Trust, forgiveness and layers of flavor

Dabbling in creating my own recipes, using tidbits of knowledge absorbed from watching cooking shows of all kinds, has me thinking about "layers of flavor." This phrase, uttered often by celebrity chefs, has pushed me to really think about building my food in layers, balancing sweet, salty, bitter and sour. This morning, I'm thinking about the layers of these flavors in my life.

Inflicted, as I am, with relentless optimism and positivism, I have tended too often to focus all my attention on the sweetness in my life, occasionally acknowledging the mildly salty that can be easily appreciated, but entirely ignoring the bitter and the sour. I have pushed these life flavors aside or buried them deeply in my subconscious. I go beyond Scarlett's "I'll think about that tomorrow," to a pattern of striving to never think about them. Of course I am not successful in this submersion strategy; the bitter memories and sour stories always bob to the surface, usually in the wee hours. Ripened now to an overblown state, they become indigestible self-recrimination; my heart burns with grief and shame.



Bitter moments, so often, arise from what feel like mistakes or painful life lessons. I frequently experience that bitter taste on my soul's taste buds when I have behaved in a way that, in retrospect, seems unforgivable. Acting from some unmet need or under the shadowed sway of some personal blind spot, I have treated others badly, failed to live my values, treated a fellow human as "less than." I cringe and want nothing more than to spit out the painful memory of my ability -- even willingness-- to hurt others.

My antidote has been to practice forgiveness. I keep practicing, though I'm not sure I'll ever be a master at it. I forgive myself because I acknowledge that I am not perfect. I forgive myself because I can't really live with the alternative. Surely, self-recrimination won't kill me. But it suppresses my life force; it keeps my soul at a level of bare survival, struggling for each breath. To thrive, I must forgive my transgressions, real and perceived. Only then does the bitter history become a layer of flavor in the recipe that is my life. Only then can I taste it with appreciation for how it balances life's sweetness.

And what of forgiving others? What of those sour stories I hold -- grasp tightly and refuse to release -- of others treating me badly, living at odds with their values, treating me as "less than"? Will forgiveness transform them in the same way?

The 7 Childhood Treasures framework reveals that my capacity for Trust is essential in this work. When I consider my forgiveness of another, I become aware of how much I trust that individual but, more importantly, for what I trust them. If I acknowledge that I need something from each person in my life, then what need will be met in this relationship that requires forgiveness to sustain it? Which of my needs am I seeking to have met, and can this person, realistically, meet that need? From our shared history, what have I learned that I can count on from this individual?

What arises when you consider these questions in your own life? I invite you to think about those persons who you believe have wronged you, yet you cannot simply let them go and move on. If you continue to renew your connection mentally by repeatedly bringing forth your pain and caressing it, nurturing it, showcasing it, then what is it that you need from this individual? Can s/he provide it? If you decide to forgive, what does your shared history predict? What can you count on from this person; what can you almost guarantee will come your way?