There was a time when I thought forgiveness meant making myself small enough to carry what should never have been mine to hold.

I thought being “good” meant silence. It meant bypassing my own pain. It meant abandoning myself in order to preserve the comfort of others.

But healing has taught me something different.

Real forgiveness is not pretending the wound never happened. It is not spiritual performance. It is not forced reconciliation with those who continue to harm.

Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is tell the truth. To stop betraying our own hearts. To let grief move. To let anger clarify. To let the wound become a doorway instead of a prison.

This poem came through me during a season of profound heartbreak, unraveling, and remembering. A season where I began reclaiming my voice after years of silencing it.

If you have ever been called “too sensitive” for telling the truth…If you have ever been pressured to forgive when zero responsibility for harm has been taken (by the Christians who attempted to guilt you into forgiving their harm with no repair)…

If you have ever had to walk away in order to save your own soul…

This is for you.

“Forgiveness”— Raudrī Maria Rippo