Forgiving the Addict and Yourself: A Journey Toward Reconciliation and Healing

When I speak to children of addiction, one emotion I hear most often is anger and resentment. It’s hard to forgive someone who has hurt us so deeply, especially when we know there may never be an apology or even an acknowledgment of the pain they caused. I've been fortunate, though. Despite my dad’s addiction, in his moments of sobriety, he apologized profusely. He wrote to me, expressing his deepest regrets and the pain he felt for the hurt he caused. This allowed me to feel empathy for the mental battles he was facing. However, there are people who won’t own their wrongs, and for the most part, they may never be able to face them.

Finding forgiveness in these situations is incredibly challenging. I've experienced it with close family members who, like my dad, have apologized, and others who remain in complete denial. So, how do you forgive in circumstances like these?

At our core, we want to do the right thing. We want to offer love and support to our loved ones. But when we’re dealing with the irrational behaviors brought on by addiction, it’s hard to know what the right thing even is. There will never be a perfect answer. The most important thing is that you do what feels right for you. You’re playing by the rules you set, and those rules don’t have to make sense to anyone else. If you decide that you’ll only communicate with your loved one over the phone, and that helps you feel at peace, then that’s what you should do. Defining what feels right to you is key to forgiveness because the first person you’ll need to forgive is yourself.

Moving forward with forgiveness in our hearts requires understanding what actions or boundaries make us feel our best. This leads to the necessary step of self-forgiveness, which is often the hardest part of all.

One of the most powerful tools in this process is writing letters in moments of anger. Don’t type these out on a computer—use pen and paper. In my darkest days, I would start writing with frustration, and as I expressed those surface-level emotions, I’d notice the deeper pain I was holding onto. Naturally, my writing turned to feelings of regret, fear, and a longing to know how to love in a healthier way. I just wanted my dad back. By the end, my letter would always shift toward empathy. I didn’t need to share it, and I could even rewrite it without the angry beginning if I wanted to. There’s something deeply therapeutic about using a pen and paper. Our minds are constantly trying to protect us, keeping us in defensive mode, but writing allows us to slow down and tap into the feelings deep within our hearts. Talking to a friend or family member can be helpful, but it often leads to venting and reinforcing negative feelings—especially if that person encourages us to think more positively, which can make us angrier. Writing forces us to process our emotions at a deeper level.

Another critical shift is accepting that your loved one may not get sober—and that this illness is not their fault. Accepting this can profoundly change your relationship with them. Step away from the emotional rollercoaster and understand that words and actions may have a limited impact. The kind of hope I refer to in Rising Hope is not the false belief that a single day of sobriety will lead to lasting recovery. It’s not about hoping that this time, the promise to get sober will stick. The hope I’m talking about is learning to find comfort in the small moments of sobriety that can create hope for more. It’s about glimpsing the person you love beneath the darkness.

This realization allowed me to slow down, let go of unrealistic expectations, and stop relying on empty threats or tactics I had imagined could “fix” the situation. Instead, I accepted that my dad might never be sober again—and that it was okay. I could watch the journey unfold, standing by him with unconditional love but with firm boundaries. The truth is, the longer you believe that “this time” might be different, the more resentment and anger you build on your shoulders. Sobriety is something that must come from the addict themselves, and in order to forgive them for who they have become, you must first accept them for who they are.

In the end, forgiveness is a deeply personal journey. It’s about setting boundaries that protect your peace while offering love and understanding to the person struggling with addiction. It’s about finding the courage to forgive both your loved one and yourself, accepting the reality of their illness, and learning to embrace the small moments of hope and healing along the way. True forgiveness doesn’t mean excusing their actions, but rather freeing yourself from the weight of anger and resentment. Through love, boundaries, and empathy, healing is possible—for both you and the person you care about.