Memories are significant. I feel that’s indisputable: our memories influence who we are. Looking back, there are many things I remember. I remember the first time that I was manipulated into doing something physically with another person. I remember later learning about sex, and then connecting the dots as to what I had actually happened. I remember the first time that I was exposed to pornography. I remember the first time that I seriously had to confront my sexual orientation. I remember feeling ashamed. I remember feeling afraid that someone would find out. Most of all, I remember feeling alone, though that’s not always just a memory.
I remember a lot of things.
I tend to forget a lot of things too.
I forget the first time that I overcame a life dominating sin – the freedom I felt on that first day. I forget that it has been years since I have been put into an uncomfortable sexual situation. I forget that, for the most part, I did have a good childhood – good friends, good family, and good times in general. I forget now, that I have friends that love me and a family that supports me.
I forget that I am forgiven. That I am loved.
I forget that my memories don’t have to dictate my future.
So, while it can hurt, I try to remember. Remember the bad, yes, but also the things I have forgotten.
Maybe you should too.