The Truth about the Stages of Grief

Irene Rowland MS, NCC, LPC

A diagram showing the different stages of grief

There are many models for the stages of grief. The horseshoe shaped diagram is my favorite and I believe it to be the most realistic. Grief is not linear. People do not proceed through each stage in a neat, orderly fashion. Typically, stages are sometimes skipped and then returned to later, as well as stages being returned to multiple times. This can happen long after a person thought they had worked through that particular stage. Just as the traditional 5 stages of grief by Elizabeth Kubler Ross are not a simple progression through the steps, neither are the many steps in the horseshoe model. If you drew a continuous line of how the steps might go for an individual, you would see that with all the jumbled directions going across and up and down the graph, it would look like a bunch of tangled thread. For many, that’s what grief really looks like.


The Descent of Loss

It can be a slow descent or a rapid plunge to the depths of grief. As stated already, we may or may not experience all of these stages and not necessarily in the order shown in the diagram. The tumble down to loneliness, guilt and isolation can be quite rough which almost makes those lows look restful compared to what it took to get there.


Shock, Numbness, Denial

It’s typical to be in a bit of a fog after you get the news of a significant loss, whether that’s of a loved one’s death, a job loss, a serious health diagnosis or any other kind of change that could be considered life changing. Grief is a natural response to the loss of how you thought things would continue to be and the future you expected.


Emotional Outbursts, Anger, Fear

Grievers can be easily triggered. Some losses are traumatic. With trauma, often

there is hypervigilance. The fight or flight instinct is revved up, as though we must

be on the lookout for any impending dangers at all times. We have all experienced

reactions from people that seem disproportionate to a situation. These emotional

outbursts are sometimes due to grief. The increased levels of cortisol when a

person is in this escalated state of vigilance causes a lot of wear and tear on one’s

body and mind. As a result, anxious, angry, or fearful people are perpetually

emotionally and physically drained. This of course can lead to impaired judgement

and become a vicious cycle. When there’s an anger response to grief, it can be

directed toward others or oneself. Anger turned inward is one of the definitions of

depression. The anger is sometimes directed toward the person who died, the boss

who did the firing, the spouse who left or sometimes toward those who played

“supporting roles” because it’s too difficult to be angry with the source of our angst.

Fear drives the thoughts and beliefs of some of the irrational actions and behaviors of a person experiencing a significant loss. A typical piece of advice after a significant loss is to wait at least a year before implementing any big changes such as moving or a change in career. Part of the reasoning for waiting is that the individual will be further along the healing path which usually means that fear is not as much a part of one’s reasoning process.


Searchings, Disorganization, Panic 

Trying to make sense of our pain, of the unexpected tragedies, of man’s inhumanity to man, or any number of other baffling incidences in life, is also a natural reaction. We often feel we can bear a crisis more easily if we can find some purpose in the suffering. Of course, there can be redemption in suffering, miracles can occur in disastrous situations, good can triumph over evil and all of this can be appreciated in retrospect. It is often quite difficult to discern any of this in the midst of the difficulties. Further down the road of one’s healing journey, these treasures can be discovered. I have found that the person who grieves must discover these on their own, rather than having others point them out, because they only sound like empty platitudes coming from others.


Disorganization is part of the mental fog and lack of clarity during the depression of grief. Often a person in this state may be unsure of the day of the week or even unclear of the status of the basic things that they normally could keep track of, such as whether they remembered to take a shower or eat lunch. It can be very confusing to find oneself acting and thinking in ways that are so untypical of the usual way of doing things. Often the energy isn’t there to even be concerned about the discrepancy of who they knew themselves to be and who this stranger in the mirror is now. Panic can set in when this disconnect is truly realized. There can be a fear that the old familiar self may not reemerge. Panic can be the answer to all the unanswered questions of what the future might hold. There can be the fear that things will always be this disjointed and hard to understand, that life as one knew it, is gone.


