The Warrior

I had a tricky thing happen a few years ago.

I got hurt in an old, deep, and open psychological and emotional wound.

I didn't even realise how much pain I had stored up in there.

It was excruciating.

It kicked my arse.

At the time, of course, I thought I must be the only person ever to experience such pain, anguish, and torment. It was like my life slowly died while I watched on from the outskirts, unable to do anything about it. Like I was a walking dead person.

Needless to say, I went into “survival” mode - what else is there for a “dying” person to do but scrabble at life?

Now, a couple of years down the track, after clawing my way out of survival and back into the land of the thriving, I can look around and see… ohhhhhh, this experience might actually be a human thing, not just me.

There’s a warrior in all of us. And something very sacred and vulnerable.

The tricky experience I had triggered an old wounded part of myself - and that part really rose to the surface, begging for attention and taking the driver’s seat. It was like a teenager, full of angst, loneliness, and despair, took over the steering wheel.

I’m reminded of this experience because my dad, whose 77th birthday would have been today - Valentine’s Day - was the first one who hurt me deeply when I was young, and it has been a life’s work to heal.

And when I mean heal, I don’t just mean recover. I mean actually heal. Walk into the places of alchemy - the heart of darkness - and walk out again, singed to the skin: grubby, exhausted, and triumphant, covered in gold.

So this day, for me, is bittersweet.

Bitter for the memories, the grief, and the pain.Sweet for the gold. The honey of what I learned.

And the biggest, most profound thing I learned?

Forgiveness.

Not just acceptance. Not just blind love. Not forgiveness that bypasses pain and ignores the past.

But gritty, hard-won, graceful, tear-streaked forgiveness.

Forgiveness that sees the whole picture and says, “I love you anyway.”

Forgiveness as the calm, open field that holds the wobbly, hiccuped, trembling words of truth - deeply met with soul-listening.

The truth is heard. Justice is served. The place of alchemy flows.

Not “I love you even though you did that,”or“I love you, but I don’t love what you did,”

…but just, “I love you anyway.”

It is a radical act of generosity.

But even more deeply, a radical act of self-preservation and healing. Through forgiveness, wholeness is born.

If we look at the word for-give, it means to pay it forward - to offer our future self a chance at a different outcome. To create opportunity, rather than keep the ball or pain rolling. Which means being up for the challenge of holding the pain ourselves.

It is the threshold we stand at when we write a new story for ourselves and our relationships. It clears space on the page for new words to be inked.

Sometimes, when I talk about forgiveness, I almost feel like I’m saying something taboo. Some people I’ve shared bits and pieces with will say, “You did WHAT?” “You FORGAVE HIM?”, "Did you have to?", "WHY????"

Some therapists have said this too - completely outraged that such a trauma should exist, drawing an iron-clad line in the sand: this is unacceptable, and no forgiveness is possible.

Through this lens, it is hard to justify forgiveness. It comes across as naïve - a fawning behaviour, or letting someone get away with something. It can even look like contributing to a cultural construct that allows predation and harm to go unnamed, to persist.

It’s a very fine line between bypassing and forgiveness when we talk about it in conversation. To offer inclusion to wrongdoers feels dangerous. Exile feels much safer.

Unfortunately, no human is perfect, and this approach is what we mirror in our relationship with ourselves. We exile the bad, exalt the good.

As I heard Jennifer Macey quote, “The line of good and evil runs through every human heart.”

So there is work to be done - that of the warrior.

Run the gauntlet of fire.

Lean into rage so hot it consumes you, whole.

Resist the temptation to BURN THE HOUSE DOWN.

Call on a strength so deep and old, despite resentment and unfairness.

Believe in love so fiercely - to the point of absurdity.

Believe in repair - that yearning, knowing, longing-type feeling that others laugh off as naïve.

When you have paid the highest price you possibly can,

Sacrificed everything that is dear,

Only then can you know the vast difference between bypassing and true forgiveness.

Like I said - it is a radical act.

An act of a warrior.

That sense of certainty that feels like obstinate stubbornness - the kind that pulls you up beyond just what you are feeling and says, “Yeah, I know it hurts, but it’s THIS WAY.”

No matter how painful, there is determination to come back to life. A stubborn resistance that says, “I REFUSE to believe that this is the end of the story. I KNOW MORE than this.”

Sometimes it’s purely a wounded voice - one that resists the idea of not being loved.

"No", it says - fix everything so these people love you again. Fix it that way. Make sure the end of this story is everything back to normal and feeling loved again.

