How do you forgive when the unthinkable has been done, when the damage feels too deep, too unfair, or too personal to move past?
That question isn’t just personal. It shows up in our workplaces, our families, and our leadership every day.
Sometimes the most powerful leadership lessons don’t come from books, mentors, or boardrooms, they come from the people who shaped us long before we ever led a team. For me, that person was my mother.
Her story is marked by both resilience and deep suffering. As a child, she knew moments of joy, but those moments were tangled with verbal and physical abuse, experiences no child should ever carry. What should have been her safest years were scarred by fear and harshness.
As a young woman, she longed for love and stability. At first, she thought she had found it. He seemed kind, even charming. But behind closed doors, the truth unfolded. Her marriage became a prison of emotional wounds and physical violence.
The greatest wound, however, came when he divorced her and, out of spite rather than justice, took full custody of her two sons. Not because she was unfit as a mother, but because he knew it would pierce her heart in the cruelest way. That act shattered her spirit. The grief of losing her boys, and the hatred for the man who orchestrated her suffering, ran so deep it nearly drowned her.
Years later, she would learn from my brothers about the mistreatment and abuse they endured under his care. The grief became unbearable. Anger, hate, and bitterness took root. She felt helpless and trapped in a season of despair.
But then something shifted. My mother made a decision that changed her life: she chose to forgive.
It didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t tidy or easy. Forgiveness, for her, was an act of reclaiming her freedom, the decision to stop letting bitterness dictate her emotional and mental space. She realized that holding onto anger didn’t punish the one who hurt her; it only kept her tethered to the pain.
At the time, I didn’t understand how someone could forgive something so cruel. But years later, as a leader, I did. Because leadership is also full of betrayal, disappointment, and loss, not always on the same scale, but similar in emotional impact. Leaders face broken trust, unfair treatment, and personal attacks. And when we don’t process those wounds, they don’t disappear, they shape how we lead.
Watching my mother forgive didn’t just change how I saw her, it changed how I saw leadership. Forgiveness, I realized, isn’t just a moral act; it’s a deliberate practice of self-aware leadership.
When leaders refuse to let go of resentment, it seeps into every corner of the culture. Meetings become cautious. Creativity shrinks. Trust fades. But when leaders model forgiveness, they make space for reflection, safety, and growth.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It means choosing not to let pain become your identity. It’s separating the person from the behavior, the moment from the relationship.
And it’s not just for work. What we hold onto at home walks with us into our leadership. What happens in our teams often echoes back into our families. The two worlds are more connected than we admit.
Forgiveness isn’t weakness; it’s emotional intelligence in motion, strength guided by clarity, not clouded by resentment.
My mother’s story showed me that forgiveness doesn’t erase what happened; it transforms how we carry it. It turns the weight of yesterday into wisdom for today, not by letting others off the hook, but by freeing us from the leash of resentment. In that space, bitterness gives way to perspective, and peace becomes the quiet strength that leads.
So maybe the question isn’t, “How do I forgive?” Maybe it’s, “What am I still holding that’s holding me back, at work, at home, or within myself?”
Forgiveness is less about letting go of the past and more about loosening its grip on your future.
