COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – The hardest person to forgive

Do you ever lie awake, replaying the smallest moments from your day?

Maybe it was something you said. Or didn’t say. A look. A choice you barely thought about at the time. But now, it loops over and over in your mind like a film stuck on repeat.

The questions come quietly at first, then sharper: What could I have done differently? What if I’d just paused, or listened better, or tried a little harder? Why didn’t I see what they needed from me?

In the daylight, we carry on. But at night—or in those first blurry minutes after waking—that inner voice starts its whispering. Look what you did, it says. That was your fault. You could have done this. You shouldn’t have said that. And on it goes

Here’s the thing: making mistakes is part of being human. We all stumble. We all speak out of turn. We all miss the mark sometimes.

And still, even the tiniest missteps can carry surprising weight. They follow us around like a quiet shadow, reminding us of the things we wish we’d done differently.

You hear a lot about the importance of forgiveness. And when it comes to others, maybe you’re like me—quick to offer grace, ready to move on. You understand that people mess up, and that doesn’t make them bad.

But when the tables turn, and you’re the one needing forgiveness? That’s harder.

Because while the people you think you’ve hurt have probably long forgotten, you still remember. You turn small, passing moments into lifelong trials.

And maybe, like me, you’ve been stuck there—still holding yourself hostage over things that didn’t even matter all that much.

But does it help? Does it change the past?

I used to imagine myself on trial, shackled by guilt, waiting for some internal jury to pass sentence. I held onto those chains like they were deserved. Like I needed to feel bad to prove I cared.

But one day, I started to do something different.

I looked at the evidence. I named the regrets. I saw them not as failures, but as moments. Moments that passed. Moments that taught me something. Moments that made me human.

And then, I did the hardest thing of all.

I extended a pardon. Not just for the big things, but for the little ones, too.

I told the prisoner—me, and maybe you too—that the sentence was over. That we had carried it long enough.

And slowly, link by link, the chains began to fall.

All because I finally chose to forgive myself.

Not for some unforgivable act.

But simply, for being human.