Forgiveness Is Optional: A Memoir of Deceit, Dysfunction and the Year That Almost Broke Me

By Marlene Hingle

In Forgiveness is Optional, readers are taken on a journey alongside Marlene, as she faces a series of heart-wrenching challenges that seem insurmountable. Over the course of a single year, Marlene finds herself dealing with one setback after another. First there is the shock of losing a life that she worked so hard to cultivate by discovering the truth about her husband. Then almost immediately after, the devastating serious illness of her child.

As Marlene navigates each obstacle, she is forced to confront her deepest fears and insecurities, discovering inner strengths and resilience that she never knew she possessed. With the help of a supportive community and the unwavering love of friends and family, Marlene perseveres, finding hope and purpose in the face of adversity.

Through her trials, Marlene learns to embrace life's uncertainties and appreciate the precious moments with those she holds dear. Forgiveness is Optional is a powerful reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope and a chance for personal growth. This is a story of resilience, courage, and the enduring power of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Jun 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228850878

Marlene Hingle

Marlene currently lives in Canada with her husband and two daughters. This is her first book.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Letter

It’s 2012. People don’t write letters anymore. They email and text. Unless, of course, they know that they want to say something potentially life-altering. Something they don’t have the balls to say in person. The typewritten words, simplistic, to the point but without malice, are still clear in my mind. This letter did change my life, in every way possible.

I was a legal assistant, working at a large national law firm in Calgary at the time. I had been working for one of the partners of the firm for about a year. Working as his assistant was a task. The word on the street was that he had Asperger’s syndrome; though brilliant, his social skills resembled those of a very smart but awkward teen. Whether it was for the better or for the worse, working for him added an extra layer of intrigue to my life. I’ve had a history of attracting challenging bosses throughout my career, to say the least. Chaos seems to be a recurring theme in my work life.

My job was the most excitement that I had in my life at the time, which was perfectly fine with me. My early years had more than their fair share of drama, and if this was the craziest thing I had to deal with, then I was okay with that. I think because I had put up with a lot of emotional turmoil growing up, maybe it made me more attractive to people who liked to create it.

It was during the time between the end of high school and that dark abyss of having no idea what the hell to do with your life that my mother strongly suggested that I go to college to become a legal assistant. She normally didn’t serve as a beacon of guidance in my life, but this suggestion was the most logical one she’d ever made to me. Twenty years later this choice had assured my bills would be paid, despite how emotionally stifling and uninteresting I had found the job to be. Also, had it not been for this career choice, I probably never would have met my husband, Jake. Or made some of the wonderful friends I have gained along the way.

Jake and I both had full-time jobs, usually close in proximity but never at the same firm. He was a lawyer, and I was a legal assistant, but we never worked as a team. We were new parents to our toddler daughters, who had complementary personalities. I had married Jake not only because we made an attractive couple and would have cute kids, but because he made me laugh.

The four of us were finally feeling settled after moving back from Lethbridge to Calgary a couple of years prior. Life was feeling calm and predictable again. I knew what to expect every day, and what I would return home to. I loved our little family. They kept me going. They were the reason I smiled despite the insanity I might witness at work, or whatever it may be. My normal, non-dysfunctional family that I always had dreamt of, and now I finally had. Very different than what I grew up with, and that was exactly what I wanted.

Rasham came around to my desk with the daily mail delivery. He handed me an envelope, with a weird face, explaining that it was addressed to me personally. I was now the one making the weird face. Assistants normally don’t receive personally addressed mail. Ever.

Oh! Okay, that’s odd. Thank you, I stammered, taking the envelope. I had an irrational massive guilt complex, so I needed to make sure he knew that I too was completely surprised. I already felt like I’d done something wrong even though that made no sense. There was no return address, and it was very plainly addressed to me, at my office. The only indicative thing about it was the postmark. It was sent from Lethbridge. Super weird.

I opened the envelope. The letter was typed on a computer and printed out. Three paragraphs. Short and to the point but it contained a HELL of a story.

What the fuck—IS this? I asked myself in stunned disbelief.

I read it again because I didn’t believe what I had read the first time. My dormant anxiety knocked into me at full force. I wasn’t getting enough air into my lungs and felt like I might pass out. I broke out in a cold sweat.

This is total bullshit. This is a joke. I forced a laugh and tried to reassure myself under my breath. I caught myself looking around to make sure nobody nearby had heard me. I remember thinking, I need to collect myself and show this to Devin, my close co-worker and friend. As much as I was trying to convince myself that this was a joke, my subconscious mind had gone into full paranoid mode.

Devin. My work wife, and an angel. She was a few (okay like maybe ten) years younger than me but had an old soul, as they say. We had met a couple of years prior when we had each started at the firm and had trained together. We both had the same kind of sarcastic and dry sense of humour. Who knew that a nice Canadian Jew and an Irish Catholic who had a decade of life between them could find such a camaraderie. We just got each other, not really knowing why. Devin came to know much more about me than a lot of the people I’d known for years. She was my closest work friend. Ours was one of those easy kinds of friendships that I’d come to rely on, and I trusted her more than most.

As I attempted to push myself out of the chair, my legs felt like jelly. I was nauseous and my mind felt slightly detached. Despite this, I started to make my way over to Devin’s desk, clutching the letter in my clammy hand.

