For much of my life, I was against forgiveness, particularly for men. I held to my anger, proudly. Refusing to forgive the men in my life was a way of valuing myself. Staying angry meant that the harm done to me was real, and mattered; it meant that I would never again say I am not worthy. Forgiveness happens involuntarily, as a kind of psychological climate change; you wake up one day with the rocky shores of your resentment gone, swallowed by the sea. 
Source : A Kind of Forgiveness
