Forgiving Yourself: The Hardest Kind of Healing
There are moments I look back on and think, I should have known better. Moments I wish I’d spoken up. Or stayed quiet. Or chosen differently. And for a long time, I believed those moments defined me.
Guilt is a master of disguise. It wears the face of responsibility, of caution, of maturity. But underneath, it’s fear. Fear that we’re unworthy. Fear that we’ll never be trusted again. Fear that we’ve ruined something we can’t fix.
And forgiving ourselves? That’s the hardest kind of healing.
In The Spinster, Johanna Grey carries the weight of a tragedy she believes she caused. Although she cared for the man she was to marry, called him friend, she did not love him—and that felt wrong. When he came to harm, climbing a tree outside her window, her heart whispered that it was punishment. So she retreated from joy, convinced she didn’t deserve it. After all, had she not taken his chance for joy. What right did she now have to her own?
In Despised & Desired, Frederick Lancaster survived a war that took his closest friend. He came home breathing—but broken. He believed he should have saved Kenneth. Should have been faster. Smarter. Stronger. And every kindness felt like a debt he couldn’t repay. He gave up, and it might have been the end of him… if it had not been for Ellie. She helped him see the truth: No one could have saved Kenneth.
“Only love led to grief, and so the pain that brought him to his knees was a testament to the love he felt for them.” (Despised & Desired)
In Forgotten & Remembered, Graham Astor shuts down after loss. He doesn’t rage. He doesn’t cry. He simply stops believing love is meant for him. He thinks his marriage led to his wife’s death. That by loving her, he doomed her. So he retreats, convinced that love is dangerous—and that he no longer deserves it.
These characters didn’t need someone to fix them. They needed someone to see them. To take their hand and walk beside them. To help them find the truth beneath the guilt.
“The truth is never the wrong course of action. It might be painful, yes, but it is never wrong.” (The Spinster)
Each of them suffered a deep wound. And each of them needed love—not as a cure, but as a companion on the path to healing.
I’ve written these stories because I’ve lived pieces of them. Not the dramatic parts—no tragic accidents or wartime losses; and I'm grateful for that. But the quiet ache of regret. The way shame settles into your bones. The way you can smile and function and still carry the belief that you’re not quite enough.
“Regrets served nothing because they were only that, regrets. They had no power, no effect on the future or the past. A life lived with regret was a life wasted.” (Forgotten & Remembered)
We all have regrets. And while they hold power over us, they only do so if we allow it. It’s our thinking—our belief—that gives them weight. Regret cannot change what was. But if we let it linger, it can shape who we become. It can steal our future. Not because it’s strong—but because we hand it the reins.
And although we know we shouldn’t… More often than not, we do.
Healing doesn’t come from erasing the past. It comes from choosing to live anyway. To love anyway. To believe that maybe—just maybe—you’re still worthy of joy.
So if you’re carrying something heavy— a mistake, a silence, a moment you wish you could rewrite— I hope you’ll remember this:
You are allowed to heal.
You are allowed to be loved.
You are allowed to begin again.
Because the past may shape you. But it doesn’t get to define you.
If this is you… I’d love to hear from you.
Only if you feel ready.
Only if it feels right.
Sometimes, sharing helps lighten the load. And sometimes, it reminds someone else they’re not alone.
If someone in your life seems quieter lately, a little more distant, a little more tired—maybe they’re carrying something heavy. Maybe they just need someone to stay close, without asking for explanations.
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