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If you’ve ever spent your Friday night staring at the ceiling, counting your regrets like sheep, you know self-forgiveness isn’t some mushy meme. It’s work that can feel impossible. Forget climbing Everest, try letting go of that one thing you did “back then.”
If addiction, mental health, trauma, codependency, any of it, has ever torched your life—or if you just love someone who’s been there—here’s the dirty secret: the hardest person to forgive is staring back at you in the mirror. Ask me how I know.
Why Do We All Suck at Self-Forgiveness?
Maybe you grew up being told, explicitly or with every dismissive glance, that when you screw up, it’s permanent. I’m not talking about “Who broke the vase?” but honest-to-god, core-deep, believe-it-in-your-bones shame. For me, that feeling started before I could ride a bike. There’s a point, too, where shame becomes your primary operating system—for me, it ran like spyware, sabotaging relationships and self-worth. I remember lying awake as a kid, convinced if people knew what I really was, they’d walk away.
Life didn’t exactly disprove the theory. Stuff happened. Bad stuff, then worse. When I was assaulted as a child, the shame was corrosive. Turns out, forgiving the man who hurt me wasn’t even the hardest part—it was forgiving myself for existing in his orbit, for being “bad” enough for something like that to happen. Even after years of therapy and endless cups of bitter coffee with other survivors, I still catch myself looking for ways to turn the blame my way. That’s what shame does. It turns you into both the judge and your own executioner.
Then came my marriage—an accidental masterclass in learning just how much pain people can hold and still call it “love.” My ex-husband was, at best, a master manipulator, at worst… well, you fill in the blank. Abuse of every flavor. And yet, he’s the father of my children. Forgiving him felt impossible. But raising kids with that much resentment in my veins only taught me that revenge and bitterness are hereditary. The day I truly started to forgive him was the day I looked at my children and wanted more for them than I ever got as a kid.
But here’s the twist nobody ever prepares you for: Forgiving myself—after years of putting myself in harm’s way, staying too long, becoming codependent as a survival skill—felt like the greater betrayal. Everyone talks about “not being a victim,” but nobody tells you how to get rid of the stink of guilt, when deep down you think you signed the permission slips for your own suffering.
Most people with addiction issues have a PhD-level education in shame and self-condemnation. Even people who love addicts get caught in the crossfire, blaming themselves for not fixing, not saving, not being enough. The result is always the same: we decide we’re unforgivable. Cue the spiral.
The Clinical Stuff: What’s Actually Happening Here?
Let’s get nerdy for a sec. Research shows self-forgiveness is a predictor of mental health outcomes, including relapse, depression, and how much you want to hide from your own reflection. Patricia Frazier et al. (2001) define self-forgiveness as a process of letting go of self-condemnation, while still taking responsibility for what happened—without pretending it didn’t hurt anyone. Messy, right?
Self-forgiveness isn’t excusing, minimizing, or denying. That’s toxic. In fact, dodging guilt and pretending “it wasn’t that bad” leaves you stuck. True self-forgiveness starts when you can say, “Yeah, I did that. It hurt. And I accept that I am worth more than my worst mistakes, even if my lizard brain hisses otherwise.”
Addiction science says shame and unresolved self-blame are rocket fuel for relapse. Johann Hari nailed it: “The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. It’s connection.” But you can’t connect to anyone if you’re certain you’re a monster.
Process vs. Substance Addictions: No One Gets a Free Pass
It’s not just heroin users staring down this beast—gamblers, over-eaters, rage-quitters, porn scrollers, you name it. Behavioural addictions might not leave tracks on your skin, but they sure as hell will on your soul.
The same principle applies: If you don’t forgive yourself, you’ll keep chasing fixes to numb the pain. You’ll keep acting like a villain, because that’s the only script you know.
What the Gurus Get Wrong
You don’t “just forgive yourself.” Instagram platitudes are great until they crash into memories of every person you’ve let down, every body you’ve hurt (including your own). If you could white-knuckle your way to self-forgiveness, we’d all be fixed by now.
And then there’s people who throw out lines like “If you can forgive your enemies, surely you can forgive yourself.” Like, sure, Sharon, let me just hop in my time machine and undo my entire personality, cool?
But here’s the thing: People have forgiven the “unforgivable.” There are stories out there of parents forgiving their child’s killer, survivors forgiving their abusers. And I’ve had to do it too—when I was a kid, I was sexually assaulted. I carried that rage and guilt for decades. The notion that forgiveness was possible made me furious. If you’ve ever felt that, you’re not broken. You’re just real.
When I had to face the man who assaulted me—not physically, thank God, but emotionally—I realized I’d built an entire universe out of not forgiving him. It was my armor. I thought hating him made me powerful. It actually just kept me chained to him. The day I forgave him wasn’t anything dramatic. No choir of angels. Just… a little more breathing room in my own head. I put down the burden. Not for him. For me.
Same with my ex-husband. Forgiving him (which waxes and wanes, if I’m honest) means my kids get a mother who’s not bitter. It means I get a shot at freedom. But it’s messy. Unsexy. Rarely “finished.”
As for myself—some days I wake up and don’t hate who I am. I’ll call that progress.
So, How Do You Forgive Yourself When You Think You’re Unforgivable?
This is the one people DM me about at 3AM. How do you do it? Here’s the truth: everybody’s walk to forgiveness looks a little different. Here’s what I’ve learned—my way, and from a thousand unlikely teachers.
1. Name What Happened—No Bullshit Allowed
Jumping straight into “it’s okay” skips the most important step: honesty. Own it. Say it out loud, in a mirror, to a friend, to your dog (dogs have seen it all). “I did X. It hurt Y. Today, I feel Z.”
