My Journey from Bitterness to Healing (And How You Can Start Yours)

I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to stop being bitter. I wish it worked like that. Bitterness felt like armor—heavy, but familiar. If I held on to it, I wouldn’t be hurt again. That was the lie. The truth was quieter: the weight I clung to was the thing keeping me from breathing.

The Turning Point

The turning point wasn’t dramatic. It was a Tuesday evening, dishes still on the counter, a knot in my chest I’d carried for months. I prayed words I didn’t feel yet: Lord, I don’t know how to let this go. But I want to want to. Nothing magical happened. But something honest did. I stopped pretending I was fine and brought the real wound into the light of God’s presence.

In Alive Again, I talk about naming what was taken. Not in vague terms—time, trust, safety, dignity, a future I thought I had. I wrote some of those words down with a shaking hand. Naming didn’t make the pain worse; it made it true. And when something is true, you can finally bring it to Jesus as it is, not as you wish it were.

When Forgiveness Feels Slow

I wish I could tell you that the moment I prayed, the anger evaporated. It didn’t. What changed first was the story in my head. I began to notice the loops—how I replayed what happened and rewrote the ending where I finally said the perfect line, or they finally admitted everything. The loops felt powerful, but they were keeping me stuck in the same scene. So, one small act at a time, I started handing the scene back to God. Sometimes out loud in the car where no one could hear me: Lord, You see it all. I’m placing this debt in Your hands again. I said “again” a lot.

Bitterness tries to tell you that releasing the debt means the wrong didn’t matter. Forgiveness tells you the opposite: it mattered so much that Jesus carried it. When I began to believe that, my prayers shifted. I still asked God to heal what was broken in me, but I also whispered what felt impossible: Bless them, Lord. Do what only You can do in their life. The first time, it tasted like gravel. A month later, it tasted like freedom.

If you’ve ever wondered whether forgiveness means pretending or staying, hear me: it doesn’t. There were boundaries I needed to set—conversations that moved from private to public, expectations that became clear and written, meetings that required a third person in the room, and some that didn’t happen at all. Boundaries weren’t a lack of love; they were a way of telling the truth about what safety required. And sometimes, the most faithful thing I could do was step back and let time and reality do their work while I kept my heart before God.

There were relapses. Something would poke the bruise and all the old heat would flare. I used to think that meant I hadn’t forgiven. Now I see it differently. Feelings are weather; forgiveness is direction. On flare-up days, I returned to the same path: tell the truth, hand over the debt, bless through clenched teeth, and go to sleep under the promise that God is just and near.

Along the way, Scripture held me steady. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). I read that on a morning when I felt more crushed than saved. The nearness was the gift. God did not stand far off, arms crossed, waiting for me to get over it. He came close and carried me while I learned how to put the bitterness down.

What surprised me most wasn’t a single breakthrough but a slow thaw. I noticed it when I could pass a certain street without rehearsing an argument. I noticed it when I stopped composing texts I’d never send. I noticed it when joy began to take up more room than the ache. None of that erased what happened. It just meant my heart no longer lived under it.

An Invitation to Healing

If you’re reading this with your own knot in your chest, here’s what I want you to hear: healing does not mean you’re pretending. It means you’re allowing God to hold what you can’t fix. Forgiveness does not mean you’ll reconcile. Sometimes reconciliation is wise and beautiful. Other times it isn’t safe, or honest, or possible right now. You can forgive and still keep the chain on the door. You can pray blessing and still ask for accountability. You can love your enemy best by refusing to let evil keep writing the story.

Maybe tonight is your Tuesday evening—your messy counter and honest prayer. You don’t have to feel ready. You can want to want to. Start there. Write down what was taken. Speak it to the Lord who knows. Place the ledger in His hands and ask Him to teach your heart a new way to beat. If tomorrow the ache returns, repeat yourself. Heaven isn’t bored by your repetition. It’s training your soul for freedom.

If a day comes when reconciliation becomes wise—truth told, safety honored, change that lasts—God will make the way plain. And if that day doesn’t come, He will still be near. The point is not to force a happy ending. The point is to walk with the One who redeems what we cannot.

I’m not bitter anymore. I still have days when the wind kicks up, but I know where to face. Not toward the past, trying to rewrite it. Not toward the person, trying to control them. Toward Jesus—who forgave me first, holds me fast, and is teaching my heart to live free.

If you want structure and company for this road, Alive Again: Find Healing in Forgiveness will walk with you—naming the wound, releasing the debt, holding wise boundaries, and practicing freedom with God’s help. You don’t have to do this alone.