“Forgiveness” is one of the most loaded words in personal growth. It’s preached as a moral duty, sold as a shortcut to peace, and weaponized as a test of your character. It often comes wrapped in a quiet threat: forgive, or you’re the problem.

And that framing, especially in religious settings, can turn forgiveness into something coercive, confusing, and unsafe.

For me this topic is real, deep, and emotionally intense. Just yesterday I thought about a situation where I regretted allowing two people to live. Wait, what? Yes, a part of me thought it would have been more skillful to kill two people than do what I did. Anger and regret came for a visit. Without going into detail, one of the people did jail time. The other spent years lying, smearing, doing anything she could to feel better about herself by disparaging me to others. Dark. So what can I do? You do?

This is an article about a cleaner, more truthful approach: release without denial, boundaries without hatred, accountability without obsession. And zero “shoulds.”

Why “Forgiveness” Gets Twisted

 For a lot of people, religious messaging around forgiveness lands like a contradiction:

• You must forgive or you won’t be forgiven.
• If you really forgive, you’ll reconcile.
• If you still feel pain, you haven’t forgiven.
• If you forgive, you give them full access again, refrigerator rights, emotional closeness, a seat at the table.

That isn’t spiritual maturity. That’s relationship amnesia dressed up as virtue.

It also confuses three different things:

1. What happened
2. What it did to you
3. What you owe the person who did it

Those are separate. Blending them is how people get pressured into re-entering unsafe dynamics while calling it “healing.”

A More Honest Definition: Release, Not Approval

 Many people resist forgiveness because, in plain language, it sounds like:

• “What you did was okay.”
• “We’re even.”
• “You don’t owe me anything.”
• “It didn’t matter.”
• “I’m done being affected.”

But some losses remain emotionally raw for years—sometimes forever in certain forms—because they were real. The nervous system remembers. The heart remembers. The body remembers. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means it mattered.

So maybe “forgiveness” is simply the wrong word for what actually helps.

A better word is release:

Release is choosing not to carry the offender and the event in your inner space as a daily tenant. Not because it was fine, but because it’s costly to keep hosting it.

This is where that Monty Python truth lands: there’s a kind of polite social insanity that says, “Let’s not argue about who killed who; it’s a wedding.” In other words: Let’s pretend the real thing didn’t happen so we can keep the vibe.

Release is not that.

Release is saying:

“This happened. It mattered. It hurt. And I am not giving it unlimited real estate inside me.”

The Myth of “Real Forgiveness” as Full Access

 The most damaging version of forgiveness is the one that demands reconciliation as proof.

But access is earned. Trust is earned. Proximity is earned. Emotional intimacy is earned.

If someone harmed you, especially repeatedly, “forgiveness” does not create entitlement to your life.

You can release someone and still say:

• “You don’t get to be close to me.”
• “You don’t get to know my heart.”
• “You don’t get a front-row seat to my healing.”
• “You can’t be in my home.”
• “You don’t get the benefits of relationship without the responsibilities of relationship.”

That’s not bitterness. That’s discernment.

Boundaries Are Not the Opposite of Release

 This is the key distinction that gets lost:

Release is internal.

 What you do with the emotional and spiritual burden.

Boundaries are external.

 What you do with contact, access, consequences, and patterns.

You can release someone and still enforce boundaries that protect you.

You can also set boundaries without release, white-knuckling it, staying flooded, staying hooked, replaying the event endlessly. That’s why both matter, but they are not the same task.

Release is about what you carry.

 Boundaries are about what you allow.

Accountability and Release Can Coexist

 A lot of “forgiveness talk” implies this false choice:

• Either you forgive and drop accountability
• or
• You hold accountability and therefore you’re “unforgiving”

That’s a manipulation.

You can hold someone accountable and still release them and their behavior.

Accountability can sound like:

• “You did this.”
• “It had this impact.”
• “Here are the consequences.”
• “Here is what changes must happen for any future access.”
• “This pattern ends with me.”

Release can sound like:

• “I refuse to let this define my inner world.”
• “I’m done negotiating with reality.”
• “I’m handing the final outcome to God / the universe / a higher power—because I can’t run the court system of the cosmos.”

Accountability is truth with consequences.

 Release is truth without fixation.

When the Wound Is Still Raw Years Later

 Some teachings act like the timeline proves your virtue:

• “If you were really healed, you wouldn’t feel this.”
• “If you were spiritually mature, you’d be over it.”

But some grief doesn’t “resolve.” It integrates. Some harm doesn’t vanish; it becomes part of your story.

What you described is realistic: you can release something for years and still have moments where it’s emotionally raw. That doesn’t invalidate the release. It just means the wound is real, and your body is human.

Release isn’t a one-time decision. It’s often a practice:

• You release it again when it returns.
• You release it when a memory spikes.
• You release it when a milestone reopens the loss.
• You release it when you catch yourself rehearsing the argument.

Not because you “should,” but because you deserve the inner space.

A Practical Framework: “Release to a Higher Power”

 If “forgiveness” feels contaminated by coercion, you can use a cleaner internal ritual:

1. Name the reality. “This happened. It was wrong. It cost me.”
2. Name the impact.  “This is what it did to my heart/body/life.”
3. Name what you will and won’t carry.  “I will not carry this as my identity or my daily fuel.”
4. Hand off the final outcome.  “God/universe/higher power: I release the management of justice, karma, consequences, and ultimate reckoning to you.”
5. Decide boundaries separately.  “Here is the level of access (if any) that is safe and sane.”

That’s not denial. That’s delegation.

You’re not saying, “No big deal.”

 You’re saying, “This is too big for me to carry as my life’s ongoing project.”

Maybe Forgiveness Isn’t the Word, And That’s Fine

 For many, “forgiveness” implies permission, approval, or reunion.

So call it what it is:

• Release
• Letting go
• Unhooking
• Returning it to God
• Closing the loop
• Eviction notice
• Emotional boundary enforcement
• Dropping the rope

Whatever language helps you stay honest.

Because the truth is:

You don’t owe anyone a word that makes you unsafe inside yourself.

The Bottom Line

 Forgiveness, especially when framed as obligation, can become bad advice.

But release is different:

• It doesn’t call evil “okay.”
• It doesn’t require reconciliation.
• It doesn’t demand emotional numbness.
• It doesn’t erase accountability.
• It doesn’t grant refrigerator rights.

It’s simply the decision, repeated as many times as necessary, to stop hosting the offender and the event in your inner world, and to let a higher power handle what you can’t.

Not because you should.

 Because you want your life back.