Pause & Breathe | JBE Mindful Pathways
Journal Entry: “Self-Forgiveness: Learning to Breathe Again”

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Dear Me,

I keep replaying the mistakes in my head like a broken record I can’t shut off. Every word I wish I could pull back. Every step I should’ve taken differently. It piles up until it feels like I can’t breathe. And what kills me is how quick I am to let other people off the hook—while I keep dragging myself back into the fire. I tell myself I’ve moved on, but the truth is, I’m still dragging the chains.

Nobody told me that forgiving yourself feels like tearing yourself apart just to put the pieces back together crooked. It’s not some gentle, pretty thing—it’s ugly. It’s me rocking the kid inside who’s still crying for comfort no one ever gave. It’s me standing in front of the mirror whispering, “You didn’t know then. You know now.” And trying—God, trying—to believe it before the guilt swallows me whole.

Forgiveness doesn’t stick. It slips through my fingers. Some mornings I wake up lighter, like maybe I’ve loosened the grip, and then by nightfall I’m back in my head on trial again—judge, jury, and executioner.

And still—I sit with myself. I hold my own trembling hands and whisper, “I’m not leaving you.” Even when the voice inside sneers, liar.

And forgiving others? That’s a whole other wound. They didn’t deserve it. Most days, I don’t even want to say their names. But I’ve been dragging their shadows on top of mine for so long, I don’t know where their weight ends and mine begins. Their words, their choices, their silences—I’ve carried them until my back bent.

Letting go was never for them. It was for me. Because if I don’t drop what they left behind, I’ll bleed out carrying debris that doesn’t belong to me.

I used to think forgiveness meant pretending nothing happened. Erasing. Covering up. But it’s not. It’s staring myself in the eye, scars and all, and saying: “You’re still here. You’re still worth it. Even now.”

Some nights, though… some nights I still lie awake replaying it all. The words I regret. The silences that haunt me. The people I couldn’t save. And I wonder if I’ll ever be free—or if I’m just patching up holes in a ship that’s still sinking.

But shame has never kept me alive. Punishment has never steadied me. What’s kept me here are the smallest scraps of compassion. Whispering to myself: one more day. just one more day.

Self-forgiveness isn’t soft. It’s violent. It’s brutal. It’s standing in the wreckage of everything I broke and deciding to build anyway. It’s refusing to stay chained to the ghost of who I used to be.

It’s cupping my own face in my hands and saying: “I see you. I know you’re tired. I know you’ve messed up. But I’m not leaving you.”

Because forgiveness isn’t a gift to the past. It’s a chance at a future.

Softly,
Jujubee Divine Empress

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✨ Journal Reflection
– What parts of you are still waiting for your own forgiveness?
– What storm in your life are you ready to release—not because it deserved it, but because you do?