I stink at titles. Some post about the call for others to admit faults


I believe most of us can handle the truth. But what we perhaps need to come to terms with as much as we do the aftermath of said truth, is not only what comes after, but why we pursued perfect knowledge in the first place.

There is a level of selfishness, whether justified or not, which exists under the surface of what motivates some of these pursuits, especially those meant to expose the demons around us.

Indeed, when we ask the apparent racist to confess, do we then respect him? Can we love without great reservation, if at all, the abusive parent that admits to the suffering he or she wrought onto his or her child? Can we even understand why that child might still love that horrible parent?

Granted, from confessions, some reconciliations could occur, especially if these persons of great evil seek amends for what they’ve done (something which only their victims can give or deny, and their decisions are what matters most). But at the heart of many demands of the Spade to admit to being a Spade, is the need for its victim to find greater self-worth.

Once degraded by the truth, that which harmed us so terribly, or offended our strongest sensibilities of what is good and fair, becomes pitiful and small, and us, all the more stronger by comparison. Fo it’s not enough to believe in the guilt of our transgressors, we need them to admit to their wrongs; to acknowledge our pain; to be genuine in both regards and, most of all, in the guilt, hoping for the existence of any, they feel within themselves for what they’ve done.

But maybe if we can believe ourselves valuable for the better lives we’ve lead, whether as a reflection of good character, accomplishments, or what have you, than from the pathetic state of the grovelling wretches who finally admit to what they are, we can live better, less incumbered by our past, lives. But, then, exposing the monsters of our closets might be the only way many of us can move on, and the only way those monsters can lose their fangs, horns and claws and, themselves, move on.

As for the likely question of whether I’ve suffered abuse. Well, I have my own issues, as many people do, and would not expect to have it compared, judged, or even given sympathy, with anyone else’s. So that means my life’s my business, as is yours.


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