Growing up in a non-praying Hindu family meant that religious rituals were never the axis our lives revolved around. Yes, we visit temples occasionally and perform the necessary poojas for special occasions, but the heart of my spiritual understanding came from something much simpler — my mother’s gentle wisdom about goodness. Be good in thought, word, and action, she would tell me. And never stay silent if your silence might hurt someone else.
My prayer has always been wonderfully uncomplicated: for my family to be happy, healthy, and safe. I felt a flutter of recognition when I later encountered metta meditation in a productivity workshop and again during a coaching conversation about forgiveness. That familiar feeling of wishing well-being for others was something I’d been carrying all along.
The Tender Struggle with Forgiveness
Some wounds cut too deep to simply patch over with forgiveness, especially when the hurt continues. I’ve honoured Mom’s teachings by trying not to return hurt for hurt, but true forgiveness feels like a distant shore I can’t quite reach. There are days when I wonder if my inability to forgive keeps me trapped, but I can’t pretend to feel something my heart hasn’t arrived at yet.
What I’ve come to understand is that what weighs on me isn’t so much the absence of forgiveness, but the feeling of helplessness that was forced upon me. That’s the real cage I’ve been trying to escape.
The Surprising Light of a Child’s Love
My path forward appeared in the most unexpected package — my three-year-old nephew’s chubby hands and bright eyes.
The love that pours from this little person takes my breath away. Just a few days back , he insisted on feeding me my salad, his little fingers carefully holding the fork, his face a picture of concentration. During our colourful Holi celebrations, his granny noticed something beautiful — whenever someone approached to put colour on me, he would step in, this tiny guardian, saying “No, not on her.”
My heart melts thinking about it. This small knight in shining armour has no idea that with each protective gesture, each moment of care, he’s helping to heal wounds that have been open for years.
Healing One Moment at a Time
When he protects me or shows care in his innocent way, it creates ripples that wash away at old patterns. His love doesn’t erase what happened, but it gently creates space for something new to grow in soil I thought might forever be barren.
I find myself increasingly present in these moments — the cool touch of the fork he passes to my lips, the serious look in his eyes as he stands guard during Holi. These moments pull me firmly into the present, where I am not defined by what happened to me, but by the love that surrounds me now.
Embracing Gratitude’s Warm Embrace
I want to sink deeper into the gratitude I feel for his presence in my life. Not as a way to bypass healing, but as a parallel path that nourishes my spirit. Each time he offers protection or affection in his three-year-old way, something inside me remembers that I am worthy of care and that helplessness isn’t my forever home.
This journey isn’t forcing myself to forgive when I’m not ready. It’s about embracing the love that comes to me now, especially through the warm, uncomplicated affection of a child who sees me completely differently than I sometimes see myself.
Through his eyes, I’m not defined by painful experiences. I’m just his aunt who he wants to boss around and protect during festive celebrations. And in those precious moments, when his small hand reaches for mine, the grip of helplessness loosens just a little bit more.
That feeling? It tastes a lot like freedom.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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