LAYLA:
My relationship to Forgiveness has undergone seismic changes over the years.
When I was a child, I was known for bearing a grudge. Those who wronged me would be subjected to hours, even days of silence and scowling.
Then one day, life dealt me a devastating blow and revolutionised the way I practiced it.
The fragility of life suddenly became so present. It forced me to redefine my harsh stances and put things into perspective. It was the start of an ongoing quest; a search for balanced consideration, empathy and compassion.
Like many of Whyte’s chosen words, Forgiveness is such an enormous concept, with countless directions to take it in. Whyte has mainly focussed on Forgiveness between two people, and written about it with his usual powerful, poetic flare.
But it was self-forgiveness that kept returning to my mind as I contemplated this chapter, despite it not being mentioned at all. Perhaps because self-forgiveness has been one of the most difficult yet rewarding journeys of my life so far.
Is it possible to truly forgive another without first extending that grace to ourselves? Can we accept human frailty in those around us if we fail to accept our own?
Maybe the answers to those questions differ from person to person. But for me, self-forgiveness unlocked a completely new way of understanding and relating to others. It allowed me to love more wholly and to relax my impossibly-high standards and conditions.
In my mind, Forgiveness takes the shape of a wheel. Sometimes we are at the top of the wheel, giving our forgiveness, and sometimes at the bottom, asking for it. Neither experience is particularly comfortable, but both are needed if in order to keep our hearts open and consciences light.  

PATRIZIA:
Forgiveness is a concept we learn and practice from childhood. It is familiar to everyone, yet it evolves differently within each individual, influenced by our environment, experiences, and character traits. We must always keep forgiveness close at hand. Such is the fallibility of human nature that we are in constant need of both offering it and receiving it. 
To me, forgiveness is the relinquishment of the desire— fueled by resentment—to exact revenge for a wrong endured.  We release this desire either because the love we feel for the person who inflicted the wound is stronger than the suffering caused, or because we come to understand the motivations behind their act. I agree with Whyte that forgiving does not mean forgetting, nor does it entail having to restore the status quo by ignoring the voice of our self-preservation instinct. I disagree, however, with the logic used to urge us to grant forgiveness immediately—as a gesture of generosity toward both ourselves and others—based on the conviction that time will play its part, inevitably leading us to achieve understanding and emotional forgiveness.
Time may perhaps be the greatest healer, yet it is not so for everyone, nor to the same degree. If we accept the premise that time leads to understanding, and understanding to forgiveness, we are essentially asserting that time automatically brings about forgiveness—thereby devaluing the volitional nature of the process and reducing it to a mere automatic response. It is not time that forgives, but rather our soul. Rushing forgiveness can prove emotionally destabilizing, for it denies us the necessary time to shoulder the full weight of our suffering and to grasp the magnitude of its internal repercussions.
The graver the wrong, the less forgiveness can be reduced to a single act; rather, it demands a process marked by steps that lead us forward and, sometime, backward— the duration and complexity of which depend upon who inflicted the suffering, the depth of suffering endured, the awareness with which it was inflicted, and the offender’s capacity to comprehend the consequences of their actions—both at the time of the act and subsequently—as well as their willingness to atone and to refrain from repeating the offense.
Forgiveness in the absence of repentance is possible, but it requires a more laborious journey that opens only a narrow passage, granting relief solely to the forgiver by allowing them to take back control of their life and letting go of the torment of anger, resentment, and the desire for revenge. 
Forgiveness in the presence of repentance opens far wider gates. It creates space for true reconciliation, for trust to be rebuilt, and for a deep, mutual understanding to grow.
The key to true forgiveness lies precisely in the refusal to rush the process—in not yielding to the temptation to immediately demonstrate a supposed wisdom or nobility of spirit. Processing suffering requires the courage to endure the difficult journey that may lead us either to shut away our pain and move on, or to accept our pain and emotionally dissociate the offense from the offender, therefore making room for mercy—without which there might be no hope to truly understand or forgive ourselves or others.

BRUNELLA:
Forgiveness: a beautiful word that holds so much within it—love, empathy, trust, humility and generosity.
Forgiving is one of the hardest choices we can make. It is rarely a simple act. More often than not, it is a long and painful inner journey, full of doubts, hesitations and unanswered questions.
Some people find forgiveness easier than others. Sometimes it comes quickly; sometimes it takes years. It may be complete, or only partial. Yet whenever it arrives, it has the power to change us.
David Whyte highlights the healing power of forgiveness. He suggests that, in order to forgive, we must place ourselves “in a gravitational field of experience larger than the one in which we felt crushed at the beginning”. In doing so, we allow ourselves to grow beyond the wound itself. From there, we can revisit our hurt from a wider perspective and perhaps even glimpse the fears, weaknesses or circumstances that lay behind the other person’s actions.
In that sense, forgiveness is an opportunity to become a better version of ourselves. It asks us to confront who we are and to acknowledge our own vulnerability.
Forgiveness reminds us that within every human being there exists a mysterious mixture of good and bad, both of which shape our relationships with others. Each of us sees the world through our own lens, interprets events in our own way and reacts according to our own nature. It is no surprise, then, that harmony can sometimes be difficult to achieve and maintain.
We do not always value others as we should, and sometimes we fail to realise that we have hurt them.
When conflict arises within families, it can be deeply painful and destructive. Often, it stems from our inability to accept one another as we are, without casting ourselves as either victim or villain.
We can also find ourselves misunderstood, unintentionally causing hurt or resentment. That happened to me with someone who always seemed wary of others, quick to take offence and constantly on the defensive.
Over the course of my life, I have spent many years shaping both myself and the life I wanted to live. Today, in my nineties, I find that I am able to forgive and move on relatively quickly. The era in which I grew up, the values passed on to me by my family and teachers, and what I hope is a fundamentally kind nature have all helped to make me who I am: open-minded, understanding and willing to help others.
In my day, school was about far more than academic learning; it was a place where character was formed. Reading Cuore, with its lessons in kindness and compassion, was almost a rite of passage. We were also encouraged to look to Saint Francis as an example: a humble and compassionate man who loved his enemies and prayed for those who persecuted him.
Perhaps because of that upbringing, and because of the examples I was given, I learned to reject pride, feelings of superiority and every form of aggression as breeding grounds for bitterness and resentment.
Forgiveness does not erase an offence, nor does it make us forget. If anything, it asks us to revisit the hurt and gradually absorb it until it no longer poisons us. It should never be mistaken for weakness. On the contrary, forgiveness is an act of strength. It also reminds us that we, too, depend on the understanding and forgiveness of others.
I am convinced that forgiveness makes us better people and contributes to our wellbeing. It is a precious gift, one that allows us to live more peacefully and in greater harmony with ourselves and the world around us.
Though when faced with chilling acts of violence, I feel my faith in forgiveness falter. My willingness to forgive becomes tempered by caution. I find myself wondering whether it is right to forgive those who seem undeserving of it, and whether mercy should be extended in the face of cruelty.
Yet I believe forgiveness remains possible- if we truly choose it, and if our shared humanity allows us to love others as we love ourselves.
Forgiveness is an act of will, rooted in both heart and mind. Above all, it is an act of liberation for the person who chooses it.
And we should never forget that those who cause harm are often people who, in one way or another, are themselves in need of help.