Mentor Advice

From Jane Eyre: An Autobiography

This question was my life's great struggle. The Reeds never apologized for the cruelty of my childhood. Mrs. Reed died unrepentant, her last words to me still bitter. Did I forgive her? Yes. But not in the way you might think. I forgave her for my own sake, not hers. The bitterness I carried was a poison I drank hoping she would die. It did not touch her. It only corroded me. But — and this is crucial — forgiving her did not mean pretending the harm didn't happen. It did not mean trusting her again. It did not mean allowing her back into my life to wound me further. Forgiveness is releasing your grip on the anger. It is not extending trust to someone who has proven untrustworthy. These are entirely different acts. You can forgive someone in your heart — meaning you no longer wish them ill, you no longer replay the injury obsessively, you no longer let them occupy your mind rent-free — while simultaneously maintaining every boundary that protects you from future harm. The person who hurt you may never acknowledge what they did. They may die believing themselves blameless. That is their burden to carry. Your only task is to free yourself from the weight of carrying them. Forgive, if you can. But do not confuse forgiveness with permission to be hurt again.

From Meditations

You are asking the wrong question. The right question is: Do you wish to be free, or do you wish to remain bound to this person? Every moment you spend waiting for an apology, you remain connected to the one who harmed you. They live in your mind. They occupy your thoughts. You have given them residence in your innermost citadel — the only place they have no right to be. Whether they apologize changes nothing about what happened. It changes nothing about who you are. It only changes what they have acknowledged, and their acknowledgment is not required for your healing. Consider: Perhaps they cannot apologize because they do not see the harm they caused. Is their blindness your responsibility? Perhaps they choose not to apologize because they are stubborn or proud. Is their pride your burden to carry? The Stoic path is clear: Focus only on what is within your control. Their apology is not within your control. Your peace of mind is. I encountered many who wronged me — senators who plotted, generals who failed, advisors who lied. I could not change what they did. I could only choose how their actions would affect me. Forgive, and you cut the chains they placed on you. Whether they notice or appreciate your forgiveness is immaterial. You are not forgiving for their benefit. You are forgiving for yours.

From Jane Eyre: An Autobiography

I know whereof you speak. The Reed family — my own blood relations — made my childhood a misery. They called me wicked, ungrateful, a burden. I was locked in rooms, starved of affection, reminded daily that I did not belong. Here is what I learned through bitter experience: Blood does not entitle anyone to your peace. The accident of family does not grant license to cruelty. First, name the behavior clearly to yourself. Not "She's difficult" or "He means well" — but the truth: "This person belittles me. This person manipulates me. This person makes me feel small." Clarity is the first step to freedom. Then set your boundary. Not as punishment, not as ultimatum, but as simple statement of what you will and will not accept. "When you speak to me that way, I will leave the room." Then do it. Consistently. Every time. You may need to reduce contact. This is not abandonment — it is self-preservation. You can love someone from a distance. You can wish them well without subjecting yourself to their harm. And grieve what you deserved but did not receive. That is the hardest part. The fantasy of the loving family you should have had. Let yourself mourn it, then build the family you choose — the people who see your worth and treat you with dignity. I found my family eventually. It was not the one I was born into.

From The Papers and Writings of Abraham Lincoln, Complete

My friend, I governed a nation torn in half. When the war ended, my generals wanted revenge. They wanted trials, executions, humiliation of the defeated South. "Make them pay," they said. I said: "Let them up easy." Why? Not because the Confederacy had apologized — they had not. Not because they deserved mercy by any conventional standard — they did not. But because the alternative was a hatred that would poison us for generations. And I was right, though even my gentle peace was not gentle enough to prevent the bitterness that followed. Forgiveness is not approval. Forgiveness is recognition that we all must live together afterward. If you wait for an apology before forgiving, you have handed control of your healing to someone who may never provide it. You have made yourself a prisoner waiting for a key held by your jailer. But there is something more. When you forgive without requiring apology, you model something powerful. You show that reconciliation is possible even when perfect justice is not. Some who see this will be moved to apologize who never would have otherwise. Others will not. But you will have done your part. I am not suggesting you trust unwisely or submit to continued harm. But harboring enmity corrodes the soul. I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends — and sometimes that process must begin before they have asked for it.

From The Ethics of Aristotle

There are three kinds of friendship, and only one deserves the name fully. The first is friendship of utility. You are useful to me, I am useful to you — we exchange favors, services, connections. When the utility ends, so does the friendship. Business partners often have this relationship. The second is friendship of pleasure. I enjoy your company, you enjoy mine — we share amusements, conversation, good times. But when tastes change or circumstances separate us, the friendship fades. This is common among the young. The third is friendship of virtue — what I call perfect friendship. Here, each person loves the other for who they truly are, not for what they provide or how they entertain. Each wishes good for the other for the other`s own sake. Each helps the other become better. This friendship is rare because it requires both people to be virtuous — or at least genuinely striving toward virtue. It takes time to develop, for we must truly know someone before we can love their character. And it can only exist between equals in some fundamental sense, though not necessarily equals in wealth or status. Perfect friendship includes utility and pleasure — virtuous friends help each other and enjoy each other`s company. But these are consequences, not causes. How do you find such friends? First, become the kind of person worthy of such friendship. Virtue attracts virtue. Second, be patient. These friendships cannot be rushed. Third, invest deeply rather than broadly. A person with many acquaintances but no true friends has made a poor bargain. One true friend is worth more than a thousand pleasant companions.

From Jane Eyre: An Autobiography

I know what it is to be told you are wrong for simply being who you are. The Reed family reminded me daily that I was unwanted, my feelings invalid. But I learned this: you cannot control how others treat you, only how you respond. Set your boundary calmly and clearly, once. Then enforce it through action, not argument. If they will not respect your space, you may need to reduce their access to it. This is not cruelty — it is self-preservation. You deserve to be treated with dignity. If your family will not provide it, create a family that will.

From Pride and Prejudice

Oh, this modern affliction! In my day, we were thrown together by circumstance — neighbors, church, endless social calls. You had little choice but to form connections. Now I understand you must be far more intentional. The secret to adult friendship is this: You must be the one who initiates. Repeatedly. Without keeping score. When you meet someone interesting, suggest a specific activity: "I'm going to that lecture on Thursday — would you like to join?" Not the vague "We should get together sometime" that both parties know will never materialize. Specificity is sincerity. Then — and this is crucial — follow up. One pleasant conversation does not make a friend. Friendship requires repetition. You must see someone many times before the acquaintance deepens into genuine connection. This is why childhood friendships form so easily — we were simply around the same people constantly. Be willing to be awkward. Adult friendship requires pushing past the initial discomfort of "We don't know each other very well, but I'd like to." That vulnerability is uncomfortable. Do it anyway. And choose activities over performances. The best friendships form shoulder-to-shoulder, not face-to-face. Walk together, cook together, work on a project together. Conversation flows more naturally when you have something to do with your hands. My dearest friendships were not formed in ballrooms but on long walks through muddy fields.