Chapter Six

The Forgiveness That Frees

There is a weight that many carry without realizing it. It accumulates gradually—a harsh word here, a betrayal there, an injustice that was never addressed, a wound that never fully closed. Over time, this weight becomes so familiar that we forget we are carrying it. We think this is simply how life feels. We do not realize that the heaviness in our chest, the tension in our shoulders, the exhaustion that never quite lifts, may have roots in something we have refused to release.

This weight has a name: unforgiveness. And it is one of the greatest obstacles to Healing that exists.

We tend to think of forgiveness as something we do for others—a gift we give to those who have wronged us, a pardon we extend to the undeserving. From this perspective, forgiveness seems unfair. Why should I forgive someone who hurt me? Why should I release them from accountability? They do not deserve my forgiveness.

But this understanding misses something essential. Forgiveness is not primarily about the other person. Forgiveness is about you. When you refuse to forgive, you are not punishing the one who wronged you—you are imprisoning yourself. You are keeping yourself chained to a moment in the past, reliving it, feeding it, allowing it to continue shaping your present. The other person may have moved on entirely, may not even remember what happened, while you carry the wound as fresh as the day it was inflicted.

This is the first secret of forgiveness: it sets you free, not them.

To understand why forgiveness has such power, we must understand what happens when we do not forgive. Every action carries momentum. When someone harms you and you respond with resentment, with thoughts of revenge, with a hardened heart, you enter into a kind of energetic entanglement with that action. You become part of its continuing story. The harm does not end when the original act ends—it continues through your response to it, your memory of it, your rehearsal of it in your mind.

This momentum is what some traditions call Karma. It is not punishment from an external judge. It is simply the natural continuation of energy that has been set in motion. An action creates consequences, those consequences create responses, those responses create further consequences, and the wheel keeps turning. Round and round it goes, binding us to patterns we did not consciously choose, perpetuating suffering long after the original cause has passed.

Forgiveness is the brake that stops this wheel.

When you truly forgive, you withdraw your energy from the cycle. You stop feeding the pattern. You release your grip on the past and allow it to be past. The momentum that was carrying you along—the resentment, the bitterness, the recurring thoughts of what happened and what should have happened—this momentum loses its fuel. The wheel slows. Eventually, it stops.

This is not easy. The wheel has momentum precisely because it has been turning for so long. The grooves are deep. The patterns feel natural, even righteous. We may have built part of our identity around our wounds, around our status as the one who was wronged. To forgive can feel like losing something—losing our right to be angry, losing our claim to victimhood, losing the story we have told ourselves about who we are and why.

But what we lose is a prison. What we gain is freedom.

There is a deeper dimension to forgiveness that transforms it from a difficult duty into a path of profound Healing. It begins with a recognition: everything you perceive in the outer world that disturbs you reflects something within yourself that needs attention. The people who trigger you most are showing you where your own work lies. The situations that provoke your strongest reactions are pointing toward unresolved material in your own being.

This is not to say that harm is not real, or that wrongdoing should be excused. Actions have consequences, and accountability matters. But at the level of your inner work, the question is not whether the other person was wrong. The question is: what is this situation revealing about me? What within me resonates with this pain? What am I being invited to heal?

From this perspective, forgiveness becomes something different. It is no longer about pardoning an external offender. It is about healing an internal wound. When you forgive someone who hurt you, you are simultaneously healing the part of yourself that was capable of being hurt in that particular way. You are releasing not just your grip on them, but your grip on an old pattern, an old belief, an old way of being that no longer serves you.

This is why true forgiveness must include self-forgiveness. You cannot fully forgive another while condemning yourself. You cannot release the external while clutching the internal. The movement of forgiveness flows in all directions at once—toward others, toward yourself, toward life itself for being the kind of experience where such wounds are possible.

Jesus summarized the entire spiritual path in two commandments: love God completely, and love your neighbor as yourself. Notice that second phrase carefully—as yourself. You cannot love your neighbor more than you love yourself. You cannot forgive your neighbor more than you forgive yourself. The measure you use for others is the measure you are using for yourself, whether you realize it or not.

