, and families, and forgiveness, and the ''spirit of the season'' and whatnot. That time of year where you're supposed to reach out to the members of your estranged family and invite them to your table for warmth and nourishment because the soul will be fed through joy and morals.
I woke up this morning with that nonsense on my mind. Family... eh... I can forgive. We'll all come around.
It's the FOB that I'm rather having a difficult time ''being friends'' with. I'm having a hard time adjusting to the concept of co-parenting and forever-ness. I mean, when someone gives up on loving you five months into your pregnancy, it's a hard pill to swallow, regurgitate, and then call something else.
I saw this post today on facebook... someone I don't consider remarkably insightful shared it, but it struck a chord. It read:
"Imagine meeting someone who wanted to learn your past not to punish you, but to understand how you needed to be loved."
How deeply I loved him.
How exposed and vulnerable I became.
How he was told all my secrets.
How forever-ness he felt.
And how much all that feels like it was held against me.
I'm not going to invite FOB to my holiday table. I'm not going to spoil him with love or attention or gratitude. I'm simply giving him the gift of coexistence, of letting go, and the first layer of forgiveness (not to be confused with forget-ness because nothing nothing can make me forget his transgressions).
Just one layer. A thin one. Moderately transparent and not very warm.
A single layer nonetheless.
Merry Holiday Whatnot Allegedly, FOB.
Enjoy your first layer of forgiveness.
(May your toes stick out the bottom)
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.