It’s that time of year again, Erev Yom Kippur (the eve of Yom Kippur), where we are about to atone for all our wrongdoings and seek forgiveness for them. To the well-organized mind, it’s a chance to start fresh. To the mind warped by narcissistic abuse and trauma, it’s a prime opportunity to spiral downward into hyper-focusing on any and all mistakes you’ve made.

Hello mistakes, how nice of you all to gather before me on this auspicious occasion. Please do bear down on me with your weights great and small, because surely without pressure from you, I would float away!

The point of Yom Kippur is not to make us feel bad about ourselves, of course. But, inevitably, we are — if not forced, certainly urged — to face the reality of our shortcomings, and accept no small amount of responsibility for them. We play an active role in the things that take place in our lives; passivity in itself is also an action, it is a choice to sit back, which has its own repercussions. This time of year, at least in my opinion, is meant to remind us of many things, one of which is that what we do has impact. People who like to run their mouths and then insist pompously that they have freedom of speech often miss the mark; sure, there is freedom of speech, but there is not freedom from consequences. A tradition with Yom Kippur is to face those consequences and beg forgiveness.

Over time, I’ve learned that I hate the concept of forgiveness, which seems too easy and dismissive. However, the mistakes people have made which have damaged me…those are pretty irreparable. So it’s more complicated, I suppose. I’ve worked on understanding that I do not need to forgive anyone who has wronged me, that it isn’t my forgiveness which would bring me peace. What I seek is accountability, and while I need to accept that those who’ve brought me harm may never stand up and say, “Yes, that was my fault and I’m sorry,” I can still hold them accountable in my own mind and heart. I can still acknowledge within myself that these things happened and those people are the ones who are to blame. It may not bring the same sense of closure, or satisfaction, as someone directly owning up to their mistakes, but it will likely be as close as I’ll come to that.

As for those mistakes which are not irreparable, well, therein lies the rub. We can maintain the hope of finding forgiveness and/or accountability, and moving on; however, the anxiety of taking those steps can be paralyzing. We end up swirling around inside a percolator of guilt and shame and worry, terrified by the uncertainty of what we’ll face when someone picks up the pot and pours it all out. (The best part of waking up is Kol Nidre in your cup…?) In the end, though, as we allow our stress to hit the air and it begins to cool off, the resultant comfort of working through and moving past our mistakes becomes much more palatable. We can then figure out what there is to learn from those mistakes, but that’s only possible after we’ve accepted them in the first place.

People who make mistakes and own up to them should be met with patience, and understanding. Forgiveness is too easy, too one-sided. Compassion is harder. Compassion compels a decision on both parties to work together to move forward. Don’t bury the hatchet; turn the hatchet into a stepping stone for a new chapter in your life or relationships.

To those who have suffered as a result of mistakes I’ve made, whether directly or indirectly, I apologize and ask for compassion. In turn, to those who have harmed me due to their (non-insurmountable) mistakes, inadvertently or intentionally, I offer you that same compassion. May those who do so have an easy and meaningful fast, and may we all be gifted with another year ahead, full of blessings and good things to share.