Guilt, Loneliness, Isolation, Depression       

The situations and emotions that grief entails often bring a person to their knees. This is at the bottom of the diagram in the pits of despair. Guilt can color many of the questions we ask ourselves and sometimes there’s a continuation of attempting to blame others and to lay the guilt on their heads. We often have grandiose ideas of our own power to be able to cause certain situations that were actually out of our control. Likewise, we can also assign more power to others than they are capable of having and thereby believing they are at fault in some way in a loss situation. We have all heard absurd news claims that a particular person, country, gender or ethnicity is at fault for a situation when the truth is there are many factors that play into most situations. Loneliness and isolation can breed

depression. Sometimes we make matters worse by intentionally shutting out the rest of the world. Time alone and loneliness are not the same thing. We need solitude to think things through, regroup, reflect and recharge. I say that as an introvert. An extrovert gets their energy from those around them, so in that case they may regroup and recharge better with the support of others, talking through their concerns in their grief journey and thereby processing their thoughts aloud. Isolation during grief can also be a protective mechanism against having to put on a mask and acting as though you are doing better than you actually are. Isolation means not having to answer people’s questions of how you are doing or having to deal with all the things people say as an encouragement which turn out to be the opposite. This can put the griever in the awkward position of being cordial when they really want to scream.


Re-Entry Troubles     

If a person stays on the perimeter of life for too long when there’s been a big loss, it can make re-entry more difficult. It is almost as though time stands still for the griever, but the world has moved on and you don’t quite fit in now. Things that were once important to you may now seem trivial. The latest movie, fashion trends, and the current gossip are all pretty insignificant now as compared to whatever importance you may have placed on them at one time. It’s all temporal and often grievers become larger picture type thinkers. Much is trivial when you’ve experienced the degree of brokenness that you didn’t know was even possible prior to your loss.


New Relationships, Strengths, Patterns

After a major loss, there’s a lot of reevaluation that comes out of the experience. We think differently. We see differently. Often there’s a new thirst for life because we’ve developed a new appreciation for the gifts that still remain. New relationships may come from a support group that helped you weather the storms of your trial. You might decide to use the time you have ahead of you to learn new things, catch up on your bucket list, resurrect old hobbies or any number of ways we can regenerate ourselves. All of these options could involve new people in our life and new ways of doing things. Strengths can develop from weaknesses. Surely, the difficult stages preceding these more positive ones involved succumbing to weaknesses at times. If our faith is predominant in our lives, we undoubtedly experience that in our weakness, He is strong and carries us through.


Hope, Affirmation, Helping Others 

These last stages of grief are part of the adjustment to the “new normal”, the new life without the person, place, career, or situation in which we had such a connection. This is a connection so strong that the loss catapulted us into this grief journey which in many cases eventually ends up also being a growth journey. Most of us are familiar with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which can certainly happen with a complicated grief situation. Some of the PTSD symptoms can occur with “regular” grief. Post Traumatic Growth (PTG) is also a possibility towards the end of the stages of grief. We can become more resilient, kinder, more attentive, more in tune with ourselves and others and generally living a life of more depth and meaning. Grievers typically don’t take things for granted as they may once have done. In the midst of the whirlwind of all these stages and conflicting emotions, God can bring beauty out of sorrow, restoration out of pain, and a peace that surpasses all understanding. This is hard to imagine during a time period when we could not envision there ever being anything positive coming out of loss. Often the magnitude of the loss experience feels like our solid ground is shaking and crumbling beneath our feet. We can find our way again and when we do, our losses become part of our life story. They may even be many chapters of our story, but it’s not the entire story. Our grief becomes part of us and can live side by side with life’s joys. There is life after grief and it can still be good.
 

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Slowing Down for Lent: A Therapist’s Case for Holy Unproductivity

