They told you to forgive. Your therapist. Your spiritual friends. That well-meaning cousin who reads too many self-help books. "Forgiveness is for you, not them," they chirped. "Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." And maybe you nodded. Maybe you even tried. But every time you reached for that shiny, sanitized version of forgiveness, something inside you screamed. That something was your truth. Here's what nobody tells survivors of narcissistic abuse: the pressure to forgive can be its own form of violence. A second wounding. A demand that you abandon yourself all over again, this time dressed up in spiritual language and pastel-colored platitudes. You already spent months or years erasing your own reality to survive. Now you're being asked to erase it once more... for the sake of being "evolved." I'm not going to do that to you. What I am going to do is walk with you through the mess of it. The rage. The terror. The part of you that still flinches when a certain name appears on your phone. Because forgiveness, real forgiveness, doesn't ask you to pretend any of that didn't happen. It doesn't hand your abuser a