I forgive everyone but myself

It’s a strange thing, how easily I can forgive other people yet refuse to do the same for myself. I’ve let go of anger towards those who hurt me. I’ve excused thoughtless actions, brushed off broken promises, and even found reasons to understand the betrayals that once left me shattered. But when it comes to my own mistakes, I hold them like stones in my pockets, carrying their weight everywhere I go.

I remember every moment I messed up, every wrong word, every time I stayed quiet when I should’ve spoken, every choice that led me somewhere I wish I’d never gone. These memories line up in my mind like a row of shadows, each one a reminder of what I did wrong. Other people call their mistakes lessons. I call mine proof… proof that I should have known better, proof that I am not who I hoped to be, proof that the pain I carry is what I deserve.

I’ve done some reading up on the topic of self-forgiveness, about learning to be gentle with yourself. But when I try, it feels unnatural, like speaking a language I never learned. I can understand and comfort a stranger. I can tell a friend they’re worthy no matter what they’ve done. But when I try to offer the same kindness to myself, my hands close on nothing. Maybe it’s because I think forgiving myself means I’ll stop caring about the harm I’ve caused. If I let go of the shame, will I forget the damage? If I stop holding myself accountable, will I repeat my mistakes? A part of me believes my guilt is the only thing keeping me from doing it all over again, even though I know deep down this guilt is more like a locked cage than a guide.

Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like to finally set down this heavy burden. To walk through my own thoughts without tripping over the regrets. To greet myself with the same warmth I give to the people who hurt me. But I’ve lived with this self-blame for so long, it feels a part of who I am, and letting it go feels like losing a piece of myself. I think of the people I’ve forgiven, how letting them go from my anger gave them a chance to grow and move on. I gave them that freedom without hesitation. But I’ve never given myself the same chance. Forgiving others is easy. Forgiving myself feels impossible.

So I forgive everyone but myself, not because I think I’m better, but because I don’t know how to do anything else. Maybe one day, I’ll put down the weight of all my mistakes and see that the world doesn’t crumble when I do. Maybe I’ll learn that forgiveness was never meant to be given to everyone except me.