It’s Not Your Fault!
My father periodically recommended movies to me when I was a child by circling them in the TV Guide and simply saying, “You should watch this.” As a dutiful boy, somewhere between the ages of seven and twelve, I followed his suggestions and was always glad I did. Beyond whatever enjoyment he thought I might get, I believe he was more interested in exposing me to good moral lessons (It’s a Wonderful Life, The Four Feathers, etc.) through a medium far more captivating than an addendum to a dinnertime lecture. That was a format he often tried, usually in vain, with the tired audience of my older siblings.
Nearly half a century later, I find myself in a similar role. I often share recommendations of my favorite films with my wife and “bonus daughter” (21), as I affectionately refer to her. Both are Mexican, and while we have been connected for five years and I have been married to my wife for more than three, there is still plenty of cultural catching up to do. These shared viewing nights are more communal than instructional, yet my enthusiasm for them to experience the joy of great films mirrors my father’s noble intentions. The raw entertainment value, paired with the wonder, gratitude, and even rapture evoked by beautiful stories of lives well lived, is something I want them to know firsthand.
Recently, the three of us enjoyed one of my all-time favorites: Good Will Hunting. It is a masterpiece for many reasons, most notably the emotionally resonant, psychologically stirring, and simply brilliant performance by the late Robin Williams. In the lingering wake of his own tragic departure, the film’s uplifting and heartfelt tone resonates even more deeply through his real-life echoes.
As you may recall, the pivotal breakthrough for Will (Matt Damon) occurs in one of his final therapy sessions with his therapist, Sean (Robin Williams). During an ostensibly casual moment, each standing a few feet apart, Sean tinkers with paperwork while Will glances at items in the office. Sean simply says, “It’s not your fault,” referring to Will’s long history of physical and emotional abuse in foster care.
Will responds matter-of-factly, with a perfunctory agreement. Sensing that this acknowledgment is far from a true acceptance, that Will still feels the colossal weight of undeserved guilt and shame, Sean repeats the phrase. Again and again. With each repetition, Will’s emotions shift rapidly: defensiveness, mistrust, fear of vulnerability. Finally, the dam breaks, and years of shame, guilt, and isolation pour out as he sobs in Sean’s arms. It is a scene of cinematic mastery that moves anyone with a pulse to tears. Tears of sadness, joy, hope, and relief.
Most of us are not carrying guilt and shame on the same scale as Will, but it is safe to say that very few have a completely clean slate.
What burdens do we silently label as “our fault?” Which might we finally let go of?
It is human nature to sink into the quicksand of culpability periodically, yet it is also in our nature to evolve, to walk through a ghost when we see one. We want to free ourselves from such heaviness so we can more clearly delight in higher callings.
Having our own It’s not your fault moment could go a long way toward emotional relief and clearing the path to a lighter, higher vibration, even if we don’t end up sobbing in a therapist’s arms. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.