Chapter 2

Some Stuff About Me

My upbringing was heavily influenced by my mother’s tendency to idealize romance, despite being on her third marriage. As a result, I was convinced that getting married was the key to happiness. Our mother-daughter relationship was far from smooth, and I can’t recall a time when it wasn’t tumultuous. I know now that her own childhood trauma had led to the development of a personality disorder, although she has never been officially diagnosed. Her irrational, childlike behaviour and thought processes, together with her constant need for attention and affirmation make it obvious. Unfortunately, her disorder had a significant impact on my upbringing as well.

I can recall wanting to have a family and to be a mother in my earliest of memories. I’m not sure which was the chicken or the egg. I grew up at a time when princesses were always searching for their princes, and women weren’t quite complete until the glass shoe fit, as fucking uncomfortable as it might be. Or when the kiss from Mr. Right with the nice cologne woke them up to finally be able to live a full and happy life. I remember having my first serious crush on a boy at the age of three. I remember his name, and that he was my neighbour in the apartment building my mother and I lived in at the time.

I suppose that the idea of finding my one true prince had become so ingrained partly because I had watched my mother keep looking for a man to make her complete. She was never single for long. She was a natural beauty and became more obsessed with how she looked, as time went on. Any chance she had to look at herself in a mirror, even the rear-view mirror in the car while the car beside her had to swerve out of the way, she did. Obsessively. She was told that she was beautiful all her life, and it had become everything to her. Her looks.

How do I look? Do I look tired? I’ve gained weight. I look terrible. Tell me the truth. Don’t I look awful?

No Mom, you look great.

Really? Do you mean it? You’re just saying that.

No Mom, you look great. Really.

I witnessed the demise of her marriages over the years. Mom met my dad in university. Both were pretty people. Both were so lost. They tried to make it work, but each of them didn’t have the tools to really work on a relationship, let alone themselves. That marriage ended when I was two. I remember my father standing in the lobby of the apartment building we lived in, my mom holding my hand by the elevator, and my dad pleading for my mom not to leave. I’m sure that is my first memory because it’s tied to such strong emotions.

My father had a problem with authority from a very young age. He also went through major childhood trauma, and it had affected him deeply. Unfortunately, he never learned to separate himself from that trauma as an adult and put his bitterness on a shelf. He didn’t want to be told what to do. He didn’t value money or the value of saving it, and he liked to cut corners no matter what the cost. And he blamed my mother, or his parents, or other relatives and friends for everything that had gone wrong in his life. To add insult to injury, he was and will always be happy to lecture you or your friend about life. My grandmother would sarcastically call him The Great Philosopher.

Mom was a difficult person from the get-go. I remember my grandmother often talking about how challenging it was to raise her. She was an only child who was incredibly insecure despite her beauty and was stubborn as hell. Her female peers found her to be a threat because of her beauty. Men would fall at her feet, and yet some of them took advantage of her insecurities, once they got past the pretty. If there was one thing about my mom, it was that she’d wear her heart on her sleeve and had no filter. It was take-it-or-leave-it.

Her anxiety started in her early teens. She came to rely on alcohol to calm her nerves. She didn’t want to drink to have fun. She needed it to sedate herself. She was calculated enough to do it in a way that wasn’t obvious as a teen but not always. My grandmother told me about the night of one of her first dates when she found my mom completely hammered in her bedroom. She needed help but lacked the resources that we have today. Additionally, the ability of a parent to recognize and admit that something was wrong just wasn’t a thing back then.

Before me, my parents had fallen in love, dated, and eventually decided to part ways for good reasons. At some point later, my mother found herself on a date with a wealthy, arrogant, and attractive man from one of her university classes. Although my mother was hesitant to go out with him, my grandmother had convinced her to go. Maybe to avoid ending up as an Old Spinster. My mother had agreed to go skiing with him, but when they stopped at his family’s chalet, he attempted to rape her. Despite his efforts, he was impotent. Somehow my mother managed to escape, make it to another house and called my father to come and get her. Despite their history and the reasons why they had broken up initially, they decided to give it a go again.

Mom’s second marriage was to a man who was the opposite of my father in every way. They married when I was around four years old. My stepfather Robert was a successful businessman who had been promoted to become Vice President of a large and well-known retail company at the time. The job was in Calgary, so we moved there when I was five. For reasons I’ll never understand, my father didn’t follow us and always kept himself at a distance from me.

Robert was handsome and as charming as one could be, in the public eye that is. Behind closed doors he was a very angry person. His violent outbursts were unpredictable, and this type of behaviour became worse as I got older. My mother of course didn’t help to calm things. She was emotionally erratic herself and materialistically obsessed. She married this man knowing exactly what he was like before she committed, with me in tow. He had already abused her and said horrible things before they married. But he was handsome, and he had money.

I was lost as a child, and so confused. I was surrounded by everything I could possibly need. We lived on a beautiful street and my friends at school were my neighbours. I had more toys and games than most kids would dream of, because Robert would bring home the latest and new addition toys their company was selling. Downright dreamy, right? Sure. Except for the yelling and screaming, and the memories of being picked up in the air and slammed down onto the floor. Because I said that I missed my father. I think I was maybe seven or eight at the time.

My father was always in some other Canadian city following some random job or living in Florida to work at his parents’ luggage store. Or who knows where. He was having a good time. He had a great social life. He managed to see me maybe twice a year. Always marching to the beat of his own drum, which was so obviously offbeat to everyone else except him. As a child you accept your relationship with your parent no matter what. In fact, I think I loved my father even more because I saw him so seldomly. When I did see him, it was fun times and gifts and always like a little vacation for me.

As I got older, my memories of my mother involved her obsessing over certain movies, like Titanic or When Harry Met Sally. I think she was drawn to them because they portrayed the type of love that she desperately wanted but