By Peter Attridge, PhD • February 9, 2026
I spend a lot of my days telling people to slow down. I say it gently, of course. I say it while holding a mug of coffee that’s gone cold because I forgot to drink it. I say it while glancing at my own calendar, which—if I’m honest—often looks like a competitive sport. As a Catholic therapist, I live at the intersection of faith and feelings, prayer and patterns, grace and nervous systems. And every Lent, without fail, the same theme shows up in my office and in my own life: I am tired, and I don’t know how to stop. Our culture is not particularly fond of stopping. We admire hustle. We reward output. We celebrate efficiency, productivity, and optimization. Even rest has been rebranded as something you do so that you can work better later. God forbid you rest simply because you are human. Lent arrives each year like an unwanted knock at the door of this over-scheduled life. It barges in with a planner and a productivity app. Almost as a continuation of New Year’s Resolutions that we already are done with. It asks us to do more as our Lenten promises add on to our to-do lists. Or maybe, just maybe it asks us—almost annoyingly—to do less. Or at least, to do fewer things that keep us from becoming who we are meant to be. From a therapeutic standpoint, this makes perfect sense. The Pace That Is Killing Us (Softly, With Notifications) Most of my clients don’t come in saying, “I worship productivity as a false god.” They come in saying things like, “I can’t sleep,” or “I feel numb,” or “I’m doing everything right, so why do I feel so empty?” Many of them are faithful people who pray and genuinely want to grow closer to God—yet they approach their spiritual lives the same way they approach their inboxes: quickly, efficiently, and usually while multitasking. This goes the same for my clients that have no faith tradition. Our society has trained us to move faster than our souls can keep up with. Technology promises connection, but it rarely allows for communion. We scroll, skim, swipe, and react, but we don’t linger. We consume information constantly, yet we rarely digest it. Psychologically speaking, this keeps our nervous systems in a chronic state of low-grade stress. Spiritually speaking, it makes silence feel threatening. The problem isn’t that productivity is bad. Work is good. Creation itself begins with God working—slowly, deliberately, and with frequent pauses to notice that things are good. The problem is that productivity has become a measure of worth. If I am not producing, achieving, improving, or optimizing, then I must be failing. That belief quietly seeps into our relationship with God. We start to believe that holiness is something we accomplish rather than something we receive. Lent becomes another self-improvement project. Give up sugar. Pray more. Be better. Try harder. Exhaust yourself in the name of sanctity. No wonder so many people burn out quickly. A Therapist's Observation: Growth Requires Slowness In therapy, change does not happen quickly. If it does, I’m usually suspicious. Real growth requires safety, repetition, and time. Trauma heals slowly. Habits change slowly. Trust develops slowly. Even insight—those “aha” moments we love—takes time to sink from the head into the heart. When people try to rush healing, they often end up reinforcing the very patterns they’re trying to escape. The same is true spiritually. You cannot bully your soul into holiness. You cannot shame yourself into virtue. You cannot sprint your way into deep prayer. This is where Lent, properly understood, becomes a gift rather than a burden. Lent is not about cramming more spiritual activity into an already overstuffed life. It is about creating space. Space to notice what drives us. Space to feel what we’ve been avoiding. Space to listen for God, who rarely shouts. The Church, in her wisdom, has always known this. Which brings us to some of my favorite unlikely spiritual guides: a group of ancient monks who ran away to the desert. Lessons From the Desert (No WI-FI, Plenty of Wisdom) The Desert Fathers and Mothers were early Christians who left the cities to seek God in solitude, silence, and simplicity. As a therapist, I’m endlessly fascinated by them—not because they were perfect, but because they were painfully honest about the human condition. They understood distraction, compulsion, pride, and despair long before smartphones gave them new names. One of the most striking things about the Desert tradition is how little emphasis there is on doing impressive things. The advice is often boring. Stay in your cell. Be faithful to prayer. Eat simply. Sleep. Work with your hands. Repeat. There’s a famous saying attributed to Abba Moses: “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” In modern terms, this is deeply inconvenient advice. Sit? With my thoughts? Without noise? Absolutely not. And yet, psychologically, it’s brilliant. When we slow down and remove constant stimulation, what rises to the surface is not usually peace. It’s restlessness. Anxiety. Old wounds. Temptations we’d rather not acknowledge. The Desert Fathers didn’t flee distraction because they were holy; they became holy because they stopped fleeing themselves. Lent invites us into a kind of interior desert—not to punish us, but to tell us the truth about what we’re carrying. Why Slowing Down Feels So Hard From a therapeutic lens, our resistance to slowing down makes sense. Busyness is an excellent coping