Forgiveness: How God Taught Me to Breathe Again

Forgiveness isn’t something I ever planned to talk about. Especially not after what was done to me.

As a survivor of deep and complex trauma, I once believed that forgiveness meant pretending it didn’t happen—or worse, saying it was okay. But then I read a line in Lysa TerKeurst’s book Forgiving What You Can’t Forget that stopped me cold:
“Forgiveness isn’t something hard we have to do. It’s something healing we get to do.” That’s when everything started to shift for me.

I survived trauma most people can’t imagine—abuse, manipulation, and loss that left invisible scars. For years, I carried it all like armor, thinking I was protecting myself by keeping it in, But the truth is, I was slowly being crushed by it. My identity felt stolen. My heart was shattered. And yet, the people who caused it seemed to go on untouched. How do you forgive someone who doesn’t even say sorry?

Over time I have learned some truths about forgiveness that have ignited my healing process.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean:
That what happened was okay.
That you’re expected to trust them again.
That healing will come instantly.
Forgiveness means you’re no longer giving that pain the final word. Forgiveness is handing the weight to God—because it was never mine to carry forever. It’s saying, “You don’t get to keep me trapped in what you did.”

Lysa says in her book that, “Forgiveness releases our need for retaliation, not our need for justice.” That gave me peace. God still sees. He still cares. Justice is His responsibility—freedom is mine.

Through my journey I have pieced together my own definition of forgiveness:

Forgiveness is me deciding that I won’t let what they did poison my future.
It’s choosing to stop carrying the weight of their actions.
It’s me saying, “You don’t get to take up space in my heart anymore.”
It’s not fast. It’s not neat. It’s layered.
Sometimes I have to forgive in pieces—every time a memory resurfaces or a wound gets touched.
But each time, I’m choosing peace over bitterness.
Freedom over control.
Healing over hate.

I don’t forgive because they deserve it.
I forgive because I deserve to be free.

Forgiveness doesn’t change the past, but it changes me.
It’s how I breathe again.
It’s how I take my power back.
It’s how I let Jesus write the ending of my story—not them.

I didn’t choose to forgive because it felt easy.
I chose to forgive because carrying bitterness was slowly killing my spirit.

I didn’t forgive because I’m strong.
I forgave because God is strong, and He met me in the darkest places with the kind of love that doesn’t flinch or turn away.

When I lost things I thought I could never live without, He was still there.
When I didn’t know who I was anymore, He remembered.
He reminded me: “You are more than what they did to you.”
That’s where healing began. Not in forgetting—but in being seen, held, and slowly made whole.

The trauma tried to define me. The enemy tried to program me with lies. But God kept whispering, “You are not what they did to you.” Lysa talks about forgiveness as a way of loosening the grip pain has on our hearts. She writes, “We don’t forgive to free the other person; we forgive to free ourselves.”

Forgiveness wasn’t forgetting what happened.
It was finally remembering who I am.

To be honest my healing has been a bit of a roller coaster, some days I feel strong. Other days I get hit by waves I didn’t see coming.
A smell. A memory. A dream.
For a long time, I thought I was doing healing “wrong” because I still had flashbacks or moments of panic. But that’s not failure. That’s trauma being processed.
It’s easy to expect healing to look like a straight road forward. But in real life, it really is more like a roller coaster with detours, pit stops, and setbacks.

And I’ve learned that God is just as present on the messy days as He is on the calm ones.
Progress isn’t perfection. It’s just… showing up again.
Let’s be clear: You can forgive someone and still never speak to them again.

This part was huge for me. I used to feel guilty that I had no desire to “make peace” with the people who hurt me. But I finally realized: boundaries are biblical.
Jesus forgave endlessly—but He also walked away from dangerous people.

Forgiveness is something I do in my heart, between me and God.
Reconciliation is something that requires safety, repentance, and mutual healing—and honestly, that’s not always possible.
Forgiveness let me close the door in peace, without keeping a window open for more pain.
One of the deepest lies trauma taught me was:
You’re ruined. Broken. Unlovable.

But God has been rewriting that lie with truth.
I am not damaged goods.
I am not too much.
I am not defined by what happened to me.
I am redeemed. Brave. Deeply loved.

Lysa wrote:
“When we place our identity in what was done to us, we let our past define us. But when we place it in what Jesus has done for us, we find freedom.”
I’m not a victim anymore. I’m a survivor. I’m a daughter of the King.

I don’t know where you are in your story. Maybe you’re just now letting the truth surface. Maybe you feel numb or terrified or just tired.

I’ve been there too.

But I want you to know this: healing is possible.
You are not too far gone. You are not too broken.
And this pain? It does not get the final say.

God’s not finished with your story. He’s just getting started.
You don’t have to walk this alone. Reach out. Ask Him for help.
And when you’re ready, take the first step toward forgiveness—not because they deserve it, but because you do.

You deserve peace. You deserve to breathe again.
And you’re going to be okay.

And If you’re still struggling to forgive, please hear me:
You don’t have to rush the process.
You don’t have to force a fake peace.

God is patient. He walks beside you in the questions. He holds space for your pain. And when you’re ready, He’ll show you the path to freedom—not through denial, but through divine restoration.

Forgiveness is hard. But healing is possible.
I’m living proof that you can survive the unimaginable—and still find peace.

A Prayer for Forgiveness and Healing

Jesus,

You see every wound I carry—those I speak about, and those I still keep quiet.
You were there when the pain happened.
You never left me.
And You’re still here, walking with me as I try to heal.

Forgiveness feels impossible some days.
The hurt is deep. The memories are heavy.
But I don’t want to live chained to bitterness.
I want freedom. I want peace. I want healing.

So today, even if it’s just a whisper,
I choose to begin forgiving—not because they deserve it, but because I can’t carry this pain anymore.
Take what I can’t let go of yet and hold it for me.
Teach me how to forgive in layers, in time, with Your strength.

Help me remember that forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting or pretending.
It means releasing my right to revenge and trusting You with justice.
Give me wisdom to set boundaries, courage to grieve, and grace to keep going.

Most of all, help me believe that my story isn’t over,
That what was meant to break me can be part of what makes me whole.
You are the God who turns ashes into beauty—
And I’m ready to see what You’ll do with mine.

Amen.

A Note From Sharri:
I want to thank Alexie our guest blogger. It is an honor to get to know her and have read her courageous story. She is an inspiration to me. I hope and pray that you are blessed by this encouraging post and that you have much healing as a result of her hopeful message.