Balance

He has hurt me before. He turned me into a puppet without a voice. I forgot who I was and could no longer imagine what I could be. Now my shackles are broken and I'm blooming into a magnificent flower. I have my dream job, my dream son, and I'm experiencing new excitements. My instinct is to forgive and forget now that I am free. For the sake of my son, I wish forgetting is possible, but for my sake, I hold onto those dark memories. With those memories, I wish not to hate, but to learn. I will remember that I am worth more than a passing glance. I will remember that I am deserving of more than cruel words. I will remember that I write my own story and no one can steal away my pen. I remember the pain and rejection so I can move forward and learn to trust again. We are told to forgive and forget, and for the most part, I excel. However, how do I forgive fully without giving power back to my puppeteer? It's a balancing act. I can't give in to his tantrums, but politely, I must acknowledge his roll in my son's life. Although, he pushes against my freedom, I must respect his time and parenting style. If I teeter too far on the side of forgiveness, I risk being bound by his invisible strings and I'll be in his puppet show once more. On the other hand, if I drift too far to the side of ill feelings, I am bound to let the wounds fester. I will place myself and my son in my own prison of hate and misery. So on a tightrope I walk, carefully balanced, all the while fearing the next blast of wind that threatens to unhinge my focused steps and send me toppling to disaster.