When a sorry—and the dignity an apology would restore to us—is not forthcoming, we have a tendency to try to claim it for ourselves by punishing the person who hurt us.

This revenge takes many forms: we withhold affection, attention, or presence; we resort to physical violence, property damage, or workplace sabotage; or we make destructive comments, start vicious gossip, or tell stories of long-held grudges.

The word sorry, spoken sincerely by someone who has wronged you, has an almost magical quality to it. The bitterness and anger and animosity we feel towards the person has a tendency to begin thawing immediately at a hastened rate.

All because of this single word.

Sometimes we can be sharing something about our lives and our throat tightens. Or tears well up in our eyes. Or a fierce anger bubbles inside of us.

And before this happens to us, we can be completely unaware it was even an issue.

We would be wise not to underestimate shame’s ability to tell a rollicking good tale. It weaves words like broken, wrecked, flawed, contaminated, dirty, alone, or unlovable so majestically into our narratives that we often do not recognise its subtle influence.

We tell stories about our lives all the time. We obviously do not share every single one of them publicly, keeping many of them to ourselves, but we use story to make autobiographical sense of our own lives.

Sometimes we ask the question where do I start? with the boldness or conviction to face an unpleasant task and get it over with as quickly as possible. Occasionally, we say it with despair, wondering where the time or energy or help will come from to unravel all the disloyalty, betrayal, and abuse we’ve suffered in our life.

I think we find it hard to forgive due to how the pain of being mistreated does not seem to fade over time. We see the person who wronged us or we hear their name or we walk by where they live and we are reminded of what happened with painful vividness.

I imagine the disloyalty, betrayal, and abuse we suffer, as string that wraps around our heart and becomes tied in place each time a person wounds us. My assumption is, if you're asking this question, that there's a vast ball of string with many knots around your heart.

I'm going to tell you something I bet no-one has ever said to you before: It's good you're finding it hard to forgive.

I didn't set out to write a book about lamenting. I mentioned the lament in a small section of one chapter in my first draft, and by the time the last draft was completed it had taken over half my book!

The metaphor we use to express why we forgive is a form of advertising. It promotes a certain way of seeing things which leads people to either accept or reject the ideas being communicated.

When we forgive someone who has hurt us, it is rare for us to nail it all with a single I forgive you. This shouldn't really surprise us.

What surprised me most when I started forgiving wasn't how hard it was or that it made a difference to my relationships, it was that afterwards I experienced a tangible freedom to be my true self.