“Take a seat anywhere that’s open,” John, the group leader, said to us as we walked in, his round cheeks red and blotchy like he’d run a 5K.Just John, Brooklyn had told me he liked to be called, instead of Dr. Lachlan. Brooklyn was right, he reallydidlook like the guy fromJurassic Park, albeit with a Southern twang in his voice.
Brooklyn looked like he might have been more comfortable taking a seat on a cactus. He hadn’t said much since we’d walked in, and when he took a seat beside me, he rested his elbows on his knees and wired his jaw shut tight. He kept his eyes on the people who walked in, trying to decode their state of being. Were they worse off than he was, or had they figured it all out already? He forced a half-hearted smile when he realized I’d been looking at him.
“All right, let’s get started.” Just John clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So something I want to talk about today is self-forgiveness. I know this one isn’t easy. A lot of people here feel like they’ve done things that can’t be forgiven. Hurt people they love. Made choices they regret. But the truth is”—he paused and glanced around the room, making slightly prolonged eye contact with all of us, like I was sure he’d been taught to do in med school—“beating yourself up doesn’t get you clean or keep you clean. Instead, it keeps you stuck.”
There were a few murmurs of agreement. A heavily tattooed man who looked to be in his thirties let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well, tell my ex-wife that.”
A few more chuckles filled the room. The air didn’t feel as heavy as it had when we got here.
Just John nodded. “Of course, it’s easier said than done, but I still want y’all to think deeply on it. What’s something you haven’t forgiven yourself for, and why haven’t you yet?”
We sat in silence again, and I wondered how many people were truly contemplating what Just John had asked versus waiting for someone else to speak so they didn’t have to. Finally, a younger woman with tired eyes spoke up. “I stole from my little sister,” she admitted, voice tight. “Cash, mostly. She was the only person who still trusted me, and I ruined that.She’sforgiven me, but I still think about it almost every day.”
Brooklyn flinched almost imperceptibly, trying to cover it by shifting back in his chair and crossing his legs.
Then one of the oldest men in the group cleared his throat. “I understand that. My daughter had a dance recital when she was about six. I was drunk, passed out at home, and missed the whole thing. She’s a teenager now, and I’m not even sure she remembers it, but I do.”
Just John, like the professional he was, let us all sit in the silence for a moment. “And what do you tell yourself because of that?”
The man stared at the floor, rubbing his beard, which was patchy with gray. “That I’m a shitty father.”
Just John nodded. “Does saying that serve you at all?”
He let out a hollow laugh. “Not really.”
For some reason, Just John’s eyes found mine. He knew I was there for support, but he searched for something in my eyes in the same way I assumed he would a patient. Like he was waiting for a revelation to come over me, that I was the same as everyone else here in the sense that I was also deserving of self-forgiveness for the things I blamed myself for. I was not a shitty sister because Nikki’s eating disorder had escalated to the point of hospitalization, and I was not a shitty sister for not seeing signs earlier.
In my head I knew all that, but thefeelingwas still there, and I had nowhere to put it all. I felt it when I looked at Brooklyn too.
“Self-forgiveness isn’t saying what happened was okay,” Just John addressed the group. “It’s saying you’re still worthy of moving on. That you’re still here, trying. And that matters.”
This time, I thought the silence that we all sat in was intentional, allowing us all to let what he’d said sink in. After a few more moments, Just John clapped his hands again. “All righty, let’s take a five-minute break.”
As people moved around and stretched, I sat back in my chair, waiting for Brooklyn to make the first move. But he stayed put, too, staring down at his hands, lost in thought.
I nudged him lightly. “You okay?”
His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. I—” He exhaled. “I don’t know how to do that. How to forgive myself.”
I reached for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Does my forgiveness help at all?”
This time, his smile was more obvious. “Yeah, it does.”
“Then we start there, and we keep doing this together. I’m with you.”
Brooklyn looked at me, something unreadable in his expression. But he kept his hand in mine. “And I’m with you.”
For now, that was enough.
>> <<
I’d put my phone on do not disturb during the session, and when I finally checked it, I had about ten missed calls and a barrage of texts—mostly from my sister.
“Jeez,” I muttered, thumbing through the texts as we walked to Brooklyn’s Jeep. “So apparently my mom’s in the hospital. She hurt her ankle.”
“Do you need me to take you over there?” Brooklyn asked as he started the car.
I wasn’t going to ask, but I wouldn’t say no. I wondered if maybe he was still trying to make up for the night of Stella’s birthday, struggling to find that self-forgiveness that Just John preached.
