Forgiveness is often defined as the act of ceasing to feel resentment toward an offender; granting a pardon; giving up the desire for punishment or retribution.

Acceptance, on the other hand, is the assent of the small self to the will of the greater self—an alignment with what is, rather than what should have been. It means allowing all that you’re aware of, all that you’ve lived through, to simply be part of your truth.

There are a couple of points I want to make about forgiveness—especially when it’s spoken into the space of grief.

Forgiveness might be too much for someone at a given time—and when it’s forced, it can carry an air of self-indignation. There’s often subtle pressure to perform forgiveness, like we’re all trying to meet some kind of spiritual benchmark. Sometimes it even comes with a quiet sense of superiority, as if to say:

“I would never wrong another as you did me—so by forgiving you, I’ve proven I’m bigger and better.”

That’s not healing. That’s performance.

And what’s more—many people have already done the inner work. So when others suggest they “still need to forgive,” it can feel insulting to their emotional and spiritual intelligence.

The word forgiveness gets thrown around like confetti—light and decorative—especially by bystanders who are watching, not living, someone else’s process.

Now let’s talk about acceptance—a word I hear far less often, but one that’s become essential to my understanding of grief.

Where forgiveness can sometimes feel performative or moralistic, acceptance reminds us that we are already whole. It’s not soft. It’s not sentimental. It’s not even particularly comforting. It’s grounded. It's honest.

Acceptance doesn’t require you to feel a certain way.

You can accept someone’s death—and still be furious about the life you shared with them.
You can accept the loss—and still hold firm boundaries, even with their memory.

Acceptance is often mistaken for forgiveness because both can bring peace. But the peace of acceptance is internal. It doesn’t require a moral conclusion. It doesn’t demand that you reframe someone’s harm to look like spiritual growth.

I’ve come to understand that true, grounded, honest acceptance is often more healing than forced forgiveness.

You can accept someone’s death without forgiving them.
You can grieve them, miss them, even love them—and still hold boundaries around the truth of what was.

To those who assume forgiveness is the goal:

Please pause,  grieving is sacred work.

You don’t know how much healing has already happened—quietly, privately, and courageously—inside someone’s heart. 

And if you're grieving, just know:

You don’t owe anyone forgiveness.
You don’t have to perform your healing.
You can be angry. You can be peaceful. You can be both.

Grief isn’t a public project.
It’s a private evolution.

Let it be yours.