Forgiveness Wasn’t The Fix

Tears release pressure. Change releases patterns. If today asks for both, start with the one that steadies your hands, then move the chair back to where it belongs.

I’ve poured everything into this. Healing Thoughts II: 33 Poems and Meditations for Emotional Renewal is up for order now. These pages carry the deepest, sharpest work I’ve done, and I can’t wait for them to be in your hands.

I told the story soft
so I wouldn’t have to change it.

Said I was tired, said the week was heavy,
left out the part where I lied to myself.

The dishes stayed in the sink.
So did the apology.
So did the pattern.

I kept calling it grace
when it was just avoidance
wearing church clothes.

Tonight I put the plate in the rack,
texted the person I hurt,
and stopped auditioning for innocence.

Turns out the door I wanted
had a lock from my side.

“I looked for grace and found accountability instead.”

I grew up thinking grace meant a reset that arrived on its own. No effort required. Just wait it out and the slate clears. Life corrected me. The slate keeps a ledger until you write back. When I finally paid attention to my nervous system, I noticed how my body tried to bargain for relief without change. Shallow breath. Tight jaw. That foggy distance I used to call calm. I wasn’t at peace. I was dissociating from the bill.

There’s a difference between self-compassion and self-pardon. Self-compassion steadies us so we can act. Self-pardon erases the witness and leaves the mess for tomorrow. Accountability sounds harsh until you live with it long enough to feel the relief. Boundaries start to hold. The room feels honest. Your chest stops carrying unpaid interest.

I used to confuse apology with repair. You probably know that move. We say sorry and hope the air clears. The body knows better. Regulation needs repeated evidence, not promises. When I show up the same way twice, my system believes me. When I return after a rupture and listen without defending, trust starts to grow again. It isn’t dramatic. It’s boring in the best way. Predictable tone. Consistent actions. Less adrenaline. More breath.

Here’s what accountability has looked like in my house. I name the behavior without poetry. I name the impact without turning myself into a villain or a victim. I ask what would repair the tear, and I accept limits I don’t like. Then I follow through when no one is clapping. That part matters. The quiet repetitions rebuild the floor faster than any speech about growth.

If you’re reading this and your chest is tight, try this with me. Two slow breaths. Shoulders down. Notice the impulse to justify. Let it pass like a truck on the highway. Ask your body what would make today feel honest. Not heroic. Honest. Start there. Grace arrives when you’ve made enough room for it.

When you remove every excuse, what action would restore your self-respect by nightfall?

If you’re peeling back wounds like this one,
my 365-Day Shadow Work Journals were made for moments like these.
They speak the same language you do. Truth before comfort.
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☕ This newsletter runs on coffee and confession.
🖤 Shadow Thoughts carries the pieces too jagged for here.

If this hit a nerve, you’re not alone. Healing Thoughts is where I say the quiet parts loudly. If you’re not subscribed yet, now’s the time. It’s only getting rawer from here.

“People can cry much easier than they can change.” — James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son (1955)