Today, I Forgive Myself: A Journey to Healing

It is important that I Forgive to Reclaim, Forgive to Live

Yes! I forgive me for staying longer than I should have and, I forgive myself for believing I didn’t deserve better—but today, I choose to break free.

By now, you probably see that I’m not coming back. Ever, but I forgive you. Though this is a harsh line to start with, I need to acknowledge this as my truth.

You see, in the beginning, I thought I saw our life playout before me—dating after wooing you and winning your heart. I understood the abuse you endured from your ex, and assumed you were healed, whole, and complete.

I believed you had joy in your heart and the capacity to love me properly and fully. As you know, my deepest and fondest wish was to find a wife who would love my family, my parents, myself, and our future as much as she loved herself.

Someone who would put God first and never forsake me for others. I forgive…

Slowly, painfully, and unwillingly, I began to realize you were not capable of doing that. And though it hurts deeply, I have to forgive you. Not for your sake, but for mine.

Somewhere along your journey from birth until now, something fractured the sweet, untainted spirit you were born with—the pure baby your parents once held up to the sky.

Those infectious giggles, cuddles, and smiles turned into wrath, manipulation, and covert narcissism. How could something so innocent grow into the darkness that almost destroyed me?

This letter isn’t about blame. It’s about forgiveness.

I forgive you for all those nights you left me alone in the cold, even while lying right next to me. I forgive you for saying that you are embarrassed to be seen with me by your side. I forgive you for making our daughter embarrassed to even call me her father and for never stepping in to repair that relationship.

For the cruises and trips you took alone or with your sorority sisters, knowing how deeply I longed to share those moments with you—I forgive you.

I forgive you for not taking me to watch our daughter cross into her beloved sorority, even though I emphatically asked that it be a trip for us to enjoy together as a family.

Instead, as always, you chose your sorority sisters over me.

I forgive myself for the moments I grew so angry that I doubted God—wondering why He led me to such a narrow, thorn-filled path that bled me dry. I forgive myself for wasting away, not eating, getting sick, and losing sight of my worth.

I forgive you for accepting the extravagant gifts, the jewels, the cars, the shopping sprees, the money, the credit repair, and even for stealing from me when you didn’t have to. Forgiveness for taking all that I gave and treating me like a vagabond once I became penniless.

Forgiveness for turning our child against me, for reducing my role to that of a sperm donor. For keeping me from choosing her schools, her clothes, and her milestones—I forgive you.

I forgive myself for having 255 hours of recorded and documented abuse and for staying 254 of those hours.

Forgiveness for lowering myself to such an unrecognizable state that I no longer recognized the man in the mirror.

Forgiveness for minimizing my manhood, for downplaying my accomplishments and achievements. Forgiveness for looking me in the face and telling me that my years in medical school were no longer achievements because I wasn’t a practicing doctor.

I forgive you for dismissing my dreams and rejecting my instincts when I suggested we build a future together—owning property and living comforting as one.

I forgive myself for not holding onto the precious jewel my father placed in your hand, because I knew that one day it could get lost, stolen, or sold. I forgive myself for every tear that fell, slipping on puddles of despair and landing flat on my face without realizing how long I’d stayed down.

I forgive myself for not seeking therapy sooner, for letting my pride stop me from telling my friends, family, and fraternity about the hell I was living through.

I forgive myself for allowing you to be so disrespectful that just weeks after I lost my hero—my father—you looked me in my eyes and said, I will never amount to anything, and he wouldn’t be proud of me right now. That stung, but I forgive myself for standing there and taking it.

Forgiveness for those times I was so proud of the things I was doing—becoming a creator, learning to play the guitar—only for you to tell me I was wasting time and doing nothing.

I forgive myself for letting your words dictate how I saw myself and what I was capable of becoming. Forgiveness for stifling my voice, swallowing my pain, and pretending that the weight of carrying our relationship alone didn’t crush me.

Forgiveness for hiding the sadness that consumed me when I realized I could never depend on you to truly be there.

I forgive myself that one time for being untrue while in medical school, I forgive myself for believing that someone else’s words and affection could patch the gaping wounds you left open. Forgiveness for holding onto the false hope that it would somehow change our dynamic or make you see me differently.

I forgive myself for even going there trying to fill the void that was left by what I so desperately sought from you.

Forgiveness for not expressing more how utterly heartbreaking it was not to have your support. I forgive myself for thinking that therapy and counseling would fix our marriage.

I forgive myself for not allowing you to divorce me when I saw how unwilling you were to fight for us. I forgive myself for clinging to the illusion that things could get better by saving our family when our daughter was a little girl, even as I watched the cracks widen and the foundation crumble.

I forgive myself for not trusting my instincts when I saw how broken it was, and for holding on far longer than I should have.

Forgiveness for letting guilt and fear dictate my choices, for staying when I knew the love was gone, and for thinking that staying together was better than letting go.

I forgive myself for the times I ignored the red flags, convinced that my effort alone could repair what was irreparably damaged.

I forgive myself for putting your happiness above my own, for sacrificing my dignity and self-worth in the process. I forgive myself for believing that enduring your indifference and cruelty was the price I had to pay to make it work.