Forgiving Myself
The quote that continues to center me in that work comes from Maya Angelou:
Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.
I return to these words often, especially when I’m reflecting on the past. On the mistakes I’ve made, things I’ve allowed and situations I stayed in longer than I should have.
When I look back, I try to approach those memories with a mix of compassion and gratitude. The operative word being try.
Some days I do well. I can trace the patterns back to my upbringing and can see how my unresolved trauma and learned behaviors quietly guided me into a relationship that didn’t serve me; one that ultimately became an extension of abuse in my life. On those days, I can hold earlier versions of myself with empathy and understanding. Other days, that grace is difficult to access.
Understanding Isn’t the Same as Forgiving
I understand the concept of self-forgiveness but have come to the conclusion that the practice of it is far more complicated. It’s one thing to intellectually accept that I did the best I could with what I knew. It’s another thing entirely to be okay with the parts of my life that still haunt me.
I often find myself wondering how I saw things through such a distorted lens for so long. Why I ignored what felt wrong and rationalized behavior I would have immediately flagged if it had been happening to someone I loved.
And if I’m being transparent, I’m often upset with myself about it. Especially now, as I navigate the aftermath of those decisions.
The Hard Truth Beneath the Guilt
When I look back, I can clearly see that many of my choices were conscious. I made allowances, looked the other way and minimized my own discomfort. At the time, I lacked both the courage and the self-worth to push back or choose differently. The clarity I could offer others somehow I couldn’t apply to my own circumstances.
Which leads me to a harder truth to sit with: Maybe I did know better but there was a part of me that didn’t believe I deserved better.
That realization is painful.
The disappointment I feel in myself, the heartbreak that lives inward instead of outward, can be overwhelming. I know all the “right” things to say. I’ve spent years in therapy unpacking trauma and understanding its residual impact. I understand the psychology. I understand the patterns. But understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.
When the Past Keeps Showing Up
Learning how to forgive myself has been my personal ongoing struggle. When circumstances force me to remember, reflect, and re-engage, like preparing for mediation, navigating court, co-parenting through conflict, it can feel retraumatizing. The progress I’ve made doesn’t disappear, but the wounds reopen.
The truth is self-forgiveness isn’t linear. It’s not something you achieve once and move past forever. It’s something you practice; especially when life keeps placing you face-to-face with your own history.
Writing to the Version of Me Who Didn’t Know Yet
One practice that has helped me begin softening my self-judgment is writing a letter to my past self.
Not to excuse what happened or rewrite history, but to speak to the version of me who was doing the best she could without the clarity, safety, or self-belief I have now. That version of me didn’t need punishment, she needed compassion and someone to tell her that surviving wasn’t a failure.
A Letter to My Past Self
If I could speak to my past self now, I wouldn’t ask why she stayed. I wouldn’t demand explanations or apologies. Instead, I would tell her:
You were protecting yourself the only way you knew how.
You didn’t imagine the discomfort; you adapted to it.
You are not weak for surviving.
You are not broken for needing time to learn.
And most importantly: You were always worthy of more; even when you didn’t believe it yourself.
Journal entry: Letter to My Past Self
If you’re struggling with self-forgiveness, use the prompts below as a journaling exercise.
Describe the version of yourself you’re writing to.
Who were you at that time? What was she carrying? What did she fear?What did she not know yet?
Name the truths, boundaries, or self-beliefs you have now that she didn’t.What was she trying to protect herself from?
Be specific and compassionate.What would you say to her if blame wasn’t allowed?
Write as if shame has no voice in the room.Finish this sentence:
“I forgive you for…”Finish this sentence:
“Thank you for…”
You don’t need to reread this letter often. You just need to write it honestly once and return to it when self-judgment starts to speak louder than truth.
Choosing Grace Over Shame
I’d like to reach a place where I can fully embrace Maya Angelou’s words without using them as a measuring stick to punish myself. A place where I stop beating myself up for not doing better when I wasn’t yet capable.
Self-forgiveness, I’m learning, isn’t about excusing the past. It’s about acknowledging it honestly and choosing not to let shame be the voice that guides me forward.
And for now, that choice is enough.
