I swore I would never have anything to do with him.

 

My mom and dad split up when I was very young. My sister and I were left to navigate some incredibly difficult and dangerous circumstances.

 

When I finally met my father about 20 years later, he spent much of the time talking about how successful he had become.

 

He seemed completely unaware—or unconcerned—about what my sister and I had endured growing up.

That day I made a promise.

 

I wanted nothing to do with him.

 

I even changed my last name because I didn’t want to carry his.

 

I told myself he would never meet my future children.

 

But changing my name didn’t change how I felt inside and as the years passed, I started doing a lot of inner work with various people and resources.

 

I began to see that hate doesn’t punish the other person nearly as much as it imprisons us and I couldn’t be the man I wanted to be without healing.

 

It didn’t happen overnight, but little by little my heart began to open.

 

Ironically, meeting my biological father introduced me to his sister—my aunt. We connected instantly.

 

Years later, when my daughter was about a year old, my aunt and her family were coming to my area for a reunion. They asked if everyone could gather at my house.

 

That included my biological father.

 

I hadn’t seen him in years.

 

I prayed about it, and the answer that came to me was simple:

 

Let him come.

 

It was time to let go of the bitterness I had been carrying.

 

The family came over, and we had a nice visit. My father stayed for a while before leaving. My aunt stayed the entire weekend.

 

During that visit, she told me a story that changed something inside of me forever.

 

She said that when my parents were separating, my 16 year old sister from my mom’s first marriage called my father because my sister and I were in terrible condition.

 

He was away and asked my aunt and her friend to get us.

 

We had been locked inside an apartment room.

 

The electricity had been shut off and we had no food.

 

My mother was away working, and my older sister had been left to watch me and my other sister. . She reversed the lock on our bedroom door so she could go out and we would stay in the room.

 

We must have been in the room for a long time because when my aunt and her friend finally came, she said our eyes were sunken from hunger.

 

The room smelled of waste because there was no bathroom.

 

I was still in diapers.

 

My sister, who was about 4 years old, was sitting there pulling her own hair out.

 

Even today, writing those words brings tears to my eyes.

 

You see, my sister has had a difficult life.

 

She has struggled financially, relationally, socially, and professionally. She’s battled obesity for as long as I can remember.

 

There were times I didn’t understand her choices, and if I’m honest, there were seasons when I wanted to distance myself from her pain.

 

But after hearing that story, everything changed.

 

For the first time, I realized there was a deeper story I had never known.

 

She wasn’t just a little girl trapped in that room.

 

She was a little girl terrified…trying to protect her baby brother.

 

Of course she was pulling her hair out.

 

She was overwhelmed.

 

That one story completely changed the way I saw my sister.

 

Had I refused to forgive my father…

Had I refused to open my home…

I never would have heard it.

 

That story also led me to look more deeply into my own childhood—not to become a victim, but to understand that there were somw wounds I couldn’t remember that had still shaped me.

 

That journey led me to study trauma, mindfulness, spirituality, and eventually coaching.

 

Looking back now, I can even see pieces of my father’s story. It's especially important to love and forgive our parents.  I don’t excuse what happened, but I understand more than I once did.

 

Today, I don’t see my sister as someone lacking discipline.

 

I see someone who survived things I barely remember.

 

Now I simply want to love her well.

 

Sometimes we don’t realize the sacrifices others made for us because we’re too young to remember them.

 

Sometimes the people we judge are carrying burdens we never knew existed.

 

That’s why forgiveness matters because in my story.

 

Forgiveness opened the door to my truth.

Truth opened the door to my compassion.

Compassion healed places in my heart that anger never could.

 

I also believe that somehow—even through all the hardship—God used my circumstances to shape the man I am today.

 

So I share this because it’s my story.

 

I’ve learned that forgiveness is the answer to far more than we realize.

 

Doing the inner work isn’t easy.

 

Maybe that’s exactly why it works.

 

It’s changed my life, and I’ve watched it change the lives of many people I’ve had the privilege of walking beside.

 

So my message to you is don’t live with hatred in your heart and don’t feel you have to do it alone because none of us can.

 

Your story may not be as extreme as mine or maybe it is, but either way it doesn’t matter.

 

We all have things we need to face in order to be truly free.

 

It isn’t healthy for your body, your mind, or your spirit to do otherwise.

 

There is a better way.

 

Wishing you all good things,

 

Bert