Estoy perdonada.

 March is my least favorite month. Of no fault of its own. Could almost even blame February for being exactly 4 weeks long which means March 1st falls on the exact same day of the week as February 1st. March 8th on the same day as February 8th, and so on and so forth. For someone who has been in a perpetual state of treading water, living one day at a time, and waiting; that repeat of days makes March feel like a repeat of February rather than a month closer to anything. But it's more than that now. At one point, probably almost 20 years ago at this point, I had expected something to happen in March. And it didn't. So I waited for the next year. And the next. And the next. It never did come, and eventually anticipation was replaced with dread. March only brought with it, disappointment. Over the years this has been compounded, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Few examples, Match day is in March. Or one word, COVID. This year unfortunately was no different. 

This year, God wanted to widen my perspective, widen my understanding, of inequality and injustice. I've seen and experienced different treatment because I am female in the past. I'd vent about it and move on. What I experienced last month, was in a word, disgusting. An individual with power over me, exerting that power for his own agenda. There were many meetings involved, much council sought. Frustration: it actually limited my ability to do my job. Thankfully, without asking questions, my team stepped up where and when needed, so the patients didn't actually suffer. Anger: I got home from work one night and went out and ran 5 miles taking a whole minute off my personal best. Confusion: grappling with the task of accepting what was happening. A feeling that I am not heard, and have no voice, simply because I am female. Responsibility: as the behavior pattern is repetitive (I'm not the first recipient), anything less than action could only be taken as cowardice. Looking at the young female junior residents coming up behind me, and wondering which of them would be next, shook any lingering apathy that perhaps still clung to my consciousness. 

Even after the meetings concluded, and the matter closed, that last thought kept me, for the longest time, from truly forgiving my attending. I felt that my forgiveness would give him license to repeat his actions towards one of my younger female co-residents. 

Easter Sunday, held a very specific message for me this year. Forgiveness. I am forgiven. Therefore, I am to forgive. I can not control a man's actions by refusing to forgive him.  All facts that my brain knew, but my heart stubbornly refused to admit, which of course was only limiting my own joy and peace. 

I can't quite say that I am thankful for the lessons God taught me this past March. I would prefer not to have anyone experience unequal treatment or injustice because of their race, color, gender, social status, religion, myself included. We are all human beings. We all have a voice and deserve to be heard. Jesus loves every single one so much He died on the cross and rose again. For every single one. 

Next year, can we go from February to April?

I know. I kid. I kid. 

Much Love and Prayers.