This is my story of forgiving journey. Of course, it's not easy. It is still unfolding. Some days I am strong. Other days, I am not. Day by day, I am learning . But I am no longer waiting for others to change. I am changing myself. I am growing myself. I am becoming the woman I was always meant to be—not despite the pain, but because of what I learned in walking through it.
Before marriage, I didn't even know what unhappiness was. I didn't recognize it, I couldn't define it since I saw my father and mother were harmonious. But during my own marriage, I didn't understand what happiness actually looked like. It was so different from the man who chased me and the man I married. I truly no longer recognized him as a husband. After deciding to accept him— to marriage for about 20 years—I was very obedient to him and his family. I tried to stay silent regardless of the problem, not wanting to disturb his work because I could solve all financial problems myself.
Eventually, he became too comfortable. Every time there was a shortage of money, he would distance himself, as if he didn't want to know, as if it wasn't his responsibility. He never asked if I could pay for this or that. There was no such habit in his life. In his mind, it seemed there was only his own business, his work, and his friendships. He rarely asked how the kids were doing at school, if the fees were paid, or how much was needed for their activities. It was a pipe dream to expect him to ask.
I was considered faithful, responsible, and dedicated as the meaning of names given by my parents.. I am loyal in everything. I was loyal to him, too. I considered myself as an independent woman, and a hard worker. I never asked for his money for my needs for nineteen years. But when I realized how easy he was about the needs of his children, I started thinking something was wrong with my household. Especially when life became chaotic and prosperity was destroyed—that's when the relationship heated up.
All matters of the children, the household, and finances were mine alone. Even though I also worked with a decent position and good social status, my own schedule was incredibly busy. At first, I felt it was fine. But eventually, when I ran short, I was confused about where to ask for help. Often, I had to go into debt here and there for family needs, for food, for the children's school fees. Actually, I didn't care whose money it was; I was happy to pay for my kids' school. But when I had no money, I got anxious, having to scramble for loans just to buy rice and daily food.
Meanwhile, the man only complained about his office, so I felt hesitant to tell him about the problems I faced with the kids or his family—who, for God's sake, were too much. I remember one afternoon, he complained again about his massive workload, making it feel inappropriate for me to ask about the bills from my siblings that we used to pay off old debts. He hated being asked, "How is it, have you gotten the loan from A, B, or C?" Just asking that made him sulk—even though that was part of his responsibility as the head of the household. He was indifferent and silent; he didn't ask how I managed to pay it. If not paid, the children couldn't take their exams. He just complained, stayed silent, and acted innocent, as if he'd done nothing wrong. But if provoked even slightly, he exploded with emotion, always saying, "Fine, I'm a bad husband, can't provide for the family, I'm a piece of sh*t, irresponsible, I'm the one who's too much!" "I'm always wrong, you're always right, you're never at fault, I admit you're the most perfect one!" "My body is broken, too much work, targets aren't met, everyone is hounding me, I'm hectic!"
He used all sorts of negative words. I understood this for a long time, which was why I became reluctant to tell him anything or ask him for anything. Because it always ended with him feeling like the victim, even though it was his own fault. If I reminded him, he sometimes turned physical: slamming doors until they broke, then not caring who fixed them or whose money was used to replace what was broken.
This man was truly remarkable. He wanted to be understood, always wanted to be empathized with, but rarely cared about his wife and children. Yes, I realized I had many flaws and mistakes; I still needed to learn too. But I was self-aware enough not to beg for his attention, not to ask for this and that, and not to blame him. All negative things were actually from his own thoughts, not from my words. He assumed I was blaming him. My intention was simply to remind him to be vigilant—not to waste time as we aged, not to be idle just because his problems were settled while the settling of the house was done by me and kids. He had it easy: free from household duties, free from chores, rarely asked to help with the little kids. He had zero initiative to help his wife and kids when they were cleaning the house.
Lord, it hurt so much to see a forty-five-year-old man whose thinking was still immature. He should have been grateful to have smart sons who helped their mother clean the house, who looked for loans here and there because they couldn't bear to see their mother crying hysterically, who took care of their younger siblings' daily and school needs, who drove their mother and siblings around, and who independently managed their own school supplies without ever asking their father for help.
My children were truly wonderful and bright. They seemed to understand their mother's difficulties perfectly; they always helped, asking, "Mom, what do we need to buy?" If I was sad, they even gave me their allowance to buy rice, instant noodles, tempeh, tofu, and eggs for us to eat. Has the man ever asked about his children's basic needs? My answer was rarely, I could count it on one hand.
