Kat GraceIt’s noon on a quiet Monday, August 18, 2025, and I sit with a cup of tea growing cold, staring out at a world that feels both heavy and hopeful. Forgiveness. The word lingers in my mind like a melody I can’t quite place beautiful, yet tinged with ache. It’s not a gift we give lightly, nor one we receive without trembling. Today, I want to unravel its raw, emotional threads, because forgiveness isn’t a neat bow on a painful story it’s a messy, sacred unraveling of the heart, a key part of spiritual awakening.
I remember the moment I realized I needed to forgive. It wasn’t a grand epiphany, but a quiet, gut-wrenching pull after years of carrying resentment like a second skin. Someone I loved had hurt me deeply words that cut, actions that betrayed. I built walls, convinced they’d protect me. But those walls didn’t keep the pain out; they locked it in. My chest tightened with every memory, every replay of their voice. I was tired bone-tired of being angry. This was the first step on a journey of shamanic healing.
Forgiveness began as a whisper. I sat with a journal, my hand shaking as I wrote their name. The first draft was rage pages of accusations, tears smudging the ink. But then, something shifted. I wrote a second letter, not to send, but to release. I poured out my hurt, yes, but also my longing for peace. I didn’t excuse their actions; I simply chose to let go of the weight they’d left me holding. Burning that paper felt like setting a part of myself free—a ritual that trembled with both loss and liberation. This was my personal experience of energy healing, a true katgrace healing.
It wasn’t instant. Some days, the anger crept back, a stubborn guest I couldn’t evict. I learned to sit with it, to breathe through it, to imagine sending them a silent wish for peace. It wasn’t for them it was for me. Each breath was a step toward softening the hardness in my chest. I even tried to see their side, to glimpse the pain that might have driven their choices. It didn’t erase the hurt, but it humanized them, and that was enough to loosen the grip of bitterness.
Self-forgiveness was harder still. I blamed myself for trusting, for not seeing the signs, for the ways I’d faltered in response. One night, I wrote myself a letter not as the wounded self, but as a friend. “You did your best,” I wrote. “You are enough, even in this brokenness.” Tears fell, but they were different cleansing, not crushing. It was a start.
Forgiveness isn’t a straight line. It’s a spiral, looping back to old wounds, asking us to choose grace again and again. I’ve lit candles, placed stones in water, spoken words to an empty room all small acts to remind myself that healing is a journey, not a destination. There are moments I still feel the sting, but it’s softer now, a scar instead of an open wound.
This path has taught me that forgiveness is not weakness it’s courage. It’s choosing to release the chains of the past, not for the other person, but for the soul that carries the burden. It’s messy, imperfect, and deeply human. Today, as the afternoon light fades, I feel a quiet gratitude. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the story it rewrites it with hope. And that, I’m learning, is its truest grace.
That was a great blog post! Yes it is a process. Your description here reminds me of what the grief process looks like and speaks to grieving the end of the relationship too. It reminded me of when I was grieving the loss of my Mom. It would come in waves, mostly when I was alone and tears would just flow down my face. I had a lot of guilt because I argued with her a lot (our Suns square) and was the more difficult child for her. I finally forgave myself and told myself that I did the best I could with where I was at the time. I had never heard of putting stones under water, what is the purpose of that? Thanks for sharing about the things that are hard to talk about. You’re doing great!!! =) Your gifts will lead to much healing for many.