“What could it feel like to live in a body that can forgive?”
After living in a body of non-forgiveness for so long, I imagined it would feel like… understanding. Like peace. Like a clearer, stronger connection to love—and as a result, I’d finally start to see the changes in my environment that I’d been desperately looking for over the past few months.
But when I tried to embody forgiveness, through breathwork, journaling, it didn’t arrive as softness. It showed up as tightness. Resistance. Protection—so much protection.
Protection of my ego. Protection of the stories I’ve used to hold my ego in place. Protection of my physical body and the emotions and feelings that would arise when prompted to let go.
So, that experiment didn’t work, lol.
But I pushed through and kept trying, because at the end of the day, change asks for effort. Period.
As I pushed through, I started hearing themes like surrender and letting go. And honestly, that didn’t feel right either. It felt pretty fucking egregious—like I was being asked to release something my body still believed it needed for survival.
But slowly—with time, effort, and a growing understanding—something else began to emerge.
Compassion.
And the way I understand compassion is this: self-grace that makes room for failure. Self-grace that acknowledges the journey is hard. Self-grace that loosens the grip of expectations and outcomes, so your mind can finally exhale.
Compassion gave me back my soft voice—the voice I can use to coax myself out of fear.
Not a voice that tries to force forgiveness through clenched teeth, but a voice that offers a soft landing when I trip. A voice that reminds me, when I misspeak, that I still have space and time and opportunity to reframe—right then, or in the moments after.
Compassion gives me time.
Compassion feels like the voice of our mothers—like my mother. It’s the voice I whisper to my 16 month old daughter as she learns how to speak, how to try again, how to be new in the world without shame.
And as I reflect on this past quarter and step into this new year, I’m leaning into the guidance to stay focused on myself—my identity, my becoming. I can feel, more than ever, that this next version of my life will be richer when it’s built on breath and compassion.
A Message For You
Sometimes we reach for forgiveness because we want relief—because we want life to change around us.
But the body doesn’t always let us leap there.
Sometimes the doorway isn’t forgiveness first. Sometimes it’s compassion. Sometimes it’s safety. Sometimes it’s breath.
We don’t heal by abandoning ourselves. We heal by returning. Again and again.
We build the capacity to soften without collapsing. To tell the truth without turning it into a weapon. To change without punishing ourselves into transformation.
If forgiveness feels too far away right now, you’re not doing it wrong.
You may simply be in the earlier, sacred step: learning to meet yourself with a soft voice.
A Practice For You
If any part of this feels familiar, try this—just once, today:
Place a hand on your chest, take one slow inhale, and ask yourself:
“What would compassion sound like in my voice right now?”
Then answer like you would to someone you love.
Not perfectly. Just honestly.
And if you want to, tell me: What are you practicing—compassion, forgiveness, or simply breath?