For over 2 decades, I never blamed a man I married due to my mother’s wish. I never exposed his family. I never complained to him when he was stationed out of town. I kept the bad behavior of his family tightly hidden from him, from my own family, even from my father. I couldn't bring myself to reveal those secrets, until finally, my mental defenses broke. I had carried the weight of his responsibilities, his family's judgments, his emotional immaturity, and my own silent suffering. I had carried it for so long that I forgot it was even there. I thought this was simply what marriage was. I thought this was simply who I was.
The hardest part of my journey was not the suffering itself. It was the silence I had to maintain around it. Every time I tried to speak, he would deflect. And so I learned to be silent. I learned to bury my pain deep inside, a practice my culture calls mendem njero—burying it deep. I told myself: let it be. Forget it. Move on. But the wound does not heal when it is buried. It festers. It grows. It becomes something you cannot name but something you carry every single day.
Knowledge about forgiving
Letting go is the only way to find relief. Carrying a grudge is like holding a heavy stone that only tires me. True peace comes when the memory of a painful event no longer triggers anger or a desire for revenge. Thus, I consider focusing on the physical and emotional sensation of heaviness. During the meditation, Bunda Arsaningsih assists me to imagine putting down the weight I have been carrying for years. By cleaning these old wounds, I reclaim the mental and emotional energy that had been stolen by my focus on the past.
Sincere forgiveness often requires a strength beyond human capability. The video shows turning to a higher power (God) to soften the heart. It reflects on the idea that as humans seek forgiveness for their own mistakes, they should also strive to be a source of mercy for others. Accepting that the past cannot be changed is the first step toward moving forward. Forgiveness can happen without reconciliation. We can forgive someone in your heart while still maintaining distance for your own safety or mental health.
Bunda Arsaningsih also emphasizes that gratitude (bersyukur) is the natural companion to forgiveness. If forgiveness is the act of emptying the heart of poison, gratitude is the act of refilling it with light so the bitterness doesn't find its way back in. She suggests that when we are busy counting our blessings, we have less time to count our wounds. Gratitude protects the cleansed heart by focusing on what remains— children, achievement, ability to create music—meaning create a shield that prevents the old narrative of being a victim from taking hold again.
Learning from my children
My children taught me something I had forgotten. They taught me that love is not about what you receive. It is about what you give freely, without expectation. They gave me their allowance without asking for anything in return. They helped me clean the house without being asked. They could not bear to see their mother crying. In their giving, I learned to forgive. Because I saw that even in the midst of my suffering, God gave me other beautiful things:
- I had raised children who knew how to love
- I had raised children who knew how to give
- I had raised children who understood that family means showing up for each other, even when it is hard
These are the lessons I will carry with me. Forgiveness is not about him. It is about releasing myself from the prison of resentment. Silence is not healing. Burying the wound only makes it fester. True healing requires exposing the wound to the light. Karma is not punishment. It is complete. It is the opportunity to finish what I started so I can move forward.
Peace is not something he can give me. It is something I must cultivate within myself, regardless of him. I was born alone and I will return alone. But the journey between those two points is mine to shape. Not his. Not his family's.
I do not know when I will find happiness in my marriage. Perhaps that is not the right question anymore. The better question is: When will I find peace within myself, regardless of my marriage? And the answer is: I am finding it now. One thread at a time. One day at a time. One breath at a time.
I have forgiven him. Not because he asked. Not because he changed. Not because he deserves it. I have forgiven him because I deserve to stop carrying this weight. I have forgiven him because the resentment was a rope tying me to the past, and I want to be free to walk into the future. I have forgiven him because I understand now that his inability to love me the was needed was never about my worth. It was about his capacity that was never mine to fix. I have forgiven him because I have accepted that the pain I feel now is the echo of pain I once caused, and by forgiving him, I am forgiving myself.
This is my history, my long journey to live healthier. If I am reading this one day, I recognize my own journey, know this. I am not alone in my loneliness. The peace I am searching for is not waiting for anyone else to give it to me. It is already within me, waiting to be uncovered, one tangled thread at a time.
Forgiveness will not come in a single moment. It will come in waves. Some days I will totally feel free. Other days the old hurt may return. But I will not judge myself for either. This is my process.
Be patient with myself. Be kind to myself.
I have been doing the hardest work.
I have been healing wounds that no one else can see.
I have been growing my soul, thread by thread, day by day.
One day, I will wake up and realize that the weight is lighter, the rope has loosened. I am no longer tied to the person who hurt you, because I have finally learned to stand on my own.
From 2025, I was finally taking the pen back. My narrative was no longer stolen; I was surrendering it to peace. I learned to accept that the pain I felt now was equivalent to the pain I had caused in a past life. This was not a punishment from God. It was the natural law of cause and effect. It was the universe's way of giving me the opportunity to complete what I had started.
https://linktr.ee/BundaArsaningsih
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