strategy. It keeps us from feeling grief. It distracts us from loneliness. It gives us a sense of control in a world that is often frightening and unpredictable. Spiritually, busyness can become a way of avoiding God. That may sound harsh, but it’s usually not intentional. God asks for our hearts, and our hearts are messy. It is much easier to give Him tasks. The Desert Fathers warned against what they called acedia , often translated as sloth, but better understood as a restless avoidance of the present moment. Acedia whispers, “Anywhere but here. Anything but this.” It can look like laziness, but it can also look like frantic activity. Sound familiar? Lent is an antidote to acedia, not because it makes us more productive, but because it roots us more deeply in reality. It asks us to stay. Lent as a Season of Regulating the Soul In therapy, one of the first goals is helping people regulate their nervous systems. When we are constantly overstimulated, our capacity for reflection, empathy, and prayer shrinks. Slowing down is not a luxury; it is a requirement for integration. Lent offers built-in practices that do exactly this—if we let them. Fasting, for example, is not about willpower. It is about learning to tolerate desire without immediately satisfying it. That skill is essential for emotional maturity and spiritual freedom. When we fast, we discover how quickly we reach for comfort—and how deeply we are loved even when we are uncomfortable. Prayer during Lent is often simplified. Fewer words. More silence. This can feel unproductive, but silence is where we relearn how to listen. As the Desert Fathers knew, God is not impressed by eloquence. He responds to availability. Almsgiving slows us down by pulling us out of our self-absorption. It interrupts the illusion that our lives are solely about us. When done thoughtfully, it cultivates compassion rather than guilt. None of these practices are meant to exhaust us. They are meant to humanize us. A Gentle Warning About “Winning” Lent Every year, I see people treat Lent like a spiritual CrossFit competition. Who gave up the most? Who prayed the longest? Who suffered hardest? This approach is usually fueled by good intentions and a not-so-good relationship with self-compassion. From both a therapeutic and Catholic perspective, suffering is not redemptive unless it is united to love. The goal of Lent is not to break ourselves open through sheer force. It is to allow God to do the work we cannot do on our own. The Desert Fathers were surprisingly wary of extremes. They warned that ascetic practices pursued without humility often lead to pride or collapse. Moderation, they insisted, was key—not because God is bland, but because humans are fragile. If your Lenten practices leave you more irritable, disconnected, or self-critical, that is information worth praying with. Practicing Slowness This Lent (Without Moving to the Desert) You do not need to quit your job, smash your phone, or start weaving baskets in the wilderness. Slowing down for Lent can be profoundly ordinary. You might choose to do one thing at a time. Eat without scrolling. Pray without background noise. Walk without headphones once in a while. Let silence be awkward. It usually passes. You might shorten your prayer time but show up more consistently. Five minutes of honest presence is often more transformative than an hour of distracted effort. You might resist the urge to fill every empty moment. Boredom is not a failure; it is a doorway. You might notice where you rush and gently ask why. Not to judge yourself—therapists hate that—but to understand yourself. Above all, you might let Lent be less about self-improvement and more about self-reception. God does not need you to optimize your soul. He desires you, as you are, tired and unfinished and deeply loved. The Slow Work There is a line often attributed to Teilhard de Chardin about trusting the slow work of God. Whether or not he said it exactly that way, the sentiment is deeply therapeutic. God is not in a hurry. We are. The Desert Fathers believed that transformation happens quietly, over time, through faithfulness to small things. So does modern psychology. So does anyone who has ever tried to change a habit or heal a wound. Lent is not a detour from real life. It is a return to it. A chance to move at a pace that allows us to notice grace. A season to remember that we are not machines, not projects, not problems to be fixed—but beloved creatures, invited to rest even as we repent. So if this Lent you find yourself slowing down, feeling uncomfortable, resisting the urge to be impressive—take heart. You are probably doing it right. And if you fail? Welcome to the desert. We’ve all been there. Stay awhile. God is already closer than you think. In my own work at Holy Family Counseling Center , I see this truth play out every day. People don’t come because they are bad or spiritually lazy; they come because they are human beings trying to survive at an inhuman pace. Again and again, healing begins not when someone learns a new technique, but when they finally give themselves permission to slow down—emotionally, spiritually, and relationally. Lent offers this same invitation on a wider scale: to pause long enough to notice where we are rushing, what we are avoiding, and how gently God is waiting for us there. Therapy and faith, at their best, are doing the same holy work—helping us become more fully present to ourselves, to others, and to God.