Many people find it easier to forgive others than to forgive themselves. They extend grace outward but withhold it inward. They understand that others are imperfect, struggling, doing their best with limited understanding—but they hold themselves to an impossible standard. This imbalance creates a subtle poison. The unforgiven self projects its self-judgment outward, finding fault everywhere, unable to fully accept anyone because it cannot fully accept itself.

The path of healing asks for a different approach. Begin with yourself. Acknowledge the mistakes you have made, the harm you have caused, the ways you have fallen short of your own ideals. Feel the weight of it. And then, with the same compassion you would extend to a beloved friend who confessed these things to you, release yourself. You did not know better. You were doing what you could with the awareness you had. You are not the same being who made those choices. You can choose differently now.

As you forgive yourself, you create space to genuinely forgive others. The judgment you were projecting outward softens. The triggers lose their charge. You begin to see others not as offenders to be pardoned but as fellow travelers struggling with the same human challenges you face. Their failures become understandable, even familiar. You recognize yourself in them.

This is forgiveness as a healing practice—a single movement that transforms your relationship with yourself, with others, and with life itself. It is not something you do once and complete. It is an ongoing orientation, a way of meeting each moment with an open hand rather than a clenched fist.

The connection between forgiveness and physical Healing is direct. We have seen how emotions that are not processed by the mind are given to the body to carry. Resentment is one of the heaviest of these burdens. The chronic tension, the elevated stress hormones, the inflammatory response that never fully resolves—these are the body's way of holding what the mind refuses to release. Studies have shown that people who practice forgiveness have lower blood pressure, stronger immune function, less chronic pain, and longer lives. This is not coincidence. The body cannot fully heal while the mind remains at war.

Jesus demonstrated the ultimate act of forgiveness on the cross. In his final moments, having been betrayed by a friend, abandoned by his followers, mocked by crowds, tortured by soldiers, he spoke these words: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." In that moment, he stopped the wheel of karma for himself. He refused to let the violence done to him perpetuate itself through his response. He chose love where hatred would have been understandable. He chose release where resentment would have been justified.

Consider the scene more closely. Two others were crucified beside him that day—criminals, both of them. One mocked Jesus along with the crowd, demanding to be saved. The other recognized something different. He acknowledged his own wrongdoing, accepted the consequences, and then turned to Jesus with a simple request: "Remember me when you come into your kingdom." The response was immediate: "Today you will be with me in paradise."

Same circumstance. Same suffering. Same cross. But one man remained trapped in bitterness, while the other found freedom through a moment of honest self-recognition and humble request. The difference was not in their situations but in their hearts. One chose to remain on the wheel; the other stepped off.

You have this choice available to you in every moment. Whatever has been done to you, whatever you have done, the wheel can stop here. The pattern can end now. Not because the past did not happen, not because harm is not real, but because you are no longer willing to let the past determine your present. You are ready to be free.

The practice is simple, though not easy. When you notice resentment arising, pause. Feel it fully without acting on it. Then ask yourself: what is this showing me about myself? What am I being invited to heal? And then, consciously, deliberately, release. Release the other person from your judgment. Release yourself from the burden of carrying this. Release the situation from having to be different than it was.

Some find it helpful to speak the release aloud, even if only in private. You might say: I release you. I release myself. I release this. Others find it helpful to feel the release as a physical sensation—opening the hands, relaxing the chest, breathing out fully and letting go. Still others use simple phrases repeated until they penetrate deeply: I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. These words, spoken toward any situation that causes pain, can work profound transformation over time.

However you practice it, know that forgiveness is not a single event but a process. The old patterns will reassert themselves. The resentment will return. The wheel will try to spin again. Each time, you have the opportunity to apply the brake once more. Each time, the grooves become a little less deep, the momentum a little weaker, the release a little easier. Eventually, what once required tremendous effort becomes natural. You stop holding on because you have learned that holding on only hurts you.

This is the forgiveness that frees. It is not weakness but the greatest strength. It is not condoning harm but refusing to let harm continue through you. It is not forgetting the past but releasing the past's grip on your present. It is the path that Jesus walked and the path he invites us to walk—the path that leads from imprisonment to freedom, from sickness to health, from the endless turning of the wheel to the peace that passes understanding.

The weight you have been carrying can be set down. The chains you have worn can be unlocked. The door of your prison stands open. All that is required is your willingness to walk through.