By Kevin Hughes
Inspired by SOCIOMOM: My Story of Terror, Truth, and Triumph
Christmas has always carried a strange weight for survivors. For most of us, it was the season when the house looked perfect, but the peace was fake. The lights glowed, but they did not warm the cold that lived behind closed doors.
When I wrote SOCIOMOM, I did not set out to write a holiday story, but the truth is—healing has its own seasons. And Christmas, for those who’ve known abuse or control, can stir some of the deepest conflicts of all: the longing for peace and the fear of being hurt again.
At the center of that tension sits one word that feels both holy and heavy—FORGIVENESS.
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What Forgiveness Is Not
Let’s start with what forgiveness isn’t.
It’s not pretending it didn’t happen.
It’s not ignoring the damage.
It’s not letting people back into your life who haven’t changed.
In fact, real forgiveness might be the opposite of those things.
When you’ve been controlled, gaslit, or silenced, forgiveness can be twisted into a weapon. “Good Christians forgive and forget,” they say. But the truth is, forgetting is not healing, it is denial. And forgiveness without wisdom is just another form of captivity.
In SOCIOMOM, I learned that true forgiveness does not mean you lose your memory; it means you lose your need for revenge. It means you can look at the story and no longer flinch. You can let go—not because they deserve peace, but because you do.
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Forgiveness as a Boundary, Not a Bridge
There’s a moment in every survivor’s journey where you realize that forgiveness isn’t about letting someone back in—it’s about letting them go.
Forgiveness says: I release you from my anger, but not from accountability.
It says: You no longer get to rent space in my mind, because I’ve reclaimed that territory.
That’s the freedom I was reaching for when I wrote SOCIOMOM. Not the kind of forgiveness that erases truth, but the kind that walks hand-in-hand with it.
Some people will never understand this kind of peace. They will call it bitterness when it is actually clarity. They will say you are holding a grudge when really, you are just holding a boundary.
But you know better. You know that peace built on pretending always collapses—and peace built on truth endures.
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Grace for the Wounded Heart
Every Christmas, I find myself thinking about the manger—how God chose to show up in a place that was humble, uncomfortable, even unsafe. That is what grace does. It finds beauty in broken spaces.
Grace is what allows you to look at your past and whisper, I made it.
Grace is what lets you bless people from afar, even if they’ll never understand what they did.
Grace is what reminds you that forgiveness isn’t about them changing—it’s about you being free to live.
So, if you find yourself this Christmas staring at the empty seat where someone used to sit, know this: sometimes the emptiness is sacred. Sometimes it is proof that you are finally walking in peace instead of pain.
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Forgiveness is not a single act—it is a daily surrender. It’s waking up and choosing not to carry what broke you.
And maybe this Christmas, that’s your gift to yourself:
Not the restoration of what was, but the release of what never should have been.
Because peace isn’t found in going back—it’s found in finally letting go.
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A Prayer for Christmas Forgiveness
Lord, thank You for the gift of freedom that comes from truth. Help me to forgive without forgetting, to release without returning, and to love without losing myself. Let this Christmas be less about appearances and more about authenticity. Teach me to find peace in Your presence, even when others cannot offer it. Amen.
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Author Note: Kevin Hughes is the author of SOCIOMOM: My Story of Terror, Truth, and Triumph—a journey through survival, faith, and the courage to rebuild after psychological abuse. Visit MySOCIOMOM.com to see more or order the book which is also available on all online platforms like Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Goodreads.