Forgiveness is one of those words that can tighten the chest before it opens the heart, especially when it’s offered like a prescription: Just forgive and move on.
But when you’ve been hurt, betrayed or silenced, forgiveness can feel not only impossible but unfair. It can sound like letting the harm stand unacknowledged. It can sound like being asked to swallow your own truth just to keep the peace.
For years, I carried this tension in my body. My shoulders braced whenever I thought about what I’d endured. My jaw clenched at the mention of forgiveness. Somewhere deep down, I believed that to forgive meant erasing my own pain.
It has taken years of nervous system healing, somatic release and reflection to see forgiveness differently: not as an instant leap, but as a slow unfolding. Not as a demand, but an invitation.
What forgiveness is not
Forgiveness isn’t pretending nothing happened. It’s not excusing harm or allowing it to continue. It doesn’t mean we have to reconcile or even keep someone in our lives. Too often, we pressure ourselves to forgive quickly—to be “the bigger person”—and end up bypassing our real feelings.
True forgiveness, I’ve learned, isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about softening the grip the past has on our body and spirit.
The waves of release
Forgiveness comes in waves. One day, the anger swells hot, filling the chest with fire, the jaw with pressure, the shoulders with armour. Another day, the wave recedes and space opens—the breath moves more easily, the shoulders drop an inch and the heart feels less guarded.
This rhythm is part of the process. When I stopped demanding permanent release and allowed forgiveness to ebb and flow, I noticed the texture of my inner world slowly changing. The intensity softened. The waves carried me instead of drowning me.
Small, soft steps
At first, my “steps” were almost invisible: pausing for a conscious breath, unclenching my hands, naming what hurt. These weren’t dramatic breakthroughs, but they built a bridge towards something gentler.
So how do we approach forgiveness when it feels impossible? In my experience, it’s the most unassuming gestures that quietly create the biggest shifts. Here are four of them you can try:
- Breathe: Placing a hand on my heart and breathing slowly reminds my body it’s safe to soften.
- Direct compassion inward: Beginning with self-forgiveness often creates the ground from which forgiving others becomes possible.
- Name the truth: Journaling or speaking aloud what hurt allows my voice to come back where silence once lived.
- Use physical companions: Holding a crystal, lighting a candle or sitting with a grounding object creates a sensory reminder that release is allowed.
None of these erase pain. They simply help me stay with myself long enough for the grip of hurt to ease. Each self-forgiving breath gives me permission to rest a little easier, to stop rehearsing the pain again and again.
These practices are simple, yet when lived, they begin to reshape our experiences—as I’ve seen both in my own journey and in the lives of others.
Forgiveness in practice
A reader once shared that whenever she braced for a painful interaction with family, she’d gently press her hand against her belly and remind herself to soften her stance. This tiny gesture—unnoticed by anyone else—helped her remember she had a choice about how much of the moment she absorbed.
The more she practiced, the less the old words cut into her. What once felt like sharp blows began to pass through her with less stinging. She found herself walking away from these visits feeling lighter, not because the hurt was gone, but because her body had learned a new way of allowing and recognizing it.
Another shape of forgiveness
I’ve also experienced forgiveness quietly appearing during journaling. One evening, I wrote a letter to myself after making a mistake I couldn’t stop replaying. I wrote as if to a friend: with gentleness, with understanding.
The act of putting it on paper softened something in me. My chest no longer felt tight with shame. For the first time, I sensed that forgiveness could be an inner resource, not just something granted or withheld by another.
Letting go without forcing
Forgiveness can’t be rushed. It can’t be demanded. And it doesn’t mean excusing what happened or stepping back into unsafe situations.
It means allowing our hearts to soften in their own time. It means letting energy that once weighed us down begin to flow again.
I try to remember that healing has its own rhythm, and I don’t need to rush. Some days the old pain may echo, and that’s part of the process. Remembering the past doesn’t block forgiveness—it can actually deepen my truth. Forgiveness is really about freedom in my own heart, and not about returning to unsafe connections.
These reminders keep me grounded in what is real, while leaving space for what might slowly become possible.
And when forgiveness feels impossible, I turn towards the smallest invitations:
- Can I breathe a little more fully right now?
- Can I honour my anger without getting trapped in it?
- Can I let myself rest, even if only for a moment?
A wider ripple
Forgiveness doesn’t stop within me—it naturally changes the way I meet the world. When old pain loosens its grip, my words come out calmer, my boundaries land with more clarity and my presence feels easier to be around. I’m no longer fuelled by that constant undercurrent of anger, so what I say and do has a steadier weight.
What I once thought of as letting go now feels more like creating room—room in my breath, room in my chest, room in my relationships. Each gentle step makes more space inside me, and that space quietly reshapes how I move through life. Forgiveness, I’ve realized, is less about water washing something away and more about air returning—a wider exhale that makes everything feel lighter to carry.
A gentle closing
I once believed forgiveness was a single act—an instant of letting go. Now I see it as a
practice, a rhythm, an unfolding.
Some days it still feels impossible. But even on those days, I know I can soften into one breath, one truth, one small act of compassion.
And perhaps that is what forgiveness really is: not a demand from outside, but an opening from within—a steadying of the body, a settling of the heart and the quiet knowing that freedom is possible, one soft step at a time.
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