Releasing the weight of apology and making peace without permission.
I once wrote a letter I never intended to send. It was addressed to someone I hadn’t spoken to in years—a friend whose silence had grown roots in my life long after the fallout. We both had our share in the breaking. Words that hurt. Words withheld. But over time, it wasn’t the argument that haunted me—it was the unfinished echo of it.
One evening, I sat by my desk and began writing—not for them, but for me. I poured out the confusion, the hurt, the longing to be understood. I said sorry. I forgave. I admitted my part. I acknowledged theirs. And when the letter was done, I folded it neatly and placed it in a drawer.
It never left that drawer. But something in me did.
So often, we are taught that forgiveness is a two-way street. That healing requires an apology. That peace must be mutual. But life isn’t always so symmetrical. Sometimes the other person never says sorry. Sometimes they’ve moved on. Sometimes, they’re no longer here.
And yet, the wound stays.
But here’s the quiet truth I’ve come to learn: forgiveness doesn’t need an audience. It doesn’t require a reply. It is not dependent on whether they understand or admit what happened.
Forgiveness, in its truest form, is a one-way release. A soft letting go. It’s choosing not to carry the story of pain in every step forward. It’s unclenching your fists from a rope that only burns the longer you hold on.
It’s not forgetting. It’s not pretending it didn’t matter.
It’s just no longer allowing it to define who you are.
When we wait for the other to respond, we tie our freedom to their choices. But when we forgive in silence, in solitude, we reclaim something sacred—our own peace.
So, if there’s someone you still speak to in your head…
If there’s an apology you may never receive…
If there’s a version of yourself you are still angry with…
Write the letter. Say the words. And if nothing comes back, let that be okay. If that letter sits in your drawer, let that be okay too.
Because sometimes, healing begins not when the door is reopened, but when we stop standing outside it.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.