When Forgiveness Finally Lands

Healing, I’ve learned, doesn’t happen all at once. It takes a year, give or take. At least it did for me.

The first three months were loud and painful. Weekly therapy. Sitting in sessions where I learned how to let go, how to cry properly, how to hurt without running from it. I had to get it—to truly understand the unhealed patterns of the avoidant people in my life: an ex, family members, echoes of the same dynamic repeated again and again. Anxious meets avoidant. Love meets distance. Longing meets silence.

After that came the quieter months. Less dramatic, but no less important. Processing the damage. Living with the understanding. Writing about it. Letting the lessons settle into my body instead of just my mind.

And then, two days ago, something unexpected happened.

I sobbed—properly, horrifically—on the phone to a friend who has also suffered brutally at the hands of the anxious–avoidant nightmare. We talked for hours. We named everything. We agreed, gently and without drama, that I had done the work. That I understood it now.

Something shifted.

Later that day, I sent a message to an avoidant friend who means the world to me. Nothing heavy. Nothing demanding. Just a polite nudge: “You might find attachment styles interesting.” It felt right. And it was received with curiosity.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe.

The anxious person hurts violently. They feel everything intensely, relentlessly. And because of that pain, they are often the ones who end up in therapy, desperate to understand what went wrong and how to make it stop.

The avoidant person avoids like the plague. They shut down, deflect, rationalise, move on. But that doesn’t mean they’re less wounded. In many ways, they are just as damaged as the anxious partner was—only in the opposite direction.

And no, it’s not always their fault.

Some people are pathological. Some are narcissistic. There can be similarities, especially with covert patterns (perhaps my ex fit that description—at this point, who cares). But I honestly believe most avoidant people are not villains. They are not heartless. They are unhealed.

You understand this because you were unhealed too.

Yes, your love was real. Your heart was pure. You showed up with everything you had. And yes, the pain nearly broke you. Nearly KILLED you. But after a lot of tears, suffering, and brutal self-honesty, something extraordinary happens.

Forgiveness arrives—not as a concept, but as a felt experience.

You realise they need to make the mistakes they’re making. They need to be with people who aren’t right for them. They need to repeat patterns until something finally cracks and leads them, maybe, to therapy. But whether they ever get there or not no longer matters.

You think of them with love. Not the kind of love that wants them back. Not the kind that hopes or waits. But the quiet love that says, “I get it now.”

I’ve healed. You’re still stuck in avoidance. You’re as unhealed as I once was. And that’s okay.

There’s no bitterness in this place. No scorekeeping. Just peace.

It’s powerful. And it’s freeing.

The pain that once lived in your chest, mind, and heart, simply dissolves. You can think of your ex fondly without your heart lurching into your throat. You don’t need closure from them anymore—you’ve given it to yourself.

You let go.

You are truly free.

I never imagined I’d get here. But it’s real. If you do the work—if you feel the feelings, understand what happened, and stop abandoning yourself—something almost magical occurs. You like yourself. You respect yourself. And you carry no bad feelings about the past.

Only gratitude for the truth it taught you.

So: happy Christmas. Peace on earth. Goodwill to all.

I’m off to decorate the church windows for the carol service.

The good, in truth, is the only thing that ever mattered.

That—and healing.

Happy Christmas.

TR