When I decided to write I Want to Forgive and Forget You, I wasn’t trying to create another self-help book filled with clichés or empty comfort. I wrote it because I lived it. I felt every chapter before I ever typed a word. And I know what it means to carry the weight of someone who hurt you, someone you wish you could forget, but your heart won’t let go of that easily.
This book was born out of both pain and clarity. It came from the realization that the hardest person to save is the one who’s still standing in the middle of the fire pretending the flames aren’t there. I stayed in situations far beyond their expiration date because I believed I could love people into being better. I believed loyalty was enough. I believed giving someone chance after chance was a sign of strength—when really, it was me ignoring my own needs.
There’s a version of me I no longer recognize, but I honor her. She taught me the lessons this book is built on.
Forgiveness, healing, letting go, none of that is pretty. It’s not a smooth journey. It’s messy. It’s vulnerable. It’s personal. And for so many people, it’s lonely. Nobody wants to talk about the nights spent replaying conversations, trying to understand the moment everything shifted. Nobody talks about the guilt you feel for wanting peace, or the fear of starting over, or the silent hope that maybe they’ll finally apologize even though you know they won’t.
I chose this topic because too many of us are silently healing from relationships that broke us in ways we never admit out loud. We’re told to move on, to get over it, to be strong. But healing isn’t a deadline. Forgiveness isn’t a switch you flip. And forgetting? Sometimes the only way to forget someone is to remember who you were before they entered your life.
This book is my reminder, to myself and to anyone who reads it, that healing is not weakness. Forgiving is not surrender. Choosing yourself is not selfish. It’s survival.
I didn’t write this book as an expert or a therapist; I wrote it as a woman who walked through the storm, sat in the wreckage, and finally decided she deserved more than constant emotional CPR. I wrote it because I know what it’s like to feel stuck between loving someone and loving yourself and choosing yourself feels unfamiliar.
If my journey can help someone else break that cycle, breathe again, or simply say, “I’m not alone in this,” then every page was worth writing.
This book is from my truth.
And if you’re reading it, maybe it’s a piece of yours too.
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