To Forgive

The holidays are approaching, and for many of us that means gathering with family and loved ones. Stores, advertisements, and the entire machinery of the season tell us this is a time of joy — of giving, receiving, sharing, and celebrating. And for many people, that is true.

But there is another reality we don’t always acknowledge: for some of us, the holidays also stir up complicated emotions. We may look forward to seeing certain family members while simultaneously dreading old tensions, awkwardness, or unresolved hurts. When people share years — or decades — of history, misunderstandings are inevitable. Expectations go unmet. Disappointments accumulate. Sometimes there is real betrayal. And even when time passes, the pain can remain.

In my family — perhaps like yours — these issues were often swept under the rug. We prided ourselves on being “rational,” strong, and not overly emotional. Yet the cost of avoiding feelings was very real. My father would sometimes erupt in anger over small things, and my mother would respond by leaving — literally driving away — leaving us with a sense of instability and insecurity. I was also the sensitive one, the emotional sibling, the one who couldn’t simply let things go.

For many years, I carried resentment toward my father — his broken promises, his emotional distance, the abandonment I felt both as a child and as an adult. He seemed unaffected, while I carried the weight. One day, during a session with my life coach, I expressed years of frustration. After listening carefully, my coach asked me a simple but powerful question:

“Tomás, how long are you willing to wait for your father to change?”

That question landed deeply. My father was not trapped in anger — I was. He was not replaying the past — I was. He was not going to suddenly become the father I wished for. I had been waiting for his acknowledgment in order to heal, and in doing so, I had given him control over my peace.

That day I realized something essential:

I was the one responsible for giving myself the love and recognition I had been waiting for.

This realization was both painful and liberating. I understood that forgiveness was not for his sake — it was for mine. It was not about excusing his behavior. It was about accepting reality: our parents are human, imperfect, and carrying their own wounds.

One of my mindfulness teachers, Tara Brach, shares a story that illustrates this clearly. Imagine walking through the woods and seeing a dog curled up on the ground. When you approach, the dog snaps at you. Your first thought might be, “Bad dog.” But then you notice its paw caught in a metal trap, bleeding. Suddenly it makes sense — the dog isn’t aggressive, it’s in pain. And when we recognize pain, compassion naturally arises.

As I grew older, I began to see my father not only as “Dad,” but as a man with his own struggles. Long before he abandoned me, he had already abandoned parts of himself — through regret, unhealed wounds, and unresolved childhood pain. Once I saw this, compassion followed. Forgiveness became possible. What I had once experienced as rejection, I came to understand as suffering. His father had abandoned him as well. He was passing forward a wound he never healed.

Seven years ago, when my father was dying of lung cancer, we finally had the conversation I had longed for my entire life. Perhaps it was the closeness of death, or the effects of medication, but something softened in him. His defenses fell away. For the first time, he spoke openly about his life, his regrets, and the choices that shaped him.

I asked him everything I had carried inside for decades. He answered honestly — without excuses or avoidance. He spoke about what he struggled with and what he wished he had done differently. And then he asked for my forgiveness.

I told him, “Dad, I forgave you many years ago. But now I’m grateful to finally understand how life was for you.”

Shortly before he lost consciousness, I asked him one last question:“Dad, how are you?”

He looked at me and said, “I’m at peace.”

And in that moment, I realized that I was too.

Forgiveness does not mean condoning harmful behavior, nor does it mean continuing to expose ourselves to mistreatment. It does not require pretending nothing happened or reopening ourselves to the same pain. Forgiveness is about recognizing who the other person truly is and letting go of the expectation that they must change in order for us to be at peace.

Sometimes forgiveness is accompanied by an honest conversation. Sometimes it requires setting clear boundaries, or even stepping away from a relationship. In some cases, accountability or repair may be necessary if a relationship is to continue. But those steps are optional. The essential act of forgiveness is internal: choosing our own freedom over waiting for someone else to become who we wish they were.

When we forgive, we are not erasing the past.We are releasing the hold it has on our lives.

As this holiday season unfolds, you might ask yourself:

• What am I still carrying that is ready to be set down?

• What hurt am I still waiting for someone else to fix?

• What would it feel like to give myself the gift of peace?

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And here is a powerful question:

What would I have to accept if I chose to forgive?

Often, our resistance to forgiveness is an attempt to maintain control after a painful experience that left us feeling vulnerable and unsafe. Holding on to resentment can become a protective strategy — an unconscious way of saying, “If I stay guarded, I won’t be hurt again.” But what we truly need is not the illusion of control; it is the courage to acknowledge our pain and the vulnerability inherent in being alive.

May this season bring not only celebration, but healing — beginning with your own heart.