Something has been bothering me. I had acquired this follower on Instagram which is linked to my blog. I only have a handful of followers so when I get a new set of eyes, it’s like Christmas morning. It’s a gift and I feel pretty excited about it.
I look at each follower’s photographs one by one. Carefully. If they have a blog or webpage, I will check that out too. I believe in making connections with people. Or at least trying. I believe that we were put here to love one another. Hard-wired for connectedness.
This particular follower was a Catholic deacon who was about to be ordained as a priest in a few weeks. He liked several of my photos. Then, without warning he unfollowed me. I had almost forgotten that my Instagram account is linked to this blog. I wondered why. My intuition told me it had to do with my blog which link is displayed at the top of the Instagram page.
At any given time I write in my blog about an array of topics that are pertinent to me. My recovery, something I find funny, poignant, or just something I want to share. Things can run the gammit and some can be off-color. Everything from the childhood sexual abuse I endured, to BDSM which I found myself led into as an adult; groomed for by the complex childhood trauma itself.
At the time the deacon stopped following my Instagram account, my blog post at that time was about a sexual strap-on fantasy. I realized in that moment, he probably judged me as a sinner and sexually immoral.
So I wrote him this message,
”Good evening Deacon, I see that you have stopped following me on Instagram. I’m assuming it’s because you visited my blog on WordPress, read one post and judged me. You will be entering the priesthood soon. May I suggest, not moving so quick to judgment, that is for God. Last I checked you are but a man. You would do well though to live by compassion, mercy, and kindness. Teach Christ’s love by example, yes? God bless you.”
I felt really hurt because I felt judged and assumed he sort of shamed me Scarlet letter style. I expected better from a potential man of the cloth. Why couldn’t he he see all the suffering I had been through? Where was his compassion? As is sometines the case, I didn’t “sit” with my emotions and fired off the text to him.
A few weeks after I sent my text I feel ashamed. Why was I so reactive? Why didn’t I just let it go? Why did I have to let him know that he was being judgmental? Will my words even even matter to him? I’ve been holding onto this wound, this resentment towards him. I should have prayed for him and then let it go, but I didn’t.
Someone once told me that the one thing that separates man from the animals is the ability to pray. That deeply resonated with me.
“To err is human to forgive, divine.”-Alexander Pope
Perhaps it is “I” who needs to start on working on forgiveness. Focus less about calling him out on his shit and trying being “right.”