Title: True Forgiveness & Finally Seeing the Truth
By Dominga Moreno

Content Warning: This post includes references to abuse, including sexual abuse. Please take care while reading.

For a long time, I used to tell the Lord, “I forgive my family.”
I said the words out loud. I meant them—or at least, I wanted to mean them.
But every time I said it, I could still feel something sitting in my chest. A tightness. A hurt. A little fire that I couldn’t name.

The truth is, I was still angry. I was still heartbroken. I was still disappointed.
But I didn’t want to stay in that place. I wanted to walk in true forgiveness.
And today, by God’s grace, I can say—I’m finally walking in it.

But true forgiveness doesn’t mean silence.
It doesn’t mean pretending I didn’t see what I saw or feel what I felt.
It doesn’t mean I stay around toxic people, or go back to a dysfunctional house, or ignore the fact that the next generation is suffering the same way I did.

Forgiveness means I’ve let go of the bitterness, but I haven’t let go of the truth.
It means I love them, but I see them clearly.

Recently, one of my uncle’s daughters turned 18. She’s a sweet, naive young girl—still like a child in so many ways. No real life skills. No structure. No direction. She’s never had a job. She doesn’t even know how to wash her clothes properly. And yet, the moment she turned 18, they told her she was “grown.”

And just like that, they let her go. Let her walk out into the world alone.
No guidance. No plan. No protection.

It broke my heart.

Because I know that house.
I was raised in that house.
I lived through what she’s living through.

And I can’t stay quiet.

This isn’t about judgment. This is about protection.
This is about responsibility.
This is about how we’ve failed our children—not just in the world, but in the church.

Because the truth is, we were abused in that house—
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. And sexually.
And instead of being protected, we were silenced.
Told to keep quiet. To protect the family. To protect the church.
Our grandparents were pastors. And my grandmother knew.
She chose to protect reputations instead of protecting the children.
And that betrayal is hard to even put into words.

To this day, when we speak up, we’re told we’re “tearing up the church.”
But what about what tore us up?
What about what broke our spirits?
What about the children who are still being left unprotected?

My older brother once told me, “I blame Grandmom more than I blame Pop. Because she knew, and she did nothing.” And as much as I wanted to defend her, I couldn’t anymore. Because the truth hit me: she did know. And she chose silence.

And now I see her doing the same thing with her great-grandchildren.
Still unprepared. Still uncovered. Still left to figure out life on their own.

That’s not love. That’s not leadership.
And that’s not what ministry is supposed to look like.

I’ve seen this cycle play out for years.
Children being released into the world with no preparation.
Young girls left vulnerable. Boys left without direction.
And a church culture that prioritizes membership over maturity, image over integrity, and tithes over truth.

I went back to the church once after years of being away.
And immediately, a man old enough to be my grandfather—someone my family literally called “family”—tried to talk to me inappropriately.
He was already involved with another woman in the church, yet tried to start confusion between us.
When I spoke up, nothing was done.
No correction. No accountability. Not even a conversation.
Because confronting him would risk losing a member.

But let me tell you something:
God is not impressed by numbers. He’s looking for righteousness.

This is not about bitterness. This is about discernment.
This is about finally seeing things for what they really are—and choosing to break the cycle.

Yes, I forgive them.
I don’t wish them harm. I pray for them. I love them.
But I don’t go to their church.
I don’t sit at their table.
And I will not keep quiet about the truth.

I used to feel bad for seeing what I see.
Now I realize—God was the one who opened my eyes.

And maybe someone else reading this has been through something similar.
You were hurt by family. You were silenced by a church.
You were called bitter, angry, or rebellious for telling the truth.

Let me say this to you with love:
You are not bitter.
You are brave.
And God sees you.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean returning to abuse.
It means breaking free from the lie that you have to pretend it never happened.

It means standing for the next generation so they don’t repeat our mistakes.
It means praying, healing, and speaking up when others stay silent.

I don’t tell my story for pity. I tell it because I’ve survived it.
And I want to see others healed and free.

Jesus came to set the captives free.
Not to keep them trapped in religious bondage or silent pain.

So, to every person trying to walk in real forgiveness—
Keep praying. Keep healing. