I’ve been biting my tongue so hard it should’ve left scars by now. Holding back, swallowing every thought, every insult, every scream that wants to come spilling out when I see his face. And yet—here I am. Still angry. Still pissed off. Still hurt.
For the longest time, I thought maybe forgiveness was the magic cure. Maybe if I forgive him, all these emotions will loosen their grip. Maybe the knots in my chest will finally untangle. That’s the story we’ve been fed, right? Forgive the person who hurt you and you’ll feel lighter.
But here’s the plot twist: forgiving him wasn’t what I needed.
I needed to forgive me.
Forgive myself for staying when my gut screamed to leave. Forgive myself for giving too many chances when I already knew the ending. Forgive myself for carrying pain I didn’t earn and guilt I sure as hell didn’t deserve.
That realization hit me like a punch in the gut. It made me tear up, not because I missed him, but because I realized how much I had abandoned myself. I was mad at me. Mad that I silenced my intuition. Mad that I sacrificed my peace. Mad that I kept showing up for someone who never really showed up for me.
And all this time, that anger wore his face. Every time I looked at him, I thought I was furious at him. But the truth? I was furious at the version of myself that tolerated his chaos.
So here’s the raw truth about forgiveness: it’s not always about releasing the other person. Sometimes, it’s about releasing you. Freeing yourself from the self-blame, the guilt trips, the late-night reruns of “what if.”
I don’t forgive him. Not today, maybe not ever. But I forgive me. And honestly? That feels so much better.
Because I don’t deserve the pain he caused. And I damn sure don’t deserve to keep carrying the guilt.
So if you’re stuck in that tug-of-war between anger and healing, let this be your sign: stop waiting to forgive them. Start forgiving you.
