How Forgiving Myself First Became My Biggest Lesson in Forgiveness

Three and a half years. That’s how long I didn’t talk to my sister.

My baby sister. My protégé. Ten years younger — and [what feels like] 50% me.

I won’t go into all the reasons I stopped talking to her in the first place — that’s a whole other story. But the reason I stayed disconnected? That’s something I’ve only recently been able to see clearly.

The truth is: I was struggling with my mental health.

When you’re in it, you can’t always see it. But the people closest to you can. And they did.

Were they perfect in how they handled it? No. They’re not mental health professionals. But did they try? Did they care? Yes. They did.

We all have different family dynamics. Some of us might even call our families “dysfunctional.” I know I’ve felt that way about mine. But underneath it all, we do care about each other.

And still — when my mom says, “We just care so much about you,” I can get triggered.

I hear: You’re broken. I hear: You need fixing. I hear: We’re trying to control you.

But you know what? That’s a me problem.

That’s my reaction. And I’ll admit it — I’ve reacted before. Not always with grace. Not always with clarity.

But I’ve also grown. And I’ve learned something important:

I can’t control what others do or say — But I can choose how I respond.

And being human means sometimes I’ll get it wrong.

What I really needed, more than anything, was time.

Time to settle. Time to find perspective. Time to step outside myself enough to see myself.

Because the truth is, we’re the only ones who can’t see ourselves clearly — we’re too close. We’re living behind the lens.

But when the dust finally settled… and I forgave myself first… I was able to forgive her.

Not for what she “did” to me. But for what I did to her.

And now, we’re talking again. We laughed. We cried. It felt so natural.

It wasn’t nearly as hard as I had made it out to be. I just had to stop defending. And start listening — To everyone. Including myself.