Forgiveness: Love or Betrayal?

Article written by Dr Patrick Habamenshi

Forgiveness is often described as an act of love, but the way it is imposed upon us is profoundly misdirected. Society teaches us that forgiveness is a moral prerequisite for healing, a gift we must grant to those who harm us—regardless of the nature of the harm, its repetition, or our own feelings about it. I vehemently disagree. How can a path to healing demand that we absolve those who hurt us without considering where we are in our journey to make sense of what was done to us? How can a process that negates our own perspective ever lead to meaningful healing?

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When forgiveness is handed to the person who hurt us, it feels like being robbed twice—first of our safety, then of our right to hold them accountable. It’s as if we’re not only the victims but are also expected to reward our perpetrators for their actions.

Forgiveness is too often presented as a command: You must forgive so you can heal. It’s rarely offered as an option among other possibilities, and no one explains how—or why. The only justification we often hear is rooted in religious teachings. But doesn’t this approach encourage harmful behavior by guaranteeing offenders an automatic pardon?

Forced forgiveness feels hollow and dismissive; instead of alleviating my emotional burden, it adds to it. It’s like being robbed and then inviting the thief back to take anything they might have missed.

If we demand justice when someone steals our material possessions, why should we pardon those who rob us of our love, trust, and confidence? And why is forgiveness a one-sided equation? Why don’t we pressure perpetrators to atone and seek forgiveness? Why is all the weight placed on the victim to forgive, while the offender bears no responsibility?

The Cycle of Misguided Forgiveness

Despite my doubts, I used to forgive automatically, diligently, unquestioningly and without expecting anything in return except my peace of mind. But time and time again, those I had forgiven hurt me again. Even after removing them from my life, they found ways to reach me through persons I was in close proximity with and cause further harm.

Today, when someone I respected or even cared for betrays me, I can no longer fall into the trap of offering them forgiveness without any contrition on their part. That person had already received my trust and esteem before their betrayal; I now refuse to reward their wrongdoing by giving them, on top of it all, an undeserved path to redemption.

When my life collapsed under the weight of my unresolved traumas—most of which were caused by abuse—I had to face a painful truth: something in my way of being kept drawing me back into the same toxic situations. It wasn’t forgiveness itself that caused these abuses, of course, but it was what allowed them to take root. Instead of pushing me to confront my abusers, forgiveness became a subtle way of transferring their crimes onto my own conscience. Rather than acknowledging these individuals as toxic, I forced myself to see them as “children of God” who “didn’t know what they were doing” and who, therefore, deserved my forgiveness rather than my condemnation.

In doing so, I condemned myself instead—without even realizing it. I became the enabler of my own suffering, offering tacit permission for others to stomp all over me. My supposed reward was a sense of moral fortitude—a misguided virtue that bypassed the pain of abuse entirely. In the rush to forgive, the wound itself was ignored, left to fester into unresolved trauma. Hidden beneath the facade of forgiveness and the aura of virtue it projected, my unacknowledged pain grew deeper and more damaging—until I reached my breaking point. Instead of liberating me, the relentless urgency of forgiveness became another prison—crippling me as I struggled to make sense of the most devastating events of my life.

The Added Burden of Societal Deafness

What frustrates me the most in discussions about forgiveness, especially with those who blindly accept, advocate, and promote it, is the argument that refusing to forgive is a sign of hatred we harbor within ourselves — implying that this refusal intentionally nurtures hatred. But I see things differently. If I forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it, I risk ending up hating myself for offering forgiveness to someone who, in my eyes, wasn’t worthy of it — at least not from me. In this sense, forgiveness isn’t an act of healing — it’s a new wound. If society wants to grant forgiveness, it is free to do so, but it should never do so at the expense of the victim.

If forgiveness is supposed to be the key to a peaceful life, why does it so often leave us feeling uneasy once granted? And what happens when the person who hurt us refuses to acknowledge their wrongdoing or make amends, instead choosing to repeat their actions? Are their new offenses automatically excused by the initial forgiveness, or are we expected to endure the painful effort of forced forgiveness once again? How can our healing depend on individuals whose actions are entirely beyond our control? This demand for forgiveness, imposed by religious doctrines and social norms too taboo to question, seems to cause far more harm than good in my view.

Even as I move further in my journey of healing, my stance on forgiveness has not changed. On the contrary, I have more clarity now than ever before, as my judgment is no longer clouded by trauma or anger.

I surprised my friends when I told them I had canceled all forgiveness I’d previously given. That dramatic announcement wasn’t entirely true—I wanted people to consider the possibility of reversing a pardon not deserved. Some forgivenesses were genuine, and I have moved on. But for others—those whose maliciousness and dedication to destroying me were unparalleled, whose damage I may never fully recover from—I regret ever forgiving them. For these individuals, I rescinded all forgiveness and will likely never consider forgiving them again.

