Forgiveness and the Healing Journey

Forgiveness is one of the most tender and complex topics in the landscape of healing. So many voices tell us what forgiveness is—or what it should be. “Forgive and forget.” “Just let it go.” “Move on.” Some of these messages are well-meaning, but many are harmful. They can bypass pain, deny injustice, and rush us into silence before our souls are ready.

This reflection comes not from a place of expertise or achievement, but from the ongoing terrain of my own healing. Forgiveness, for me, has felt like scaling a mountain I never chose to climb. There are moments I’ve made it to a high summit, breathing in the vastness of healing—and others where I’ve had to descend, overwhelmed and out of breath, needing to rest in places of safety and oxygen. I am still on the journey. I haven’t arrived. And perhaps that’s the most important thing to say: forgiveness is not a destination, it’s a path. One that requires tenderness, truth, and time.

My earliest experiences of forgiveness were rooted in silence and suppression. I was taught to minimize harm, to excuse the behavior of others, to be “not so sensitive.” I wasn’t taught that I deserved repair when relationships were ruptured. I wasn’t taught that anger could be sacred—a signal that something had gone wrong and my boundaries had been crossed. What I learned wasn’t forgiveness at all. It was self-abandonment.

There was much I had to unlearn. Part of that unlearning came with an awakening I could no longer ignore. A buried family secret rose to the surface, demanding my attention. I could feel the war within my body—my soul pleading to be released from silence. Speaking up brought grief and backlash I wasn’t prepared for: denial, blame, spiritual shaming, and rejection. I was seen as disposable, dramatic, even delusional. The cost of silence had become too high, and the cost of truth-telling—even higher.

In those days, I often felt like I was drifting at sea—cold, stunned, and alone. There were moments when the only thing I could do was stare into the sky and breathe. To be told to “just forgive” in that state was not only unhelpful, it was cruel. The soul, like the body, needs time and tenderness to heal. No one can rush that process.

So before we speak about what forgiveness is, let’s speak gently about what forgiveness is not.

What Forgiveness Is Not

Forgiveness is not saying what happened is okay.
Being harmed is never okay. Forgiveness is not about minimizing pain or bypassing anger. In fact, true forgiveness often begins with allowing ourselves to fully feel the hurt—and to name it out loud. Anger, grief, and sorrow are natural responses to harm. If we don’t feel it, we can’t heal it. And healing isn’t separate from accountability—we can forgive and still hold others responsible for their actions.

Forgiveness is not reconciliation.
Reconciliation requires safety, trust, and mutual effort. It involves a sincere apology, genuine remorse, and a willingness to repair. Without these, reconciliation isn’t possible—and it certainly isn’t safe. Forgiveness can be offered in the heart, but boundaries are what protect our well-being.

Forgiveness is not the first step—repair is.
Expecting someone to forgive before any effort has been made to acknowledge harm is a form of gaslighting. True healing begins when the person who caused harm shows humility and a desire to make amends. Otherwise, the pressure to forgive becomes just another form of harm.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting.
To remember is not to live in bitterness. It is to be a truth-teller. Forgetting can enable harm to repeat. Remembering—when held with compassion—can be the foundation of wisdom, integrity, and discernment.

Forgiveness is not a one-time event.
It is a slow, layered process. It unfolds in waves, over time. Some wounds take years to metabolize. There is no timeline for grief, and no expiration date for your pain. Be gentle with yourself if forgiveness hasn’t come yet. You are not behind. You are healing.

So What Is Forgiveness?

Dan Allender describes forgiveness as “canceling the debt of what is owed in order to provide a door of opportunity for repentance and restoration.” But that door doesn’t swing open easily—it requires safety, truth, and readiness.

Forgiveness begins with naming what happened and how it hurt. It is rooted in relationship and grounded in dignity. It says: I will not carry this bitterness forever—but I also will not pretend nothing happened. Forgiveness is not a demand. It is an invitation. And sometimes, the first person we need to invite to the table is ourselves.

Sometimes forgiveness looks like letting go of the hope for a different past. Sometimes it’s finding peace in the absence of accountability. Sometimes it’s simply no longer letting the pain define your entire story. Forgiveness, in this way, becomes a gift we give ourselves—not because the person deserves it, but because we do.

When Forgiveness Isn’t Possible Yet

There are times when what we’re really reaching for is freedom, not forgiveness. In these moments, we can choose to release the grip of resentment without denying the truth of what happened. Beverly Flanigan calls this “pardoning”—a personal choice to unhook ourselves from the past, to stop expecting something the other person may never give.

Lewis Smedes once wrote, “Forgiving is real even if it stops at the healing of the forgiver.” Forgiveness does not require closure with the offender. The climb can still be sacred, even if the summit isn’t reached.

Your Story Matters

This journey—your journey—is sacred. Forgiveness isn’t the key to healing; healing may be the soil in which forgiveness can grow. First come the tears, the anger, the aching body, and the truth-telling. First comes remembering, grieving, and reclaiming. Forgiveness, if it comes at all, arrives slowly. Gently. Often quietly.

You don’t have to be ready today. You don’t have to forgive in order to heal. You only have to begin tending to your soul in ways that are honest and kind. The rest will unfold in time.