In many healing circles, forgiveness is treated like the holy grail. We’re told that if we can just forgive (ourselves, our parents, our partners, our abusers) we’ll finally be free. Forgiveness is often portrayed as the last gate we must pass through on the path to peace. But what if that’s not true?
What if healing doesn’t require forgiveness at all?
What if, in some cases, the push to forgive prematurely can actually fracture us further, splitting our psyche between the part of us that is still hurting and the part that feels pressured to “be over it”?
What if the nervous system, in its intelligence, isn’t asking for forgiveness, but for justice. Not revenge, not punishment, but the justice of protection, of boundaries, of self-honoring?
My Personal Experience: Forgiveness Without Integration
I once tried to “forgive and forget” with one of my childhood bullies.
We reconnected years later, both having done a lot of inner work. We had a conversation about our past, and I was stunned to discover he didn’t even remember what he’d done. To me, these were life-defining wounds; to him, they were a blur, just ordinary childhood behavior.
At first, this gave me perspective. It reminded me that sometimes we carry burdens others don’t even know they’ve placed on us. It helped me not take it all quite so personally. But then I took it further.
Instead of respecting the cautious part of me, I overrode it. I decided not only to forgive, but to collaborate with him, thinking that if we worked together, I would somehow prove to myself that I was healed.
What I learned was sobering.
Though people change, certain relational dynamics persist. The old patterns resurfaced. My body knew it before my mind did: tension, anxiety, the sense of being small, unseen, or dismissed. And once again, I was left sitting with the old pain while the other person moved on, unburdened.
It was an important lesson in self-trust. My nervous system hadn’t been asking me to forgive—it had been asking me to protect myself.
Why Forgiveness Can Split the Psyche
When we’ve been harmed, our bodies carry the imprint. As Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body KeWhen we’ve been harmed, our bodies carry the imprint long after the moment has passed. As Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body Keeps the Score:
“Trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.”
Forgiveness, when rushed or demanded before the body has processed and integrated the hurt, is like painting over a crack in the wall while the foundation underneath is still crumbling. It may look tidy on the surface…perhaps even earn us praise for our “maturity” or “spiritual growth” but, the fracture remains, and over time, it spreads.
In trauma healing, this internal fracture often shows up as what Janina Fisher calls fragmented selves:
“Traumatized individuals experience internal conflict between wanting to maintain attachment and needing to be protected from further harm.” (Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors)
There’s a profound wisdom in this split. Part of us may long for connection, belonging, or reconciliation, while another part contracts, braces, or goes numb in the presence of the one who hurt us. This is not evidence of failure, weakness, or resentment, it’s the brilliance of our survival system, doing what it was designed to do: protect life.
When we force forgiveness prematurely, we risk bypassing the parts of ourselves still aching, grieving, or terrified. We essentially silence them in service of an ideal: to be “over it,” to appear evolved, to maintain social harmony, or to reclaim a sense of power. But healing doesn’t come through silencing. It comes through tending.
We cannot think our way out of trauma. We have to feel our way out. So when we override the body’s signals in the name of forgiveness, we may unwittingly deepen the split between our thinking mind and our somatic truth. We tell ourselves, “I’ve forgiven; I’ve moved on,” while the body clenches, startles, or dissociates at the mere thought of seeing that person again.
Anger, grief, even resentment—they are messengers, pointing us toward where our boundaries have been crossed, where repair is needed, where self-protection matters. To rush past them in pursuit of forgiveness can mean abandoning ourselves all over again.
The Nervous System Seeks Safety, Not Moral High Ground
Forgiveness is often framed as a moral or spiritual virtue, but our biology operates on a simpler principle: safety.
As Resmaa Menakem writes in My Grandmother’s Hands:
“Our bodies are where we experience most of our joys, sorrows, hopes, loves, fears, and hatreds. Trauma lives in the body, and the body cries out for healing and release.”
To force ourselves into premature forgiveness can feel like bypassing that cry. It asks the hurt parts of us to stay silent, to smooth things over, to get in line with an idealized self that’s “above it all.”
But healing often looks messier. It might mean staying away from people who harmed us. It might mean setting stronger boundaries, not because we’re vengeful, but because we’re finally listening to the wisdom of our own body.
