It seems to be a harsh truth of life: if you navigate the world with an open heart, you’ll likely encounter people who betray you, lie, make fun of you, or harbor secret resentment. This can happen when you inadvertently stand in their way, no matter how good you’ve been to them, regardless of the sacrifices, big or small, you’ve made. Why?

Because we’re human, and the temptation to take advantage of others is a daily battle for many. You might believe you’d never stoop to such behavior, but I suspect if truly pressed by circumstances, most of us might act in ways that surprise ourselves. So, perhaps we shouldn’t be consumed by anger towards those who have wronged us; they might not have acted so differently than we would have in their shoes.

This isn’t about whether you agree with that sentiment—frankly, I haven’t been in any situation where I felt the need to take advantage of someone. I have, however, been on the receiving end a couple of times, though I tend to believe those instances were more unintentional, born of weakness or confusion, rather than deliberately malicious.

Can We Truly Forgive When Wounded?

But how do you forgive? How do you forgive those who harmed you—whether intentionally or not, whether the wound is deep or shallow—those who might have celebrated your potential failures, or seemingly delighted in the thought of life dealing you a bad hand? How can any of us manage that?

If you’re religious, your faith might offer a framework for the idea of forgiveness, but truly achieving it in your heart, making peace with the hurt, is another matter entirely.

Did you Ever Forgive Yourself?

Sometimes we say or do things that hurt people, even if only emotionally, and afterward, forgiving ourselves for causing that hurt can be incredibly difficult. I’m not talking about those who seem to effortlessly brush off their misdeeds, acting as if nothing happened. Those individuals likely haven’t experienced true shame, guilt, or embarrassment to begin with, so they operate on a different plane.

So, perhaps you’re grappling with something from your past—an action you took, words you said, or something that was said or done to you. Maybe it seems small in the grand scheme of things, but it still bothers you, and you don’t know how to make it right or find peace with it. Compounding this internal quest for peace is an external reality:

But Life is Unfair

Think about life’s inherent unfairness, how society can be so quick to judge. Have you ever known someone to whom bad things happened without a just resolution? Or perhaps you’re that person whose many good actions were suddenly forgotten because of one mistake, leaving them facing harsh judgment instead of empathy? When you’ve personally witnessed or experienced that sting of being unfairly isolated or unaccepted, it forces a difficult question: should you then extend forgiveness to others who have wronged you, particularly if you feel you will rarely receive such understanding yourself? What value, or what measure of personal peace, could make that difficult choice worthwhile?

It Starts with You

I believe it is profoundly worth it to forgive and to continue giving to the people and living beings around you. Because forgiving others, in a deep and meaningful way, unlocks the ability to forgive yourself, especially when you need that self-compassion the most. It’s about finding a path to inner freedom, independent of the permission or validation of your wider community or even your immediate circle. Your act of forgiving others can grant you that internal permission to forgive yourself. Some people seem more naturally able to forgive, others more able to receive forgiveness. Some embody both. But regardless, extending one often helps cultivate the other within us.

A Personal Story: Trust, Business, and a Different Kind of “Win”

I remember an investment I made in an overseas business. I wasn’t involved in management; I simply co-owned it. It was a cozy, fast-casual Mediterranean restaurant, much like a CAVA here in the States. The idea was initially mine. I had a friend who was struggling a bit, so I called him and asked if he’d be interested in running his own place. His “yes” was immediate and emphatic.

So, we embarked on this venture. We were unsure about the first steps or even the best location, but we chose a country where setting up a business was relatively straightforward and wouldn’t create visa hassles for my friend. Before he relocated, I flew him to where I was at the time—Ankara, Turkey, during the summer. We spent two weeks planning, then flew together to Tbilisi, Georgia. I helped him get settled for the first few days, then headed out. It took a couple of months to get the restaurant off the ground, and it turned out to be a good little spot. I didn’t visit or meddle; I kept in touch primarily as a friend, so it wasn’t a typical, formal business relationship.

Anyway, the business was doing okay, my friend was settled, and about a year passed. I decided to visit, partly to see the restaurant and partly because I missed Tbilisi. I arrived, saw the restaurant for the first time—bustling with customers, which was great to witness. The food was delicious; I tried almost everything. The next day, my friend approached me, looking serious. “I want to share something with you,” he said. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He told me, “Nobody here knows you own any part of this restaurant.” I paused. “Okay,” I replied, “but why did you hide it? Was there something specific that made you uncomfortable?” He just said, “I don’t know, I just didn’t.”

My response was calm. “Look, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I would feel better if I received some credit.” My friend did, in fact, share the news with his staff. I wasn’t angry with him, nor did I feel any need to ‘forgive’ him for anything, because, honestly, I was at peace with it. I managed, somehow, to put myself in his shoes. For him, being seen as the sole owner of the place perhaps gave him a sense of peace, made him feel complete and whole.

I didn’t feel like he had robbed me of anything. I didn’t feel diminished or disrespected. You might call this naïve, and I understand that. If you want to judge further, know that nothing about our agreement was on paper; it was all based on a handshake, on a deep trust forged with someone I relied on implicitly. When I say “relied on,” I mean it—he was my lifeline when we used to go spearfishing, my buddy who watched my back if something went wrong on a dive, and I was his. Things did go wrong on those trips sometimes… but that’s a story for another day.

So, don’t forget: you own this permission; it is yours. Either govern it yourself, or you are letting others govern it for you.

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