Thank the person who hurt you, if they once loved you.
Or rather, thank the person who hurt you, because they once loved you.
If they ever loved you, but don’t anymore, or have hurt you someway now—they only deserve two words from you. Thank you.
If they ever loved you, ever made you feel seen, ever held you, ever laughed with you, ever smiled at you, ever played the piano with you or taught the piano to you, ever cooked for you, ever slept next to you and woke up next to you with a smile and a good morning that could win heaven—do this. If they ever made you feel like you’re not alone, if they ever talked to you with that gentle tone in their voice—do this. If they were ever genuine towards you—do this.
I’m not asking you to love them back. You don’t even have to forgive them, not yet, not until you’re ready, maybe not ever. I’m not asking you to hold them on the pedestal. I’m asking you to simply…acknowledge.
I’m sorry if that seems absurd, like some idealistic vision of a person who thinks they’re living in utopia. Bear with me.
What Do I Thank People For?
Thank you for being my home. Thank you for being a part of my life, for however brief a time it was. Thank you for being so good to me. Thank you for cherishing me. Thank you for not lying. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me a smile even when your own life wasn’t working out. Thank you for being kind that one morning when getting through the day was not anything less than weathering a storm. Thank you.
What do I thank people for? Thank you.
Why Thank Someone Who Hurt You?
Why? It’s for the exact reason that they hurt you. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t preach about how instead of preserving our minds and souls and bodies, you should just let it happen to you, should seek pain out, on top of that, should be a …what else…a masochist.
But read this quote anyway:
Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.
-Rainer Maria Rilke
Pain doesn’t make us better. Sometimes pain doesn’t even make us stronger. But pain teaches. Every time. Doesn’t matter if your pain is aesthetic or not, your becoming always is. It’s a result, a different effect of the tears and sleepless nights and those arms around your body as if to hug yourself and your head buried in your own knees and all those moments you felt lost and scared and different.
Because honestly, every time someone makes me cry, I’m just promising myself—one more thing I’m toughened up against. One more thing I won’t let anyone use against me. My tears are ugly, but I don’t feel ugly from inside. It’s more like, gosh, I needed to have that cry. I swear I won’t put my soul through that pain again. I swear I’ll try my very best to save myself. I swear I’ll love myself more than I loved them, more than I loved the idea of them.
And for that, for that revelation, for making me into a stronger person—the least (and probably the most) they deserve is a thank you.
The kind of person you become in the process of pain is more important and long lasting than the pain itself. What you feel in the moment might be awful and bad. But the kind of person it makes you, that’s not bad. That’s better. Maybe bitter. Maybe grown-up. Maybe more mature. Maybe livelier. Maybe more cautious. Whatever you become, it’s a change from what you were.
And isn’t change the whole point of pain?
Isn’t out-growing the whole point of pain?
Read this beautiful article that’s like a message to those that hurt you, and how they’ve helped you.
Check out:
