Why Forgiveness, Peace, and Healing All Start With Pain
A 'Beneath the Surface' bonus: What no one tells you about healing, peace, and forgiveness—and why choosing the uncomfortable path might be the most Stoic thing you do.
The voices are getting louder. You’re not even the one arguing, but somehow, the tension finds your spine.
Your jaw tightens.
Fists start balling up around you.
You feel it in your throat, like a silent signal rising: Do something.
Except you’re the quiet one.
You have nothing to do with what’s about to unfold. Yet you now feel like you're wearing this bright colored cloak with the label on the back that reads: Peace Keeper.
And everyone is waiting for you to do your job.
It took me a long time to realize that I gave myself this responsibility. Or through living through so many chaotic scenarios, it was conditioned in me. Maybe even expected. I don't know…
To break the tension. To make a joke. To lighten the mood. To keep the energy of the room under control.
And so your body moves into action even before your thoughts do.
The best way I can describe what the urge of having to control events feels like is clawing at the air while falling down a dark hole, desperate to grab hold of something.
I call it grasping. And every time you start grasping, it costs you.
More energy than the ones screaming. More pain than the ones fighting. More disruption to your own nervous system than anything you were trying to “fix.”
And yet, that urge still lives in your body. Like an addict to the powerful drug of Certainty. Because that's where safety lives. In the knowing of an outcome.
But over the past couple of years, I’ve stopped reaching for control. And instead, I’ve been able to ask myself one question that disrupts both trigger and reaction: What is in my control right now?
My response. My involvement. My energy. My attitude.
That’s it.
That shift? That’s when I met peace for the first time—not the peace I imagined, but the real kind. Not the kind where everything goes right. But the kind where I finally stopped trying to make everything right.
And I’ll be honest—it does not feel good. It does not feel like what you think peace is supposed to feel like. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes painful. It can be scary, even.
It’s hard.
But I tell you this because I wish someone had told me this sooner: the words we crave—peace, forgiveness, healing, acceptance—don’t feel like light. They feel like labor. They require discomfort. They require practice. Repetition. Discipline.
They ask us to let go of what we thought would save us, and choose another hard but one that is truer and offers a light at the end of the tunnel.
So if you’ve ever been in the messy middle— trying to forgive, trying to heal, trying to find peace— and you’ve thought to yourself, “Shouldn’t this feel better by now?” With a smile on my face and a virtual, loving hug, the kind your best friend gives you that makes you feel safe, listen to me when I tell you: I get it.
I know how deeply it hurts when you finally find the courage to align with yourself… and at the same time, notice the quiet misalignment with others as it begins to surface, and suddenly, some people start to drift away.
It’s one thing to be the first one to walk away from what hurts you. To be the one who says, “You are no good for me.”
But being the one who’s left, for speaking your truth?
That’s fucking hard.
That hurts. And I know you feel the kind of hurt I’m talking about.
That doesn’t feel like liberation—it feels like punishment.
But let me ask you this: What if the ache isn’t a sign you’re on the wrong path...but a signal—your embodied wisdom— asking you to choose your hard?
Redefining the Words
We talk about peace like it’s a destination—one and done, and you’re there. We post about healing like it’s a vibe. We romanticize forgiveness as if it’s soft and simple.
But those words? In comparison to what we thought they meant, it can start to feel like a lie.
Choosing to walk those paths feels more like rebellion, and we discover that this isn't any easier than just sticking to what we already know. What’s familiar.
But let's zoom out a bit with intention and explore these concepts a little closer.
FORGIVENESS
What we think it is: Making amends with those who hurt us. Letting go. A lightness in your chest.
What it really is: Revisiting pain. Surrendering your grip on fairness. Acceptance of what was done. Holding space for the ache without needing closure.
Forgiveness is not a feeling. It’s a repeated choice to stop drinking poison, even when your ego is still thirsty.
ACCEPTANCE
What we think it is: Shrugging and saying, “It is what it is. Look at me just going with the flow.”
What it really is: Sitting face-to-face with reality—even when it’s not what you hoped.
It’s grieving what should’ve been while staying rooted in what is. Acceptance isn’t defeat. It’s honest alignment.
HEALING
What we think it is: Progress. Light. Rebirth.
What it really is: Tearing off the bandages and looking at what’s underneath. Revisiting and feeling things you’ve buried. Getting it wrong mid-process. Starting over again and again.
Healing doesn’t ask you to be strong—it asks you to be present.
PEACE
What we think it is: Calm. Quiet. The absence of drama.
What it really is: Walking away from the tug-of-war rope, with your hands still bleeding from pulling.
Peace isn’t granted—it’s earned. It’s built in real time, breath by breath, choice by choice. And it’s rarely quiet in the beginning.
These aren’t soft words. They’re not aesthetic. They are soul work.
And every one of them comes with a moment of decision: The moment where you get to choose your hard.
Choosing Your Hard
When Stoicism was born, it wasn’t during peace.
It rose in the middle of plagues, tyrants, and collapsing empires—when control was an illusion and chaos was daily life.
The Stoics weren’t selling serenity. They were offering resilience.
They didn’t say “detachment and suppression” was the key to equanimity—they said: Look closer. Question your judgments. Strip down what you believe about yourself, the world, and what it is you think you need to be okay.
Their idea of flourishing wasn’t tied to everything going right. Flourishing was the key to equanimity. And that meant keeping your character intact—even when things go wrong.
Not grasping to live a perfect life. But a steady one. One where your clarity runs deeper than the chaos.
And that’s what I’ve had to learn, too.
Every time I tried to control the chaos—people’s emotions, outcomes, arguments—I felt powerful for a moment. But it was just adrenaline. What came after was always the same: exhaustion, tension, regret.
The peace I was chasing never showed up. The illusion of control was a coping mechanism for safety.
But Stoicism taught me this: Real safety isn’t in the outcome. It’s in your ability to respond with integrity, no matter the outcome.
It’s uncomfortable. It’s daunting. And sometimes, it feels like you have no choice.
But that? That’s a lie we tell ourselves when fear gets loud. There is always a choice.
Choose your hard.
It’s hard to forgive.
It’s also hard to carry resentment every single day.
It’s hard to choose peace.
It’s also hard to live in constant defense mode.
It’s hard to heal.
It’s also hard to keep pretending you're not in pain.
It’s hard to accept reality.
It’s also hard to keep resisting what is.
Both paths ask something of you. Only one of them gives something back.
Try this today: Ask Yourself…
Which of these words have I misunderstood as “easy”?
What hard am I currently choosing—by default or by design?
What might change if I chose a different hard one, one that leads somewhere new?
This isn't about getting it right. It’s about getting real.
About what hurts. About what you’ve outgrown. About what kind of life you’re ready to stop tolerating.
Your Turn…Let’s keep the conversation going
Which of these words speaks to you most right now—forgiveness, peace, acceptance, or healing? Tell me which one you’d love a deeper dive on next. Drop it in the comments or hit reply.
Each one of those words is a process, and although hard in each of their own ways, I’ll share with you how Stoicism can help navigate the terrains—one choice, one breath, one hard at a time.
This isn’t a quick fix. It’s a way of living. And if you’re still reading this, you’ve already started.
I look forward to your thoughts.
As Ever, V 🖤
Forgiveness! This is something I’d LOVE to master but consciously struggle with in some of my longest, deepest relationships