Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, not them

I used to think forgiveness was something you gave to someone else.

That it was about giving them another chance. Letting them off the hook. Moving past what happened so you could go back to how things were—or at least pretend to.

I thought forgiveness was supposed to fix something. The relationship. The pain. The story.

But over time, especially through reading Buddhist philosophy and paying attention to my own mental patterns, I realized that wasn’t it at all.

True forgiveness has very little to do with making things right with someone else. It has everything to do with making peace with yourself.

When I thought holding on was power

For years, I held onto resentment like it was a shield. I thought if I stayed angry, I was protecting myself. As if the pain gave me something solid to stand on. A reminder that I wasn’t going to be taken advantage of again.

But here’s what actually happened: that anger didn’t make me stronger. It made me smaller.

It made me cynical. Distrustful. Emotionally guarded. I carried that resentment into other relationships, not even realizing it. I built stories around why people couldn’t be trusted, and I wore my hurt like proof.

Forgiveness, in that headspace, felt like surrender. Like letting the other person win.

But it wasn’t until I started getting serious about mindfulness and emotional responsibility that I saw the bigger truth: I was the one carrying the weight. Not them.

And I was the only one suffering because of it.

Why we expect the past to fix itself

Here’s what I’ve noticed—not just in my own life, but from hundreds of conversations with people trying to move forward:

We keep waiting for something to happen that will make the past feel better.

An apology. An explanation. A sense of closure.

We want the person who hurt us to understand what they did. We want them to say the exact words we needed to hear years ago. We want it to matter to them, the way it still matters to us.

But the problem is—it often doesn’t happen that way. People move on. Or they don’t grow. Or they just don’t see things the same way you do.

And when we tie our healing to someone else’s behavior, we give away all our power.

That’s why forgiveness has to be about you. Your peace. Your freedom. Your ability to live without dragging the past behind you like a ball and chain.

What helped me finally let go

The turning point for me came during a retreat where the teacher shared something that’s stuck with me ever since:

“Forgiveness isn’t saying what happened was okay. It’s saying you’re ready to stop letting it control you.”

That hit me hard.

Up until then, I thought letting go meant minimizing what happened. Like I was saying it didn’t affect me. But what I learned—and I talk about this a bit in my book—is that forgiveness can acknowledge the hurt and still choose to stop suffering.

Forgiveness doesn’t have to be mutual. It doesn’t even require contact. You can forgive someone without them ever knowing. That’s the beauty of it—it’s yours.

Letting go isn’t a one-time act

This is where a lot of people get tripped up, myself included. We think forgiveness should be instant, like flipping a switch. You decide to forgive, and boom—it’s gone.

But emotions don’t work like that. Forgiveness, in my experience, is a process. A practice. Some days, I feel free. Other days, the memory pops up and I feel the old sting.

I used to see that as failure. Now I see it as part of the work.

As noted by psychologist Dr. Fred Luskin, who founded the Stanford Forgiveness Project, “Forgiveness is for you and not for anyone else. Forgiveness is taking back your power.” And it takes time.

In Buddhist terms, it’s like watching your thoughts during meditation. You don’t stop them. You just notice, name, and gently return to center. Forgiveness works the same way.

You don’t need to understand it all to release it

Another thing that kept me stuck was trying to understand why the person acted the way they did. I thought if I could just figure it out—what made them hurt me, what they were thinking—it would somehow give me closure.

It didn’t.

Some things just don’t make sense.

People act from fear, insecurity, and pain. They don’t always have good reasons, and they don’t always realize the damage they cause.

As the Dalai Lama has said, “People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.”

That perspective helped me soften. I didn’t need to condone their actions. But I could stop fighting to understand something that would never quite add up.

And that gave me space to move on.

Final words

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It’s not about excusing the pain or pretending it didn’t shape you.

It also isn’t about reclaiming the energy you’ve been spending on what can’t be undone.

It’s about stepping into the present without dragging the past behind you like a burden you didn’t choose but have been carrying anyway.

It’s about remembering that your peace doesn’t depend on anyone else’s remorse, growth, or awareness.

You don’t need them to change for you to heal. You don’t need closure to move on.

Forgiveness is the quiet decision to stop living in reaction to what has already happened. To stop letting pain define you. To say, “I’m done holding this.”

And that’s not weakness. That’s a strength. That’s freedom.