Healing is mandatory. Forgiving is not. They are two separate and unrelated journeys. Forcing them together does more harm than good.

“If society wants to grant forgiveness, it is free to do so, but it should never do so at the expense of the victim”.

Forgiveness for the Self

When I began my healing journey, my anger was directed outward—at others. But gradually, it turned inward. I had never been so furious with myself. Disappointed, yes, but this level of rage was new. It felt as if, for the first time, I saw myself in the incidents I had experienced, whereas before, my memories only showed me the actions of others. I stayed in that state for a while, seething at myself, until I realized it was toxic and was destroying me even more than my anger at others ever had.

Little by little, I came to accept that no one deserves abuse, nor to spend their entire life blaming themselves for having trusted the wrong people. I forgave myself for staying in abusive environments, for not knowing how to defend myself, and for carrying the guilt and shame that should have been borne by my abusers. I had to confront the deep sense of helplessness and distress I often felt in the face of my problems. For years, I carried so much anger inside me that I forgot who I was before all of this. If I hadn’t learned to forgive myself, that anger would have consumed me entirely.

Self-forgiveness became my way of reclaiming my power. It’s not a gift I give to others—it’s a gift I give to myself. Forgiving yourself is not about excusing others’ actions but about releasing the guilt and shame that eat away at you.

This forgiveness is not immediate or easy; it’s a process, like unlocking a door that has kept you trapped in the memory of pain. Each act of self-forgiveness moves you closer to freedom.

“Forgiving yourself is not about excusing others’ actions but about releasing the guilt and shame that eat away at you”.

Removing Forgiveness from the Healing Equation

How do you prevent societal and cultural pressure to prioritize forgiving others from overriding your duty to focus first and foremost on your own healing?

By deliberately, intentionally, firmly, and uncompromisingly choosing to center your attention on the impact the abuse has had on you, rather than falling into the trap of anchoring your healing process around the abuse or the abuser.

This may sound easier said than done, especially in cases of emotional abuse, where abusers have a way of placing themselves at the center of your mind. Even after they leave your life, they linger in the “vicinity” of your spirit, like a shameless voyeur who invades even your most intimate moments.

If you find yourself in this situation, you may need to actively work on removing the hold that abusers have on you. When I decided to heal, one of my first goals was to expel all intruders from my mental and emotional space. But before I could do that, I had to understand how they had gotten in. I realized that the wall my spirit had built to protect me was riddled with breaches—breaches I had unknowingly created myself, over and over again, by allowing them in.

How? Every time I heard their names or something reminded me of the smallest details of what I had experienced, my mind would instantly transport me back in time, into the heart of a painful scene, revisiting moments I so desperately wanted to forget. These memories carried the same intensity as if they had happened yesterday. I would see their hateful faces, the betrayals, the scheming, friends pulling away until they disappeared, the suffocating loneliness, and the relentless countdown of a trap closing in on me. Through an almost automatic mechanism, my mind didn’t just acknowledge that these events were in the past. Instead, it dragged me back to the center of those scenes, reinviting those ominous characters into my thoughts, recreating the harm they had done, and amplifying the lingering pain I was trying so hard to suppress.

It took significant effort to disable this automatic reaction, as I realized that the past could only return if I allowed it to. I sealed the breaches and rebuilt my protective wall—not one born of instinct, but a wall intentionally designed to safeguard my peace.

Today, that wall allows me to intellectually acknowledge their actions without granting them access to my emotional and mental well-being.

“I sealed the breaches and rebuilt my protective wall—not one born of instinct, but a wall intentionally designed to safeguard my peace”.

The Work of Healing

Healing is far more complex than the simple, noncommittal act of forgiveness. It requires two essential things:

1. Intentional efforts to identify and seal the breaches that allow hurt to creep back in.

2. Placing yourself at the heart of your intentions.

Healing is a daily act of self-compassion, a contract of kindness renewed with oneself, a promise to survive at all costs—even at times despite oneself—and a fierce preservation of the parts of you that are most precious. To heal is to acknowledge that trauma has had a devastating, but not irreparable, impact. Trauma is merely a temporary detour, not a destiny.

Forgiveness and love are the greatest gifts we can offer, and I owe an immense debt in both areas—to myself, not to those who betrayed me.

Self-forgiveness and self-love place you at the center of your own story, rather than at the margins of your oppressors’ narratives. They represent an act of reclaiming your inner peace and self-confidence. It is a steady hand lifting your inner self—long curled up and relegated to the shadows of neglect—toward the light of brighter days. It is also the realization that the most genuine love for the world can only be born from love for oneself.

Forgiveness is often viewed as a moral obligation, but misdirecting that gift to the wrong recipient only deepens your own sense of indebtedness.

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