A river, they say, is never crossed twice. Each step in the water reshapes both the river and those who wade into it, carrying forward what was left behind and creating something new. Life feels much the same, shaped by memories, pains, and joys that mark us deeply. I’ve come to understand that true forgiveness is a choice — a choice that grants us freedom from the weight of the past. Letting go doesn’t mean erasing what happened; it’s about choosing which parts of it to honor and which to release.
For me, this understanding came slowly. Growing up, I struggled with the emotional unavailability of my mother, whose mental and physical health challenges defined much of my childhood. Family life centered around her illness, and by the time I was nine, her long decline had already begun. She died when I was seventeen, and although I grieved her loss, I also felt a tangled mix of resentment, anger, and frustration. She hadn’t been there for me in the ways I needed, and her death seemed like the end of any chance for a real connection between us.
One day when I was young, my brother pushed me over the edge with his relentless teasing, and I ended up screaming in frustration. When my mother ran in from the kitchen, I heard her shout, “What are you doing to him?” In that moment, I felt a wave of relief — she was coming to my defense. But as she continued, I realized her words were directed at me, not at him. That moment left me feeling unseen, as if my hurt didn’t matter. Over time, I began hiding my feelings, questioning my worth, and feeling that she wouldn’t protect me when I needed it most. These feelings built slowly, adding stones to a dam within me, blocking my ability to let go.
These unresolved emotions became a familiar weight, shaping my interactions and outlook. When I entered adult relationships, I noticed a pattern of allowing others to treat me in ways that felt familiar but were hurtful. It wasn’t until the end of my second marriage, after being summarily discarded by my then-wife, that I began to see this pattern more clearly. My unresolved history with my mother had followed me, creating barriers within that I carried into every relationship.
I started seeing a therapist, hoping to untangle it all, but the past felt like a fixed entity — something I’d just have to live with. I began changing my patterns of behavior in relationships, but that underlying resentment toward my mother remained. It felt like an inevitable scar, something that couldn’t be altered or softened.
Then, a series of changes in my life began to shift my perspective. I relocated, downsized, and embraced semi-retirement, finding myself in a conscious community that openly supported healing from past traumas. The support and conversations within this space gradually opened me to the possibility of letting go. Surrounded by people committed to their own healing, I felt my openness grow, allowing me to examine the dam I had built within me.
Another breakthrough came during a conversation with my brother, who reminded me that my mother’s mental health challenges had begun long before I was born. I realized I’d been carrying a hidden belief that her struggles were somehow my fault. I’d thought that if I had only been “worthy” enough, she might have been more emotionally available to me. Her father’s mining accident, which left him unable to work, plunged her family into poverty — a hardship that, I came to understand, profoundly shaped her outlook and mental health. For the first time, I saw her struggles with empathy rather than resentment, understanding her as someone still impacted by her own unresolved pain.
As I released the idea that her struggles were my fault, something within me dissolved. The stones of the dam began to loosen, and I felt lighter, as though a weight had lifted, allowing me to move forward without carrying her pain as my own. Letting go of this belief freed me to reclaim responsibility for my own happiness, no longer entangled with her suffering.
Through therapy and meditation, I began practicing guided exercises to support my younger self, reconnecting with the child I once was. During these meditations, I’d repeat a comforting phrase to him: “You are loved, you are supported, you are seen, you are held.” With each repetition, I felt the dam of resentment that had held back years of pain start to weaken. I visualized the chains binding me to that old anchor breaking away, bringing a rush of lightness and a wave of calm that filled the space where that weight had once been. For the first time, I could envision moving freely, unburdened by the past.
This release shifted something fundamental within me, altering not only my perspective on the past but also on how I approached connections in the present. I’ve learned to view relationships with a broader perspective, almost as if stepping outside myself to see things holistically, from both my side and the other person’s. Now, when negative feelings arise, I focus on understanding their origins rather than dwelling on how they feel. I’ve come to see that if you give space to negative feelings, they can grow and consume you. Shifting from feeling to understanding has allowed me to separate facts from emotions, giving me greater freedom in how I choose to respond.
Perhaps the most powerful lesson I’ve learned through this journey is that choice is always available to us. We can choose to forgive, to let go, and to empathize, while still protecting ourselves with healthy boundaries. Forgiveness, I’ve come to see, isn’t a one-sided act; it’s a practice rooted in freedom and self-respect. By letting go, we’re not just moving on from the past — we’re creating space for a more compassionate future, one shaped by understanding rather than resentment.
Standing on the riverbank of my own life, I no longer feel bound by the dam within. Instead, I’m empowered by the choices that lie ahead, by the freedom to move forward with peace, compassion, and strength. Each of us carries past experiences that shape us — what would it look like to release the weight while holding onto the lessons? As I step into the river, the cool water flows around my ankles, grounding me in the present as its gentle pull releases old burdens downstream. I feel a lightness I’d nearly forgotten was possible. The river flows on, and so do I.