Forgiveness Isn’t a Destination. It’s a Journey.
When people ask how long forgiveness takes, I answer with a story that isn’t tidy or neat. Forgiveness isn’t a single act or a final checkpoint. It’s a continual movement, a path that unfolds differently for everyone. My journey began not in a counsel room or a quiet retreat, but on a crowded escalator at Berlin Brandenburg airport.
The Moment on the Escalator
It was a Sunday afternoon, the kind of day that carries a quiet weight in the air. I was headed to the check-in counters for a flight back to Istanbul, where I’ve built a life in recent years. The airport hummed with conversations in multiple languages, with the clatter of luggage wheels and the shimmer of security screens. In the midst of this rhythm, I carried a private verdict: my father didn’t deserve forgiveness. He had left when I was young, and the ache of that absence had traveled with me, shaping choices, fueling cynicism, and coloring every relationship that followed.
An Unexpected Confrontation with Truth
Then, something slipped into my awareness that day: forgiveness isn’t about the other person’s apology or the restoration of what was once lost. It’s a readiness to live with the truth we’ve carried—our own truth, not someone else’s. On that escalator, as strangers moved around me in their own hurry, I realized I was asking the wrong question: instead of asking, “Will he apologize?” I began asking, “Can I carry this burden without letting it define me?”
From Resentment to Responsibility
That shift didn’t erase the past. It transformed how I carried it. I started to separate the past from the present, acknowledging the pain while refusing to let it dictate every future action. It’s a quiet, stubborn practice: choosing small acts of forgiveness over the big, dramatic release we often expect. I learned to acknowledge the hurt while also acknowledging my own responsibility for shaping my life today.
What Forgiveness Actually Feels Like
Forgiveness is not a magical ending; it’s a slower, steadier discipline. It’s the moment you can speak about the pain without being consumed by it. It’s the capacity to set boundaries that protect your well-being while releasing the need to punish the other person indefinitely. It’s the courage to stay open to the possibility that people can change—even if they never change in the way you hoped. And it’s the decision to keep moving forward, even when the road is imperfect and uncertain.
Living the Lesson in Istanbul and Beyond
Since that day, forgiveness has become less about a singular act and more about a consistent practice. In Istanbul, I found that forgiving doesn’t erase the past; it reframes it so I can live more fully in the present. The father who left remains a part of my story, but he is no longer the single lens through which I view my worth or my future. I’ve learned to offer grace to myself as well, recognizing that healing often travels a winding route, with detours and pauses that are necessary for deeper understanding.
A Practical Path Forward
Anyone facing a similar burden can start with small steps: writing a letter you never send, speaking to a therapist or trusted friend, setting boundaries that protect you, or choosing one moment each day to practice compassion—toward the past, toward the other person, and toward yourself. Forgiveness is a journey you walk, not a verdict you deliver. The escalator at Berlin Brandenburg wasn’t the end of my story; it was the beginning of a practice I carry with me as I navigate life, friendships, and family across continents.
Conclusion: Why This Matters
Forgiveness reshapes our inner weather. It doesn’t erase hurt, but it changes how we carry it. The journey from resentment to resilience is personal and ongoing, a daily decision to show up as a person capable of mercy—especially when mercy feels hardest to give. If a Sunday afternoon on an escalator could spark this transformation, imagine what consistent, intentional practice could do for you.
