Healing After Forgiveness: Letting Go of Trauma, but Still Learning to Understand My Family

Before diving into my journey of healing and forgiveness, I want to emphasize that the path to understanding and reconciling with those we love is complex and often filled with challenges. While I’ve made strides in forgiving my assailant and letting go of the burdens of my trauma, I’ve discovered that the journey with my family is just beginning. Forgiveness is not a one-time act; it’s a continuous process that requires patience, empathy, and an open heart.

In this post, I’ll share my experiences of learning to navigate my relationships with my family after trauma. It’s a journey that has revealed both my vulnerabilities and their struggles, highlighting the importance of communication and understanding in the healing process. If you find yourself in a similar situation—trying to make sense of your feelings toward your family after trauma—I hope my reflections resonate with you and provide some comfort on your own path to healing.

To my family reading this, I know we’ve become distant, and healing comes in waves, but I wanted to say thank you, and I love you, even though love comes in many shapes and forms.

After years of trying to heal from my assault, I’ve learned how to forgive. I’ve forgiven my assailant, released the anger and resentment, and slowly felt the weight of the trauma lift off my shoulders. But what I didn’t expect was how much I would still struggle with my family. Forgiving my assailant seemed like the biggest hurdle, but navigating the aftermath with my family has brought its own set of challenges.

For so long, I blamed them for not supporting me in the way I needed. After my assault, I felt abandoned. When I was in the hospital after my suicide attempt, I didn’t feel the love or comfort I had so desperately hoped for. In my mind, they didn’t show up when I needed them the most, and that became a wound I carried alongside my trauma. I felt as if they were emotionally unavailable, distant, and unable to provide the support I craved. But with time and perspective, I’ve come to realize that it’s not as simple as them not caring.

Looking back, I understand now that they were probably lost too—unsure of how to handle the situation, not knowing what to say or how to feel. In the moment, all I saw was their lack of support, but now I can see that they were likely struggling with their own emotions and cultural barriers. Coming from a family where mental illness isn’t widely talked about, where emotions are often bottled up rather than expressed, it makes sense that they wouldn’t know how to respond. Mental illness was never a topic of discussion in our household, so expecting them to suddenly understand my bipolar disorder and my pain was unfair in a way I didn’t see at the time.

But even though I’ve forgiven my assailant, I’m still learning to understand and forgive my family. That’s been harder than I imagined. With my assailant, it was about releasing anger for my own peace. But with my family, it’s more complicated because I expected so much more from them. I wanted them to be my safety net, my rock, and my source of comfort. When that didn’t happen, I felt betrayed.

It’s taken years for me to realize that I was putting too much pressure on them. They couldn’t give me what I needed because they didn’t know how. The truth is, I didn’t even know what I needed back then. I was so lost in my own pain that I wanted someone—anyone—to step in and fix everything. And when my family couldn’t, I became frustrated and resentful.

I’m still learning to forgive them for not showing up in the ways I expected. But more than that, I’m learning to understand them as flawed, imperfect people who were doing the best they could. Just like I’m still navigating my healing, they’re still learning how to support someone they love who’s struggling with mental illness and trauma.

I wish I could say that I have it all figured out, that my relationship with my family is now perfect, but it’s not. There are still moments of frustration and miscommunication. But I’m learning to approach those moments with more empathy and less anger. I’m starting to realize that forgiveness doesn’t mean everything gets magically better. It just means we’re all human, learning to navigate difficult situations in our own way.

I’ve also had to learn how to set healthier boundaries with my family. Forgiving them doesn’t mean letting go of my needs. It means accepting that they may never fully understand what I’ve been through, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love me. I’ve had to communicate more clearly, to let them know when I need space and when I need support. It’s been a slow process, but one that’s helped me grow.

At SAMA, we often talk about how healing isn’t linear, and that’s something I’m learning firsthand. Forgiveness is a huge step, but it’s not the final one. I’m still working on my relationship with my family and trying to understand them as they are—imperfect, just like me.

This is a new chapter in my healing journey: learning to release the frustration, to set realistic expectations, and to find peace in knowing that we’re all doing the best we can. I’m still learning to forgive my family, and I’m still learning to understand them. And that’s okay. Healing takes time, and so does understanding.