The Star in the Window: A Midwinter Reflection for the Soul

By Peter Attridge, PhD, LMFT • January 16, 2026
As the calendar turns and the glitter of the Christmas Season begins to settle into the quiet, gray periphery of January, there is a collective pressure to "reset". We are inundated with messages about the "New You", usually packaged in the form of rigid resolutions or the sudden, frantic desire to fix everything that felt broken in the previous year. As a therapist, I often see the fallout of this "Resolution Culture" in my office. By the second or third week of January, many of my clients feel a sense of premature failure. They set a bar based on a fleeting burst of midnight motivation, and when the reality of daily life—the fatigue, the stress, the old habits—returns, they feel more discouraged than they did in December. This year, I want to invite you to step away from the secular treadmill of self-improvement and instead lean into the liturgical rhythm of the Church. We are currently in the season of Epiphany , a time that offers a much more compassionate and profound framework for personal growth than any gym membership or habit-tracker ever could. Moving Beyond the New Year, New Me Myth One problem with New Year’s resolutions is that they are often rooted in a rejection of self. We look at our flaws and say, "I must delete this version of myself and install a better one". From both a psychological and a Catholic perspective, this is a flawed starting point. In therapy, we know that true, lasting change doesn't come from self-hatred; it comes from integration . In Catholic teaching, we are reminded that we are already "fearfully and wonderfully made". Our goal isn't to become someone else, but to become more fully who God created us to be. Instead of resolutions, let’s look at this time of year from a different perspective, that of the Epiphany —the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, represented by the journey of the Magi. The Wisdom of the Magi: A Different Kind of Journey The journey of the Wise Men wasn't a race; it was a long, arduous, and patient trek guided by a singular light. They didn't have a 12-step plan to change who they were; they had a star. 1. Finding Your "Star" (Values vs. Goals) In clinical practice, we often distinguish between goals and values. A goal is something you can check off a list (e.g., lose ten pounds). A value is a direction you move in (e.g., caring for the temple of the Holy Spirit). The Magi followed a star—a distant, steady light. They didn't reach it in a day. As you look at this new year, ask yourself: What is my star? Is it a deeper capacity for patience? Is it a commitment to silence? Is it the courage to set boundaries that protect your peace? When we focus on the "star" (the value) rather than a rigid "resolution" (the goal), we allow room for the journey to be messy. If the Magi took a wrong turn, they didn't go home; they looked back up at the sky and corrected their course. 2. The Gifts: Inventory, Not Deletion The Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They brought what they had. In this season, I encourage you to do a "Soul Inventory." Instead of looking at what you lack, look at what you are carrying. What are the "gifts" of your personality? What are the "myrrhs"—the bitter pains or griefs—that you are currently holding? In the therapeutic process, we bring these things into the light. In the Catholic tradition, we offer them to the Christ Child. Nothing is wasted. Even your struggles are gifts in the sense that they are the raw material God uses for your sanctification. Epiphany as a Bridge to Lent Many people see January as a vacuum and February as a countdown to Lent. But the Church, in her wisdom, uses this time as a bridge. Epiphany is about revelation —seeing things as they truly are. If Lent is the season of "doing" (e.g., fasting, almsgiving, prayer), then the weeks following Epiphany are