How I Forgave Myself for Not Forgiving Myself

There’s something I did in anger 23 years ago that I wish I could undo. No, I didn’t hurt anyone physically — but I did hurt someone emotionally. And that someone was my mother, during the last weeks of her battle with cancer.

I said something harsh, cutting, and too final. I can still remember the exact words I used, and I still recall the pain and sadness in her eyes. I carried that moment for years like a stone in my chest. Even though she never brought it up again, I thought about it almost daily in my own heart. I played the role of judge, jury, and jailer—locking myself in a prison of guilt and shame I believed I deserved.

What I didn’t know then is something I hope you hear now:

You don’t have to wait 23 years to forgive yourself.

A Wandering Boy

One night, I came across a refrain from an old poem and hymn by Robert Lowry called “Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight?” It felt as if the words were written just for me.

“Go for my wand’ring boy tonight;

Go search for him where you will;

But bring him to me with all his blight,

and tell him I love him still.”

At first, I heard those words in my mother’s voice—imagining her, with her kindness and love, still forgiving me despite my failure. That alone brought tears to my eyes. But as I lingered on the words a bit longer, something deeper took hold.

It wasn’t just my mother speaking; it was my Heavenly Father.

God was saying the same thing: "Even with your blight—even with your regret and your guilt—bring it all to Me. I love you still.”

And in that moment, I realized I wasn’t just the grieving son. I was the wandering boy—one drifting far from God’s grace, still caught up in self-condemnation.

What joy I felt, realizing that both my mother and my Heavenly Father were calling me home with their love and forgiveness. I’m so grateful that no matter how many days I stray away, God, full of mercy, will never stop calling me home.

The Lie of Guilt

The enemy wants us to wear guilt like a chain. He whispers that we’re unworthy of love, unworthy of healing, unworthy of another chance. And if we believe him, we end up stuck—not because God hasn’t forgiven us, but because we haven’t forgiven ourselves.

Here’s something I had to learn the long way around:

Sometimes the hardest person to forgive is ourselves. The enemy uses guilt to weigh us down and keep us from the freedom God offers. I believed for years that my failures disqualified me from peace or joy. But that was never God’s voice. He doesn’t define me by my worst moment—He defines me by Jesus’ finished work. And in His eyes, I am covered in the same righteousness as His Son.

I allowed shame to shape my inner dialogue for too long. I confused guilt with humility. I believed feeling awful was somehow honorable. But it wasn’t. It was just bondage.

And it was closing my eyes to the truth of 2 Corinthians 5:17:

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”

That younger version of me—the one who lashed out in weakness and grief—was doing the best he could with the limited wisdom and maturity he had. That version of me is no longer who I am today. I have changed, grown, softened, and matured. But more importantly, I’ve come to understand who I am in Christ.

Author Lynn Eldridge put it this way:

“When we forgive ourselves, we learn to see ourselves as God sees us, instead of how the accuser sees us. We begin to see that we have access to transformation, and because of the work Jesus did, we can partner with Him in transforming our lives.”

That’s what it ultimately boils down to: which voice are we listening to—the accuser or the Redeemer?

Forgiveness Opens the Door to Growth

Looking back, I see the Lord’s patient hand guiding my life. I grew the most during seasons I would have gladly avoided. The valleys taught me lessons the mountaintops never could. They made me desperate for God—stripping away self-sufficiency and opening the door to intimacy.

Honestly, I wouldn’t want to go through some of those dark seasons again, but I also wouldn’t trade the fruit they produced. And here's what amazes me: even in those years when I was tied up by regret, God never gave up on me.

That’s why Philippians 1:6 means so much to me now:

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

He started a work in me. And He’s still at it. Every step, every stumble, every prayer, every tear—it’s all part of the story He’s writing.

If You're Carrying Something Too…

I don’t know what heavy burden you're carrying or what you're regretting. Maybe it was a conversation that went wrong. A door you didn’t open. A relationship you ended. A promise you didn’t keep. Whatever it is, don’t wait years—or decades—to believe this:

God has already forgiven you. Now it’s time to forgive yourself.

Because here’s the truth: when we refuse to forgive ourselves, we’re saying, “The cross wasn’t enough for this one.” But the cross was enough. It is enough. Every single sin, every ugly moment, every heartbreaking mistake—nailed to the tree and covered in full.

A Prayer for the Wandering Ones

Jesus, You know how often we carry what You’ve already forgiven. You see the memories that still haunt us—the words we wish we could take back, the moments we’d undo if we could. But as the Apostle Paul said in the book of Romans,  

 

“There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1)

…and we choose to believe him.

Thank You that, in You, we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17)—not patched up or slightly better, but made new. Help us live from that truth and see ourselves through Your mercy, not our mistakes. And when we forget, gently remind us again: we are Yours.

In Your name we pray,

Amen.