Is Healing Frightening?

For many, yes. Healing can stir up fear, because so much of our identity can become tied to wounds, grievances, and the belief that harm defines us. When we carry a sense of being damaged, we may use it—consciously or unconsciously—as proof that trust is impossible and peace is out of reach.

If I believe I have been injured by another, my mind often whispers, “He attacked once; surely he will attack again.” My body, with its scars and symptoms, seems to confirm that I must stay protected, guarded, separate. Forgiveness in this mindset feels more like charity—something I hand down from a place of superiority—than true release. In that version, the other remains guilty, and I remain the “better one.” Both stay trapped.

Real forgiveness asks something deeper. It does not look at the wound and say, “This was real, but I’ll overlook it.” Instead, it questions the very foundation: Was the harm part of what is true and eternal in me—or only part of a story my mind holds onto? As long as I see the injury as absolutely real, forgiveness feels unfair, even impossible.

True healing is frightening because it dissolves the identity of the injured self. It no longer says, “You hurt me, but I’ll rise above and pardon you.” Instead, it sees that the Self we share was never touched by the wound in the first place. One cannot cling to the grievance and extend forgiveness at the same time. To choose one is to release the other.

And that’s the invitation: to let go of the story of being harmed so that love and peace can return—not as a gift of superiority, but as a remembrance of what has always been true.

The Healing Paradox of Forgiveness

Forgiveness can feel like a paradox. On the surface, it seems to say, “Yes, you hurt me—but I will pardon you anyway.” Reason tells us that what has been done deserves no pardon, and yet to forgive while still clinging to the evidence of guilt is not forgiveness at all. It’s a half-measure, where one hand offers mercy and the other holds onto proof that the other is not truly innocent. One cannot release the past when the desire to hold on to the psychological pain is ever present. 

This is why real forgiveness is inseparable from healing. If I continue to see myself as wounded or a victim of circumstances, I will continue to see you as guilty. The “ wounded,” in this sense, remain accusers. But when I allow true forgiveness to enter, something remarkable happens: I no longer hold your mistakes—or my own—before our eyes. How I see another is how I see myself. When I see through the form, the “attack” to the innocence underneath, I realize that innocence hasn’t left either of us. I let the infractions and narratives of wrongdoing be dissolved. And in doing so, both of us are freed.

Forgiveness cannot be given to one and withheld from the other. To forgive another is to be healed myself. To heal is to prove that I no longer carry condemnation—not against you, not against me, not against anyone.

It can feel difficult to recognize innocence in another when fear or pain is playing out before our eyes. Yet the dynamic becomes clearer with a simple example.

Imagine a frightened dog huddled in the corner. If I reach out my hand to comfort him—with love, with the intention of a gentle scratch behind the ears—he may not see it that way. From where he stands inside his own fear, every hand looks dangerous. Every hand is a threat and he is going to protect himself against that perceived threat.

So when I reach toward him and he bites me, I can understand something deeper: there is no “sin” here. The dog has not done something unforgivable. He is simply terrified, and his fear shapes how he interprets the world. The bite is not malice, but mistake.

When people see through the eyes of fear they have the worst ways of attacking but instead of biting the hand reaching out they may use harsh words. Or they could be consumed by the fear of not being good enough so they exaggerate, or try to make someone smaller so they feel larger.

When we see through the eyes of innocence, we stop labeling others as guilty. Instead, we recognize that fear distorts perception, and from that distortion, harmful actions can arise. But beneath it all, there is no sin to forgive—only errors to be understood and released.

When Love Feels Out of Reach

When people are starving for love, it often shows up in the most unloving ways. We lash out, withdraw, cling, or push others away—all because we’ve lost touch with the love that has never actually left us.

At our core, love isn’t something that comes and goes. It’s not something we must wait to receive from another. It’s a steady presence in the mind. But when we forget this, when we feel cut off from it, we grasp at cheap substitutes that fail to satisfy. We try to fill the emptiness with control, attention, or even anger. And in those moments, we look like we are at our worst.

What helps is remembering: the love we’re searching for has not disappeared. It hasn’t abandoned us. It’s still within us, waiting to be recognized. When we remember to look again and see through behavior, even when behavior looks messy or hurtful, to the innocence underneath in another our subconscious begins to accept it for ourselves. What they’re really showing us is hunger, not malice.

Healing begins when we stop judging the ways people reach for love and begin to remember that all behavior is an expression of love or a call for it. When I am hungriest for the love that hasn’t left my mind I have the worst ways of acting.

It’s not about pretending an event never occurred; we remember to be normal. Sometimes locking our doors, divorcing someone or saying “no” is the most sane and loving thing we can do in a situation. But the pain and discomfort we feel in these situations is now understood to be my perception of the event.

 I can still see the innocence in a frightened, biting dog without reaching my hand out to pet him. The same as true with an individual who might be beating me or stealing from me. I can see the innocence in them and at the same time leave the relationship or file something with the courts to have my money returned. We remember to live a normal life and at the same time practice forgiveness by seeing what they are doing does not have the ability to destroy peace.

It’s about recognizing that what is eternal in us was never touched by error. The ever present peace cannot be altered by anything this person does or does not do. What we call “sins” are simply mistakes—errors that lose their power once they are truly undone and overlooked.

So the invitation is this: would I withhold forgiveness from another when I realize it is my own release I hinder? 

Healing, forgiveness, and innocence are shared gifts—never private possessions.

Reflection Questions

1. When I feel disconnected from love, how do I tend to act? Do I withdraw, lash out, try to control, or seek reassurance?

2. Can I recall a time when someone else’s “difficult” behavior was really just an expression of longing for love? How does that change how I see them now?

3. What beliefs make me think love can leave me? Where did those beliefs come from?

4. How might my relationships shift if I remembered—even in tense moments—that the other person is calling for love?

5. When was the last time I felt completely at home within myself? What allowed me to access that state, and how can I return there more often?

6. What practices or reminders help me reconnect with the truth that love has never left?

7. How would my daily life feel different if I lived with the certainty that love is always present, no matter what anyone says or does?