the season of "seeing." You cannot effectively fast from a habit if you don't understand the hunger it’s trying to fill. You cannot give alms with a joyful heart if you haven't recognized the abundance God has already given you. Preparing the Soil Think of this time as "tilling the soil." Before a farmer plants (Lent), he must clear the rocks and turn the earth. This is the psychological work of January and February. Observation without Judgment: Spend these weeks simply noticing your patterns. When do you feel most anxious? When do you feel most distant from God? Don't try to fix it yet. Just see it. The Power of Another Way: After meeting Jesus, the Magi "departed for their country by another way" (Matthew 2:12). This is a beautiful metaphor for the therapeutic journey. Once you encounter the truth—whether in the confessional or the therapist’s chair—you cannot simply go back to the old routes. You are invited to find a "new way" home. Practical Soul-Work for the Season Since we are moving away from the pressure of resolutions, how do we actually use this time? Here are a few "low-pressure, high-grace" suggestions for the weeks ahead: 1. Practice The Examen - St. Ignatius of Loyola gave us a brilliant psychological tool in the Daily Examen. At the end of the day, don't list your failures. Instead, ask: Where did I see God's light today? * Where did I turn away from it? This builds the "muscle" of awareness that you will need when Lent arrives. 2. Identify Your "Herod" - In the Epiphany story, Herod represents the ego, the fear, and the desire for control that feels threatened by the "New King" (grace). What is the Herod in your life right now? Is it a need for perfection? Is it a specific resentment you’re clinging to? Recognizing your internal Herod is the first step toward preventing it from sabotaging your spiritual growth. 3. Rest as a Spiritual Discipline - The Magi traveled far, but they also stopped. Our culture demands constant production. But in the quiet of winter, the earth rests. Allow yourself a Sabbath of the Mind. If you are feeling burnt out, the most Catholic and psychologically sound thing you can do isn't to add a new prayer routine, but to sleep an extra hour and acknowledge your human limitations. We are creatures, not the Creator. Looking Toward the Desert Soon enough, the ashes will be placed on our foreheads, and we will enter the desert of Lent. But we don't have to rush there. If we spend this Epiphany season truly following our "star"—seeking the truth of who we are and who Christ is—we won't enter Lent out of a sense of should or guilt. Instead, we will enter Lent like people who have seen a Great Light. We will fast because we’ve realized we are hungry for something better than what the world offers. We will pray because we’ve realized we can’t make the journey alone. A Final Thought from the Couch If you find yourself struggling this January—if the New Year energy feels more like a heavy weight than a fresh start—take a deep breath. You are not a project to be solved. You are a person to be loved. The Magi didn't find a palace; they found a child in a humble, probably messy, stable. God meets you in the messy stable of your current life—not the perfected palace of your resolutions. This year, let’s stop trying to resolve our lives and start trying to reveal them. Let the light of the Epiphany show you the way, one small, patient step at a time. Walking Together at Holy Family Counseling Center If navigating these internal movements feels overwhelming, remember that you don’t have to follow the star alone. At Holy Family Counseling Center , we specialize in walking alongside individuals and families as they integrate their psychological health with their Catholic faith. Whether you are struggling to identify your Herod or simply need a safe space to process the myrrh in your life, our clinicians are here to help you find that other way toward healing and peace.

