“Some Things Don’t Die. They Wait.”

This morning, while preparing to write about forgiveness and sitting with a few thoughts I’ve been holding, I stumbled upon something unexpected—a draft. Written months ago, saved quietly, and never published. At first, I paused and wondered why it never made it live. Why I didn’t push it forward. Why it sat untouched while seasons continued to move around me. But as I reread it, I felt clarity, not regret.

That draft wasn’t unfinished. It was early.

And in that moment, forgiveness looked like extending grace to the woman who wrote it. Forgiveness for ideas that arrived before capacity. Forgiveness for dreams that showed up while I was still learning how to rest. Forgiveness for not forcing something meaningful to bloom before its time.

We don’t often talk about this kind of forgiveness—the kind that doesn’t involve another person. The kind that requires no conversation, no explanation, no resolution. Just a quiet release of self-judgment. A gentle acknowledgment that timing matters, and so does tenderness toward yourself.

I used to believe forgiveness always meant letting something go. But sometimes, forgiveness means letting something rest. Letting an idea sit. Letting a vision mature. Letting yourself change without punishment. Growth doesn’t always look like movement. Sometimes it looks like restraint. Sometimes it looks like trust. Sometimes it looks like leaving a draft exactly where it is and knowing that when the time is right, you’ll know.

Not everything you start needs to be finished immediately. Not everything unfinished has been abandoned. Not every pause is a failure. Some things don’t die. They wait.

And today, I choose to honor the waiting—with gentleness, with gratitude, and with grace.