Listen Linda

I have this idea what the raw truth of recovery is. It’s the battle between accountability and self-compassion, the weight of guilt, and the detachment for true healing.

In addiction, chaos reigns. These apologies become currency—despite the attempts made to mend what was shattered. And at first, they feel like salvation. When someone takes them to heart, when they see the sincerity in your eyes, it feels like absolution. Does it not? It’s like physical proof that we are redeemable. That we are not just the mistakes we made in survival mode.

But this redemption isn’t external. It isn’t just found in the acceptance of others. And if you chase forgiveness like a drug—apologizing endlessly, shrinking yourself, feeling unworthy unless they validate you—you lose sight of what recovery is about.

Recovery is about reclaiming yourself. It’s about the moment you realize that not everyone will let go of what we did, and that is their weight to carry. Not ours. It’s the idea that self-forgiveness isn’t permission to forget—it’s permission to move forward without drowning in the shame of it all.

It’s intimate too, this acceptance. It’s the quiet, personal moment when you know you are no longer pleading with others to see the growth—you see it in yourself. And when someone refuses to grow too, refuses to offer grace, we must understand that it is not our burden to bear.

Of course, spiritual healing isn’t linear. It requires some detachment—not indifference, but the ability to set down the burdens that are not ours, to accept loss without letting it pull us back into the past.

Those of us who are in recovery, already know this truth, or will learn it as they progress in their journey, that growth means moving forward, unapologetically, when the apology itself is no longer the cure—when grace, acceptance, and self-worth take its place. And I personally feel that it is healing in its truest form.