For me, this meant dragging stuff out of the darkness, stuff I thought I’d buried forever. Admitting “I stayed with a man who hurt me and I kept picking the scab” felt like setting my whole house on fire. But secrets rot. Say them first—even if you whisper.
Some people journal. Some people go to meetings. Some need to scream it into a pillow. Fine. The point is, you name it, so it stops naming you.
2. Separate Guilt from Shame
Guilt says, “I did something bad.” Shame says, “I am bad.” Learn to spot the difference—only one is useful. Guilt motivates change. Shame paralyzes.
When I forgave myself for letting abuse happen, I told myself, “You made choices, but you were surviving.” That’s guilt: I regret what happened, but I know I can do different next time. My default was shame: “You’re a ruined person.” Unlearning that is daily labor.
A therapist once asked me: “Would you talk to eight-year-old you the way you talk to yourself?” Of course not. But adult-me picks up where the abusers and critics left off. That’s what you have to break.
3. Apologize, If You Can—But Don’t Force It
Not everyone will want your apology. Sometimes the person you hurt is… gone. Sometimes it’s you. I wrote letters to people—my kids, old friends, hell, even my younger self. Most of them never saw daylight, but it wasn’t for them. It was for me. To admit what I wished I’d done, and to let it go. To forgive myself for past blindness rather than punish myself for eternity.
If you need to apologize to yourself for surviving, for staying, for using, so be it. Give yourself the words no one else did.
4. Make Amends—But Don’t Turn It Into Self-Punishment
Real amends are about fixing what you can, not endless self-flagellation. Nobody likes a martyr or somebody who bleeds all over everyone else as “proof” they’ve changed.
For me, making amends sometimes meant honest, simple things: being the mom I wished I’d had, breaking contact with people who were toxic, showing up for therapy even when anxiety shrieked at me not to. Sometimes it meant saying to my kids, “I screwed up yesterday. I’m going to try better today.” They don’t need a perfect parent. They need a real one.
Making amends can be as literal as paying back money or as subtle as not using someone’s past against them when you finally find some peace in your own.
5. Forgive the Child Version of You
If you grew up marinating in shame and codependency, a lot of your “worst” decisions were survival tactics with bad side effects. Little you did their best. Even if your “best” as an adult was a tire fire, try not to add more gasoline.
I had to, literally, hold an old photo of myself as a child and say, “I forgive you for not knowing. For just wanting to be loved.” Do this a hundred times, if you have to. The point is to cut yourself some slack. You’re not a villain. You’re the only person who’s been there for you every step of the way.
Some folks need therapy to get here, or spiritual practice, or a damn good heartbreak playlist. However you get there, stop burying the little kid inside you beneath all the blame.
6. Accept That Healing Is Not Linear
You will backslide. You will f*ck up again. (“Progress is progress,” right?) The trick is getting a little better at catching yourself each time. Big wins are built on a mountain of tiny moments where you don’t make the same mistake twice.
One year I thought I’d “healed” from everything. The next, my mental health face-planted and I was back at square one. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean your previous progress didn’t count. You’re not a robot, and you don’t get to delete old programming overnight.
Give yourself grace for backward steps, and celebrate forward ones, even if the world doesn’t notice.
7. Find Humor in the Awfulness
Dark humor saved my life a hundred times. The moment you can joke—even just with yourself—about the things that happened, you shrink them down to size. Laughter isn’t denial; it’s proof you’re not stuck in the past anymore.
My favorite therapy session ended with my counselor and I trading sarcastic “rock bottom” stories. We laughed so hard we cried. That was the day I realized I didn’t have to be just the sum of sad stories.
Channel your inner disaster into a punchline. It keeps the monster from winning.
8. Borrow Other People’s Eyes
If you absolutely can’t see your own worth, ask people you trust: “What do you see when you look at me?” Sometimes you need a friend or therapist to hold up a mirror. Sometimes you need a support group—a bunch of beautifully broken humans who just get it, no judgment.
It’s hard to believe the case for your own goodness when your own jury is rigged. Borrow strength until you can stand on your own.
The Ripple Effect: Why It’s Not Just About You
Maybe you’re here trying to forgive your partner, parent, friend, betrayer. Maybe you carry the collateral damage of addiction like a dented shield. Here’s the wildest thing: the people who heal first are the ones who learn to forgive themselves. When you do, you give everyone else permission to do it, too.
If you’re the loved one of an addict, know this—your self-forgiveness for whatever imagined crimes you’ve charged yourself with (not leaving, leaving, enabling, not being enough) is step one in getting your life back.
But What About the Unforgivable Stuff?
Some things are so heavy you think if you open the door, they’ll crush you. But hear this loud: nothing is unforgivable. That doesn’t mean you have to forget. It doesn’t mean you’ll get a Hallmark ending. It means you see the wound, you stop keeping it infected, and you let it scar over in its own time.
I forgave the man who hurt me, eventually. Not because he deserved it. Because I deserved better than carrying his sickness around inside me. Sometimes forgiving yourself is the only way to put the poison down.
As for the men I let into my life who harmed me—my ex-husband included—it isn’t about condoning what they did. It’s about evicting them from my daily thoughts. I want more room inside myself for things I actually love.
Final Thoughts—Or, The Will to Move Forward
Self-forgiveness isn’t about pretending the past didn’t happen. It’s about saying, just for today: I am not my worst day. I am not the sum total of my disasters. I am learning to try again.
If you’re here, limping into self-forgiveness for the first or fiftieth time—welcome. You’re in good company. We’re all just building little islands of grace, one apology, one bad joke, and one honest try at a time.
Progress is progress.
