There's A Fine Line Between Love & Hate

 "To forgive is to set a prisoner free & discover that the prisoner was you." 

- Louis B. Smedes

Well, my first day back at work for 2013 was a good one. 

Though I would have rather stayed in bed and watched Sex In The City reruns all day, I did the responsible thing and hauled my sorry fat ass into work. As expected, it started off slow and relatively uneventful. In fact, I recall wishing my first cup of coffee was a five hour energy drink!

Unexpectedly, about an hour in, I received a very sincere email. After reading it, I resigned myself to the idea that perhaps “it was time.” I’ve had a couple of things lingering over my head and one thing in particular just kept resurfacing. So, after them reaching out over my vacation, as well as a heartfelt email this morning, I decided to finally deal with it.

Today I did... and it feels good!

It’s hard for me to admit that I have had people betray me and I have let them. 

Some I have forgiven because I knew they couldn’t help themselves and some I’d knew I would never speak to again. Why? Because for all intense purpose, their betrayal unconditionally helped me decide that they didn’t deserve to be in my life. 

My situation today was one that I thought was the latter. With that in mind, here's the million dollar question... How do you know when it’s time to forgive? At what point do you bargain in good faith and call a truce? 

When I was growing up my mother use to warn me that “there’s a fine line between love and hate…” The other side of her philosophy was to never hate anyone because hatred consumes far too much energy. She'd say, "Rhondi, it's takes a lot of energy to hate someone” and she was right on all counts.

My decision today most certainly wasn't an epiphany. It was like we had decided that together we'd peel away the layers of an onion (and it took us all day to to it). The more the emails flew back and forth, the more we both realized that the feelings of hurt were not only mutual; but felt that blame belonged to the other, contributing the severity of the hard feelings. 

Because of the effort we both made today I have to have faith. I guess faith is the price you have to pay to forgive someone. Call me quirky if you must, just don’t ever call me Ma’am.  Seriously, I mean that. Call me Ma'am and I'll kill ya!

Don’t “Ma’am” Me…. EVER!

So it seems I have a birthday coming up. I’d like to be able to report that it will be my 25^th but that would be a lie. Not only would it be a lie, it would be a two decade understatement.

I remember worrying (way back when) that turning 30 would be really hard for me. I also remember being surprised when it wasn’t. In fact, to this day, turning 31 was the birthday I have struggled with most. I struggled because it was the reality that I was ...“In my 30’s”.

I recall having a conversation with my husband (about a week after I turned 31) because I'd spent a somber day in bed. When he asked what was wrong I replied; “If I have to spend the day in bed when I turn 31, I’ll bet I will have to spend a week in bed when I turn 41.” Without missing a beat I immediately added, “Jeez, I hope he’s good looking!” We still laugh about that comment today.

Age is a frame of mind. I believe that. But as my appearance changes & people see me with grown children, I tend to get called Ma’am, which never use to happen. I hate it - I’m not a Ma’am - I’m a Rhondi.

Just last week I was chatting with three male clients at work. As they were leaving, my friend Dean waved with a big smile and said... “See ya later Ma’am”. I quickly reacted.

“Don’t Ma’am me! Do I look like a Ma’am to you? Three days past dead is a Ma’am in my book... & I’m no where near dead!!!” All three customers burst into laughter.

As everyone made their way out the front entrance I heard a very loud exit bellow from my buddy Dean; “SEE YA LATER SWEET CHEEKS… “

…To which my equally loud and firm roar was “MUCH BETTER!”