Forgiveness Is An Inside Job

My mom is 83 years old and I love her deeply, but there are moments when my patience wears thin, especially when I’ve repeated myself 10 times because she refuses to wear a hearing aid out of vanity.

Not long ago, we had a misunderstanding over her medication. She’s still sharp, but of course she forgets things at times and when I question her, she gets defensive. When I saw she hadn’t been taking a certain medication, frustration and anger replaced patience. She insisted she didn’t need it anymore; I accused her of ignoring the doctor’s orders and putting her health at risk. We went back and forth, until I realized that she was crying.

My immigrant, hard-working mom had made a million sacrifices for us; seeing her cry broke something within me. My frustration immediately disappeared and I hugged her.

Tears gave way to words. She told me she was upset because she feels useless, because her body isn’t doing what it used to, her words hitting my heart like torpedoes and reminding me that she is wrestling with things I can’t always see. In that moment, I knew my reaction had only added to her pain.

I messaged her doctor, who confirmed the medication had been removed. The shame I felt was so intense it made my stomach turn. I apologized. “Forgive me, mom. You’re right, they removed it. I’m so sorry.” And her response was exactly what I knew it would be. She said, “No, it’s OK, I know you’re always looking out for me, thank God.” She meant it, too.

We talked a while longer, and the more she shared, the better she felt. Half an hour later she was laughing and reminding me I’d promised to take her to the casino.

I was relieved she felt better, but I felt deeply unsettled. For days I felt a deep sense of shame; we had been raised to respect our parents, to never raise our voices at them. I continued to apologize to her, only to realize that no amount of mercy on her part would make me feel better. Forgiveness was my responsibility.

Mercy vs. Forgiveness

Mercy and forgiveness might belong to the same family, but they are not the same thing. Mercy is what you offer to someone when you can see they feel terrible for what happened. It’s the moment you decide, “I’m not throwing more fuel on this fire,” because some part of you knows causing more damage wouldn’t be good for either of you, regardless of how angry you feel in the moment.

Forgiveness, however, is the internal work required of us after mercy gives us breathing room, and this is where things tend to get complicated.

When someone offers us mercy instead of hitting back at us, we lose our chance to escape whatever discomfort we feel for what we did. When kindness replaces conflict, emotions like shame and/or guilt await us. In those few days after my interaction with my mom, I paid attention to all the ways in which I tried to reason my way out of shame. It was out of love. It’s because I worry about her. Someone needs to be on top of it. I tried every which way to justify my behavior so that the shame would disappear, only it never did. The more I tried to force it away, the stronger it became.

This situation wasn’t unique to my relationship with my mom. Many people have come to therapy looking to find internal peace after years of engaging in family or relational conflict, only to realize that forgiveness is a process that takes time. Unfortunately, they also learn that said process is often complicated by what they learned from the adults and environments that shaped them.

The Roots of Avoidance

If you grew up with siblings, chances are conflict was a regular occurrence. It’s possible you were taught to “say sorry,” but perhaps not given the chance or guidance to think about where you went wrong and why it wasn’t OK. The goal may have been to end the conflict quickly and get back to peace, because your parent or caregivers were stressed out and just wanted some quiet. It’s not a crime to want a moment of peace in the home, but with no chance to understand the consequences of your actions, a lesson on accountability may have been lost on you.

And when your own parents and the adults in your lives fail to take accountability for their own actions, when they refuse to say “I am sorry” for something they did or said, this may have been what you then learned to do as well. How could you not? We don’t always learn what is taught to us in a single moment, e.g., “Say sorry,” we learn what is modeled over time: avoid, distract, justify, protect yourself from shame and guilt at all costs.

Over time, the lesson on accountability drifts even further away, taking with it any chance at learning how to forgive the humanity not just in others, but also in yourself.

Choosing Discomfort

At some point, I realized I had to stop telling myself stories about what happened and let the shame sit exactly where it landed. It was wildly uncomfortable, but I stayed with it and owned my behavior. What that gave me wasn’t punishment, but perspective. Shame forced me to see myself clearly and to accept my own vulnerabilities: my fear, my impatience, all the spaces within myself where clearly I still needed to grow.

And that’s what finally brought me peace. Letting shame do its work didn’t trap me there; it gave me the clarity I needed to forgive myself, and to change how I show up with others. But none of this may have been possible had my mom not chosen to show me mercy.

Conclusion

Mercy may open the door, but forgiveness is what happens when you choose to walk through it and let the moment actually change you. It’s not about letting yourself off the hook; it’s about whether you’re willing to be uncomfortable long enough to learn something about yourself, long enough to see clearly where you missed the mark so that you can evolve and grow.