Letting Go: Why There’s Nothing to Forgive

For a long time, I believed forgiveness was something I had to give to someone who hurt me. It felt like a step I had to take to move on. But what if there’s actually nothing to forgive? What if everyone—myself included—were just doing the best they could with what they knew at the time?

This idea didn’t make sense to me at first. I thought forgiveness was about right and wrong, hurt and apology. But over time, I started to see things differently. People don’t always mean to hurt us. Often they’re just acting from their own circumstances, pain and fears. And maybe I was, too.

That shift in perspective changed everything. It helped me stop holding on so tightly to what should’ve been said or done. It helped me begin to let go—not because someone said sorry, but because I started to understand.

My Journey

For much of my life, I believed forgiveness was a straightforward process: you do something wrong, you apologize, and if you’re hurt, you either forgive or carry the emotional weight. This clear process fell apart when I found myself replaying events, waiting for apologies that never came, and forcing forgiveness when I wasn’t ready.

I often told myself, “Forgive them, not for them, but for yourself.” But even with that mantra, the wound still hurt. Trying to “let it go without truly letting it go” felt fake, and I blamed myself for not being able to move on. Each attempt to release the hurt felt like merely covering it with a bandage, not healing the injury beneath.

One day, while discussing my struggles with a friend, she said something that caught my attention:

“There is nothing to forgive.”

It didn’t make sense at first. I resisted it. If there’s nothing to forgive, why do people say sorry? Why do we ache for closure? Of course, there’s something to forgive—people mess up, hurt each other, and cross lines. I thought this idea was too philosophical for me, yet it lingered in the background. 

Overwhelmed by my emotional turmoil, I realized I couldn’t navigate it alone anymore. The weight of unresolved feelings grew heavy, prompting me to seek clarity and peace through various forms of support. After much reflection, I decided to turn to therapy and meditation.

These practices became my lifeline. They weren’t quick fixes; instead, they required me to confront my feelings honestly, embrace discomfort, and muster the courage to look inward. Although my practice wasn’t perfect or consistent, it shifted how I perceived myself and the emotional burdens I carried.

I realized I wasn’t just struggling to forgive others; I was also struggling to forgive myself. I began to uncover the mistakes I believed I had made—the relationships I’d ruined, the connections I’d pushed away. A heaviness echoed in my mind: “You should have known better. Why weren’t you stronger? Why did you act like that?” 

What I found wasn’t just pain—it was the weight of stories I had told myself for years, where I was always the one being hurt, always waiting for someone else to make it right. But healing required that I step out of the victim narrative and look at the full picture. This also meant acknowledging that I owed apologies to those I may have hurt, whether intentionally or not.

During this journey, I came across a line in a podcast that resonated deeply:

“You did the best you could with the emotional tools and awareness you had at the time.”

That line began to clarify what my friend had mentioned:

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Things started to connect, and I began to understand. I had spent so long labeling actions as “right” or “wrong,” measuring pain against intention, and searching for someone to blame—whether it was myself or others. After reflecting on those two statements, I realized that despite our reasons and intentions, one truth remains: We are all doing our best with the emotional tools and awareness we have at any given moment.

Was my best at that time perfect? Not at all. Was it emotionally mature? Often not. Did I hurt people? Possibly. But could I have done better, truly, with the understanding I had then? Probably not—because I lacked the emotional language, awareness, and support I have now.

That realization softened something in me. Just as I had acted from my own wounds and blind spots, so had others. When I was hurt by someone, I could recognize that they were likely responding from their own fears and limitations—shaped by circumstances I couldn’t always see. Recognizing that everyone carries unseen struggles helped me meet their actions with kindness rather than judgment.

In that understanding, forgiveness transformed into something else entirely: not a mere exchange, but a quiet recognition of our shared humanity. There was nothing left to forgive—only something to learn and carry forward with compassion. Seeing things through this lens allowed me to stop needing apologies or waiting for someone else’s words to set me free. I realized the real release didn’t come from someone saying sorry; it came from me saying, “I understand.”

Have you ever held onto pain while waiting for an apology that never came? What would it feel like to see it through a lens of understanding instead?