When hate crowds out love

Forgiveness has been the recurring theme of my week. It surfaced in the Mass readings, in the 9/11 memorials, and even in a long-avoided conversation with someone I had quietly struggled to forgive for two years. That conversation turned out to be unexpectedly beautiful – like a window opening in a room I didn’t realize had grown stuffy.

I had forgotten how much mental space unforgiveness takes up. Jesus often describes it with images of debtors, prisons, and torturers. For me, it feels more like a crowded room. Every person I’m holding a grudge against – big or small – is in that room with me. Their distorted faces fill the space. Their voices clamor for attention. And the One who brings peace has no place to stand.

I recall a moving conversation with a woman whose story has shaped how I understand forgiveness. I share it with her permission.

She grew up in a broken home, in and out of foster care, and endured years of abuse from her stepfather. The violence was real and repeated. At fifteen, she finally escaped by marrying young – just to get out of the house.

Decades later, in a strange twist of life, her stepfather reentered her world. He was sick, alone, and needed help. She was the only one who could navigate his complicated medical care. And she did. She monitored his treatments, changed his colostomy bag, advocated for him, sat by his hospital bed, and held his hand as he died. She even paid for his funeral.

I asked how she understood Jesus’ command: “Love your enemies.” (Lk 6:27) Her answer was simple and startling: “If you’re hating your enemy, you can’t be loving yourself.”

She explained that for years her mind had been consumed with how bad he was. The hurt replayed endlessly, like a tape stuck on repeat. She lived in that crowded room. Only when she stopped obsessing over his darkness and began noticing her own goodness did something shift. She found space – space to breathe, space to heal, space to love without surrendering her dignity.

Her story reminds me that forgiveness isn’t about excusing harm, forgetting what happened, or staying in dangerous places. It is about refusing to let another person’s darkness take up permanent residence inside us. It is about clearing enough space for love, for peace, for God.

This week, I’m noticing where my own room feels crowded. Who is taking up space in my thoughts? What old hurt am I still allowing to speak louder than grace?

Perhaps the deeper question is this: What might God do in that space if I finally escort those unwelcome visitors to the door?

Here are some other posts that may interest you on forgiveness:

What does the face of unforgiveness look like?
Homeless in a World of Unforgiveness
Welcome to the Prison of Unforgiveness