And so, those whacky behaviours like self-abandonment, fawning, anxious attachment, and outsourcing our sense of self tend to kick in.

But sometimes, it is a different voice that says, Yes - love exists, even in this dark place.

When I really think about this voice, this part… it’s almost like the presence of a sunny child. A child who is innocent and runs freely in the wild. Who laughs with their whole body and delights in adventure.

A pure spark.

In psychotherapy, I’ve noticed that the “inner child” very often gets a bad rap. It’s cast as the one who needs fixing - the one who holds pain and malcontent, the one responsible for maladaptive or harmful behaviours. Poor kid!

Some therapists call these the “young parts” of ourselves - the parts that don’t know any better, don’t know how to be a wise adult, are not yet masterful in reason, choice, and compassion.

However, I like to call these parts the old parts of ourselves. They have, after all, been there the longest.

And because of this, they deserve a little more credit.

Perhaps the inner child experienced powerlessness and suffering - however, there is more to the inner child than just pain and incomplete healing.

This is also where our ability to forgive can come from.

Most children, no matter how badly treated by their parents, hope to restore a loving relationship. They have an enormous capacity for forgiveness. They know it - it’s just a simplicity of love.

If you ask, “Do you love your dad?”

they say “yes.”

And if you ask “why?”

they might say, “Because I do.”

So how did I forgive my dad? It was this… this divine spark. This inner child who knew of the sun and wanted to come home. A burning love so powerful that reason and wrong just had no place.

But you know what else?

I needed him to show up before I could forgive him. I could not do it alone.

And my dad showed me what very few people do. He leaned into shame.

He risked everything he held dear in order to meet my need for healing.

He took ownership, showed up, took accountability, and listened - at a soul-deep level - to my pain, without defence.

He apologised.

And he agreed to do whatever I needed, while still standing within his own integrity, in order to heal.

A rare act - one I believe was a gift, a blueprint, a map for true and deep repair.

It was only from here that I was able to forgive him. Forgiveness became the relationship - one of trust, deep knowing, and appreciation.

That old saying, “Relational wounds can only truly be healed in relationship.”

It’s true.

I was unpacking some boxes of books a few days ago and found an old journal. In it was a list I had written around the time my dad was in palliative care, gradually passing away - fifteen years ago. He died two weeks before my now-teenage son was born. Cycles, hey?

On this list I had written:

“Things I want to say to Dad before he dies.”

• For him to know that I love him.

• For him to know that I forgive him.

• For him to forgive himself and know he is a wonderful human being, worthy of the greatest love.

• That his life is a HUGE success.

• That I am going to miss him so much.

After forgiveness began, I was able to know the other parts of my dad and see him in balance.

And I was able to embrace traits of my own - parts of me that were like him, or that had grown from hardship. It’s a feeling of wholeness.

So this Valentine’s Day weekend, I’m inviting you to offer yourself a great and radical act of love - forgiveness.

I invite you to feel into something unforgivable in yourself.

Some part, act, mistake, or trait that is shunned by the rest of you - beyond help, beyond salvation - that only deserves punishment, payback, or exile.

Feel into this place and offer it the same loving forgiveness that a child offers its parent.

Perhaps with some words: “Of course I love you. Thank you for finally asking. NOW we can play?"

Or just with silence. Even just for a second.

See if your inner child - or your warrior- in all its youthful, abundant, playful energy - that glints in the light, shows up.

The part of you that just wants to love.

Just for today.

I offer you this act of radical self-love - as an invitation.

Let it roll for longer if you like.

Forgiveness.

Bittersweet.

Monumental in its power.

And that thing that happened a few years ago? Forgiveness is how it’s been healing.

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About the Writer - Michelle McCosker

Michelle is a therapist who knows that healing isn't about fixing what's broken - it's about learning to walk comfortably, gracefully and honestly with what's here.

With training in both Holistic Psychotherapy and Art Therapy, she brings a lifetime of her own walking-with to every session. She's been to the bottom of wells, knows the terrain and befriends it in others.

She works with compassion and awareness - the two ingredients that actually change everything.

With warmth and clarity she also celebrates the gold of those she holds, and is not only wound-focused.

Michelle doesn't dig into your pain or access your wisdom for you.

She walks alongside whatever you're carrying - the pain, the questions, the judgements, the shame, the parts that hurt, the grief - with awareness and compassion.

This is healing as a movement of life, not a solution to a problem. Your shadow gets to come too.

Learn more about Michelle by visitng her website

Book a session with Michelle via Community Clinic