Forgiveness isn’t about others.
It’s about you.

More specifically, it’s about forgiving yourself.

And no, this isn’t about letting yourself off the hook. It’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s about understanding something deeply personal and profoundly freeing: the person you were when you made that mistake? That person doesn’t exist anymore.

Because the truth is, you’re not the same person you were yesterday. Not even close.

Every decision you make, every mistake you learn from, every time you reflect or grow, you’re becoming someone new. I’d be willing to bet most of us make at least one or two bad choices every single day. Some small, some not so small. But many of us actually do learn from them. We evolve. We grow. And those who grow from their choices are, by definition, no longer the same people who made them.
Now let’s scale that up. Let’s talk about the big stuff. The neck-breaking, heart-wrenching decisions that can alter the trajectory of your life—divorce, giving up a child for adoption, moments that bring long-lasting pain and regret. Some of us carry shame for things we did years, even decades ago. And that shame festers. It becomes a barrier. A punishment we impose on ourselves daily.
I want to talk about someone close to me.

My mom.

I grew up in a tough childhood. It wasn’t crime-ridden or violent, but it was heavy—emotionally, mentally. My dad passed away when I was young. And my mom, who was still a young woman at the time, had to navigate life without him. She made some really hard decisions—choices that, to this day, she’s not proud of.

But here’s the thing: she’s still here. I’m still here.
And I forgive her.

In fact, I don’t even see it as something to forgive.
Because when I look at it, I see a woman who was young, traumatized, and lost her husband. How many of us would be truly equipped to handle something like that? How many would make perfect decisions in the face of such loss? Likely none.

But here’s where it gets complicated—my mom can’t forgive herself.

She lives in regret and shame so deeply that it’s as if she invites others to punish her. Subconsciously, she seeks out disrespect. She absorbs mistreatment. Because somewhere inside, she believes she doesn’t deserve kindness. She doesn’t deserve a good life.

But she does.

Because that young woman from 30 years ago? That’s not her anymore.

And if she could just step outside that memory and see it like a movie—like someone else’s story—she might be able to say, “That wasn’t me. That was a version of me that didn’t know what I know now. That woman was surviving, not thriving.”

If she could extend the same empathy to herself that she would to someone else in that situation, something incredible might happen:

She might forgive.

She might even feel proud of who she is now.

Let’s also talk about something crucial here—the difference between regret and shame.

How often have you heard someone say, “I don’t regret anything”?

It’s common. We say it with pride. But I want to challenge that.

I believe a lot of people who say that are actually confusing shame with regret.

And here’s the thing: shame is dark. It’s damaging. It’s a trap.

But regret? Regret is a tool. Regret is a healthy emotion—it shows awareness, reflection, growth.

I regret plenty in my life. But I’m not ashamed of those things. Does that make sense?

If you feel both regret and shame, there’s work to be done. But if you can look back and feel regret without shame, that’s healing. That’s progress. That’s the sign that you’ve learned, grown, and moved forward.

So here’s the invitation: take the first step today.
Maybe there are things you’ve done in your life—big or small—and you still wallow in them. You still wake up and feel like you don’t deserve that new job, that new relationship, that fresh start.

I’ve been there. I’ve had my share of broken relationships, bad decisions, and ridiculous moments. But I always made it a point to keep moving forward. I tried my best to see everything from a broad perspective, to understand that mistakes are stepping stones.

And once I could regret without shame, I became someone new.

And that new person? That person forgives.

I wouldn’t want to hang out with my past self. Not at all.
But I can forgive him.

And just like I avoid people in life who bring me down, I also choose not to be the man I once was.
Same principle.

You’re not who you used to be.

Forgiveness isn’t weakness. Forgiveness is rebirth.
And when we forgive ourselves—not just in words, but truly—something powerful happens: we start to love ourselves again. And love, real love for oneself, is transformational.
When you forgive yourself, you start being different. You don’t have to say it. People feel it.

Your energy changes. Your confidence builds. Opportunities open.

One day, you’ll look around—at your family, your work, your adventures—and realize:

“This life I’m living now? It all started the day I chose to forgive myself. The day I let the past version of me go, and welcomed the new.”

Until next time.