Forgiveness, Anger, and the Intelligence of Boundaries
Harriet Lerner writes in The Dance of Anger:
“Anger is a signal, and one worth listening to. Our anger may tell us that we are being hurt, that our rights are being violated, that our needs or wants are not being adequately met, or simply that something is not right.”
Anger and caution are not signs of moral failure or emotional immaturity—they are the flickering lanterns of our inner guidance system, illuminating where something in our world feels unsafe, dishonored, or misaligned. They arise to help us notice where our boundaries need tending, where our discernment longs to be sharpened like a blade honed on stone.
Boundaries are not walls we erect out of bitterness; they are bridges we build to the self, pathways back to our own center. They remind us that we are allowed to choose who enters our sacred circle and who remains at a respectful distance.
Forgiveness, if it comes at all, is best allowed to emerge like a seed breaking through soil—not as a duty, not as a performance for others or ourselves, but as the organic unfolding of deep integration. And sometimes, forgiveness is not required for healing. Sometimes healing arrives in the form of walking away, reclaiming the hours of our days, the sovereignty of our nervous systems, the quiet dignity of our lives.
Integration and Discernment Over Forced Forgiveness
The nervous system’s longing for justice is often misunderstood. It is rarely a thirst for revenge or punishment; rather, it is a deep, embodied yearning for right relationship—with others, with ourselves, with the world. It’s a pull toward balance, toward coherence, toward restoring what feels ruptured.
Justice, in this sense, is not about settling scores; it’s about discerning what serves our wholeness. It asks us: Who do we allow into our intimate spaces? Where do we place our trust? How do we honor the wisdom of our own thresholds?
When we ignore these questions, when we override the body’s quiet “no” in the name of politeness, moral superiority, or a premature idea of healing, we risk retraumatization. We invite the old wound to open again, the body bracing once more against harm.
My own experience—trying to collaborate with someone from my past—became a living lesson in this. I learned that healing does not always mean reunion. Sometimes, healing is the ability to recognize that some separations are sacred, that some distances protect the hard-won integration of our psyche and nervous system. Not every wound is meant to become a bridge. Sometimes, the most radical act of love is to honor the space between.
Reflective Invitations
If you’re navigating forgiveness, consider these gentle inquiries:
- What part of me feels ready to forgive, and what part of me still needs protection?
- Can I allow space for both?
- Where in my body do I feel tension when I think about this person or situation?
- What does that tension want me to know?
- What does justice—not revenge—look like for me in this situation?
Further Reading for the Journey
These books have been invaluable companions on my path, offering insight, validation, and depth:
- The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk: A groundbreaking exploration of how trauma reshapes the body and brain, and how healing must happen through both mind and body.
- Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors by Janina Fisher: A compassionate guide to understanding and working with the split-off parts of the self that trauma creates, offering integrative paths toward wholeness.
- My Grandmother’s Hands by Resmaa Menakem: A powerful invitation to heal racialized trauma through the body, blending somatic practices with social justice and ancestral wisdom.
- The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner: A classic, empowering book on transforming anger into a tool for change, especially for women navigating relationships and boundaries.
- Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach: A compassionate exploration of self-forgiveness and self-compassion, with a strong emphasis on mindfulness and presence. Brach’s warmth invites readers to soften around their own pain without forcing resolution.
- Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Glover Tawwab: A practical and deeply validating book on the art of boundary setting—written in a way that blends psychology and everyday life wisdom, offering tools without shame or rigidity.
- The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller: A profound and poetic reflection on grief, community, and the rites of passage we often lack in modern life. Weller frames grief as a doorway to deeper belonging rather than something to be “gotten over.”
- The Places That Scare You by Pema Chödrön: A Buddhist perspective on opening to fear, anger, and the difficult places within ourselves, written with tenderness and humility.
Closing Thoughts
Healing is rarely tidy. It doesn’t follow a single roadmap, and it doesn’t owe anyone—including ourselves—the performance of forgiveness.
If you find yourself unable or unwilling to forgive, know that you are not broken or behind. You are honoring the intelligence of your body, the discernment of your heart, and the nonlinear alchemy of your own becoming.
Inner Alchemy Alcove 
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