F is For Forgiveness (and Fear, Fire, Fracture, Facades, and Freedom)

 

Last week dragged a sea of emotion behind it like a storm cloud. Grief has a way of opening floodgates — ones you did not even know were still under pressure. The untimely death of a childhood friend did that for me. In the stillness that followed the news, my mind turned inward. What poured out surprised me: not just sorrow, but shame. Regret. A sudden awareness of all the bridges I had set ablaze in fits of anger, self-protection, and sometimes even silence.

I will also give credit to deep conversations with my girls – ‘Gee, Fueksy Grace and Bels.

In moments like these, we’re reminded of something deeply human: no one is just one version of themselves. We are daughters and disappointments. Lovers and liars. Heroes in one story, villains in another. Different to different people. And so, doesn’t everyone deserve at least a moment of grace? A flicker of forgiveness?

 

Forgiveness. A big F word.

It comes in shades—reluctant forgiveness, radical forgiveness, silent forgiveness, and self-forgiveness. It wears many faces and walks many paths, some paved with peace and others with barbed wire and bleeding feet.

 

Here’s the truth I found in my introspection: sometimes, forgiveness isn’t about the other person at all. Sometimes, it’s about freeing yourself from the weight of a memory that tightens around your ribcage like a vice. It’s about growing emotionally tall enough to build a boundary, not a barricade. A wall, yes, but one with doors and windows. So that maybe, just maybe, reconciliation has a shot at tiptoeing through. Or not. But at least the possibility exists. And you…you can breathe easier knowing you didn’t cement it shut.

 

I recently read a story that stayed with me. It said: ‘Not forgiving is like being bitten by a snake and then spending your energy chasing it through the forest — ignoring the venom while trying to prove you didn’t deserve the bite.’

 

That stopped me cold.

I realised then: I don’t want to spend my energy hunting snakes. If the bridge burned, let it not be because I held the match with both fists and dared the wind to blow. Let it be because, even with the fire, I left the door cracked open, and the windows unlatched. That’s what emotional maturity feels like. Not weakness, but freedom.

 

It’s scary, of course. Forgiveness is not forgetfulness. It doesn’t mean returning to what broke you. It doesn’t mean removing all boundaries or playing the fool. No — sometimes the kindest, most #unshakable form of forgiveness is a whispered prayer from afar. Sometimes, it’s a one-line text that says, ‘I wish you peace.’ And sometimes, it’s just the quiet decision to stop letting that person take up space in your nightmares.

 

In the end, I don’t know if I will rebuild every broken bridge. Some deserve to remain ash. But I want to be someone who tries to put out the fire. Someone who recognises the fracture but chooses not to hide behind the facade of being ‘fine.’ Because when we forgive, we don’t just release others; we release ourselves.

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And so, if F is for forgiveness, then let G be for growth — because that’s what follows. That’s the reward. Forgiveness may not erase the hurt, but it paves the way for healing. For freedom. For finding peace where there once was only fire.

I’ll leave you with this:

If someone knocked on a door you closed long ago —

Would you let them peek through the window?

Forgiveness doesn’t always mean reunion.

Sometimes, it just means no longer bleeding from the same wound.

 

Next week, we talk about G for Growth—the messy, beautiful aftermath of letting go.

Because when you put down the firewood and stop chasing the snake, something remarkable happens – you begin to grow again.

 

‘See’ you next week.

 

 

Sally Chiwuzie
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IG Handle: @unshakable.is.a.state.of.mind