A
dear friend of mine was hurt, badly hurt, by the actions of colleagues who
should have had her back.
At
the same time, she was going through challenging family health issues, seemingly
unrelated.
Her
professional injuries were doozies. Her personal challenges were met with
courage and steadfastness. She was too busy to think how to respond to her
colleagues’ betrayal. There were other things to face and no room to digest
their treachery.
But
once she came up for air, she, a gifted writer, devised a literary revenge of
sorts. She would write a fictional novel about what happened.
She
enlisted my help in brainstorming the characters and the style she might take.
She was on fire, feeling creative and alive again. Ideas were pouring out. “What
do you think about this?” and “I just thought about that” came pinging over the
transom in rapid pace.
I
was happy she was finding herself again. Writers process and digest through
stories.
I
was less sure about the vengefulness I felt gushing out of her.
I
thought about the times I was done wrong. I didn’t want to hurt those who did
it, but I did entertain thoughts of how, somehow, they’d be hurt and know how
it feels.
I
thought about how real healing has come to me. Only when I truly began to wish well
for the ones who made themselves my (or my people’s) enemies, and gone to do us
harm, did I find peace.
Real
healing requires nothing less. An eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.
PEACE.