When and How to Make Amends: Discernment, Boundaries, and the Catholic Call to Healing

By Peter Attridge, PhD • November 11, 2025
As a Catholic therapist, I often sit with clients who are wrestling with a deeply human question: When is it the right time to make amends ? Whether it’s reaching out to someone who has hurt them, or considering their own responsibility in a fractured relationship, the process of healing often leads us into the tender territory of reconciliation. But forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t the same thing. Forgiveness is something we’re called to offer freely—an act of the will that releases resentment and gives us peace, even when the other person hasn’t apologized. Reconciliation, on the other hand, is a step that involves two people. And discerning when—or even if—that step should be taken requires wisdom, prayer, and often, boundaries. Let’s explore how we can approach this process with care and courage, supported by both therapeutic tools and the richness of our Catholic faith. Discerning the Right Time to Make Amends Discernment is a familiar concept in Catholic life. We use it to seek God's will in big decisions—vocations, careers, relationships. But it’s just as important in the smaller, more personal moments too, like choosing when to reach out to someone who has hurt us, or someone we may have hurt. Therapy can be a valuable space for this kind of discernment. Sometimes the desire to make amends comes from a sincere place of healing and readiness. Other times, it may be driven by guilt, pressure, or a longing for closure that the other person may not be able to give. In our sessions, I often help clients explore their motivations. Are you seeking peace, or permission? Healing, or validation? Discernment is about honesty—with yourself, with God, and with your emotional limits. St. Ignatius of Loyola offers a helpful framework for discernment rooted in prayerful reflection, noticing the movements of the heart. If the thought of reconciliation brings a sense of peace, courage, and compassion, it may be time. If it stirs anxiety, dread, or a sense of obligation, it may be wise to wait, or to approach things differently. The Role of Boundaries in Forgiveness and Healing One of the most common misconceptions I hear, especially among people of faith, is that setting boundaries is somehow un-Christian. But in truth, boundaries are acts of love —toward ourselves and others. They help define what is safe, respectful, and life-giving in a relationship. Forgiveness does not mean allowing someone to continue harming us. Christ calls us to forgive, yes, even “seventy times seven” times (Matthew 18:22), but He does not call us to abandon prudence or endure abuse. Remember, even Jesus withdrew from hostile crowds at times (John 10:39), and He taught that reconciliation involves both repentance and change (Luke 17:3-4). In therapy, we often work on developing “healthy boundaries” that allow us to engage with others from a place of strength and safety. For example, it’s okay to forgive a parent for past wounds without allowing them to manipulate your present life. It’s okay to love a sibling from a distance if closeness continues to result in harm. And it’s okay to hope for reconciliation without forcing it to happen. Boundaries are not walls; they are gates. They give us the freedom to let people in—but only when it is healthy and appropriate to do so. Making Amends with Compassion and Clarity If and when the time does come to make amends, whether as the person extending forgiveness or the one asking for it, approaching the conversation with humility and clarity is essential. We can take inspiration from the Sacrament of Reconciliation, where the process of confession involves examining our conscience, naming our sins, expressing true contrition, and receiving both forgiveness and guidance. Similarly, when making amends in our personal lives, we begin by acknowledging what happened—not defensively, but honestly. We share how the situation has affected us. We listen. We don’t demand immediate restoration, but we open the door to it. And sometimes, we might take that step and find that the other person isn’t ready. Or they respond with defensiveness, denial, or more harm. That’s when we return to our boundaries. Forgiveness is still possible, but reconciliation may need to remain a hope rather than a present reality. Spiritual Guidance Along the Way Throughout this process, our faith can be an anchor. Prayer becomes a conversation with the God who knows every wound and walks with us through every step of healing. The saints offer examples of both radical forgiveness and wise discernment. St. Monica, for instance, teaches us about perseverance in love and prayer without enabling harmful behavior. St. Maria Goretti’s story is often cited for her forgiveness, but we also remember her clarity in saying no to harm. And of course, the Sacraments nourish us. Receiving the Eucharist strengthens us to love like Christ. Confession helps us experience God’s mercy, so we can extend it more freely to others. Spiritual direction can also be helpful when navigating complex relationships and emotional burdens through a faith-based lens. Trusting the Slow Work of Healing Making amends and setting boundaries aren’t one-time decisions. They are part of an ongoing, unfolding process of healing. We may feel ready one day and hesitant the next. That’s okay. Forgiveness is not linear, and relationships—especially broken ones—rarely heal overnight. But I’ve seen firsthand the beauty that emerges when people engage in this work with courage. When they honor both their pain and their desire for peace. When they protect their hearts with boundaries, but still remain open to love. And when they trust that, even if reconciliation is not possible now, it may one day be—with God’s grace. In Conclusion If you’re in the midst of wrestling with whether to make amends, take heart. It’s not an easy decision, and it doesn’t have to be rushed. Therapy can offer tools and support. Your faith can offer wisdom and hope. And both can help you move forward with peace. Forgiveness will always be a part of the journey. But reconciliation? That’s something we discern, with prayer and prudence. And no matter where you land—whether you reach out, stay silent, or hold space from afar—you are not alone in the journey. If you haven’t yet read Part One of this series, I encourage you to explore the foundations of forgiveness and healing in both therapy and Catholic tradition. That post dives into the inner process of releasing pain and embracing God’s mercy—a powerful first step before considering reconciliation. May you be filled with gentleness, wisdom, and the peace that comes from the One who forgave us first. Forgiveness can feel impossible at times—but it’s also one of the most healing gifts we can give ourselves. If you're carrying the weight of resentment or hurt and feel ready to explore a path toward release and peace, therapy can help. At Holy Family Counseling Center , we create a safe space to process the past, understand your emotions, and move forward with intention. Connect with us when you're ready—we’re here to walk that path with you.