Forgiveness is a word that carries the weight of a lifetime, doesn’t it? It’s simple to say, but its depth is something that can drown you before it saves you. For years, I misunderstood forgiveness. I thought it was something I did for the benefit of others, a way to release them from the consequences of their actions. What I didn’t see—what I couldn’t see—was how forgiveness was never about them. It was about me. It was about stepping into the fullness of who I am in Christ, the forgiven and free, and learning to walk in that freedom, unchained by the opinions or actions of others.
There was a season when my identity felt wrapped up in the pain I carried. I was hurt deeply, unjustly, by people I trusted—people who should have known me better, loved me better, but instead betrayed me. Their words tore at my character, reshaping how others saw me. But perhaps the hardest part wasn’t the betrayal itself. It was the fact that they painted me as someone I was not, and no matter how much I wanted to prove them wrong, their opinions hung in the air, out of my reach, like an unwelcome shadow.
I carried their words with me, replaying their accusations and slights in my mind as if revisiting them could undo the damage. I thought if I could fix their perception of me, I could heal. But the truth is, their opinions were never mine to control. And holding on to their offenses didn’t protect me—it imprisoned me.
The Weight of Injustice
Unforgiveness is heavy. It’s not a weight you hold in your hands—it’s one you carry in your soul. It wraps itself around your thoughts, your relationships, even your faith. For years, I thought my bitterness was justified. After all, I was the victim, wasn’t I? I told myself I was protecting my heart by keeping my guard up, but in reality, I was reinforcing the walls of a prison I didn’t even realize I was building.
Spiritually, I struggled with this. I knew I was supposed to forgive. The Bible is clear: “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” But the words felt like a burden, a standard I couldn’t meet. How could I forgive when the wound was so deep and the offender so unrepentant?
It wasn’t until I truly reflected on my identity in Christ that the walls began to crack. I am forgiven. I am free. I am the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus. These aren’t just words—they’re a reality. If Jesus had forgiven me completely, how could I hold on to someone else’s offense? That realization didn’t erase the pain, but it gave me a reason to lay down the weight I had been carrying.
Wanting to Be Seen
The hardest part, though, wasn’t just letting go of the hurt. It was letting go of the need for vindication. I wanted people to see me—not as the person I was made out to be, but as who I truly am. I wanted them to see the love in my heart, the integrity of my character, the person I knew myself to be.
But here’s the truth I had to accept: their opinion of me was none of my business. It didn’t matter if they never saw the truth, if they never admitted they were wrong, or if they never asked for forgiveness. Their validation wasn’t what defined me. God’s love for me did.
The Turning Point
The moment of clarity came when I realized my bitterness wasn’t affecting them—it was affecting me. They had moved on with their lives, while I was stuck, replaying their words and actions like a broken record. I was holding myself hostage, reliving a story they had long forgotten.
I sat with God one night and admitted something I hadn’t wanted to face: I didn’t want to forgive. I wanted justice. I wanted vindication. But deep down, I also wanted freedom. And so, I prayed the most honest prayer I could muster: “God, help me want to forgive. Help me see this as You do.”
The Process of Healing
Forgiveness wasn’t immediate. It came slowly, in layers. It started with acknowledging the hurt. Not minimizing it. Not brushing it aside. Just letting it be real. I wrote down what had happened, naming the pain for what it was: betrayal, rejection, humiliation. I didn’t try to hide it from God or myself. I faced it head-on.
Then came the harder part: releasing it. Spiritually, I realized forgiveness wasn’t about excusing their actions or pretending the pain didn’t matter. It was about surrendering my right to retribution. Jesus had forgiven me fully, unconditionally. Who was I to hold someone else’s sin against them when mine had been wiped away?
Emotionally, it meant letting go of the story I had been telling myself. It meant no longer rehearsing the offense in my mind. I started praying for them—not for punishment or justice, but for their good. At first, those prayers felt forced, even hollow. But over time, they softened something in me.
Freedom and Redemption
The day I truly forgave, I felt the weight lift. It wasn’t dramatic—there was no grand moment. Just a quiet shift. The chains I had carried for so long fell away, and I realized I could finally breathe again. Forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean reconciliation. But it meant I was no longer bound to the hurt.
Forgiving them taught me something unexpected: how to forgive myself. I had held myself to impossible standards, replaying my own mistakes as much as I had replayed theirs. But if God’s grace was enough for them, it was enough for me too.
Trust took longer to rebuild. It wasn’t something I handed out freely anymore—it was earned, brick by brick. But I learned to trust myself again, to trust that I could set boundaries without hardening my heart. I learned to love without fear, knowing my identity wasn’t tied to anyone else’s opinion of me.
Walking in Freedom
Forgiveness is a gift I’ve given myself. It’s not about letting someone else off the hook—it’s about stepping into the freedom that Christ has already given me. It’s about remembering that I am loved, forgiven, and free, no matter what anyone else says or does.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: forgiveness isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s choosing to let go of the pain, not because it didn’t matter, but because it no longer defines me. And in letting go, I’ve found freedom—not just from their offense, but from the need for their approval.
I don’t need to be seen or validated by them. I am already seen and known by the One who matters most. And that is enough.
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Always deep, pointed, and insightful. I don’t think I had considered forgiving myself as the next step after forgiving others. So now I am working on forgiving me.
Now that I realize (through the Reset course work and the available mentoring within the Morrow Marriage community – of which James is one of the primary contributors) how much hurt I have caused in my own marriage of 20 years, I am now understanding (as I am changing me for the better) that I need to forgive myself. It breaks my heart to think of all the pain I have caused my lovely wife who NEVER deserved such treatment from me.
I understand now that I can use my regret as motivation to NEVER again be that rude narcissistic piece of despicable trash. When I catch myself being influenced by an old habit (in my opinion, a demonic influence – for those who understand), I am determined to send that influence straight back to hell where it came from in the name of Jesus!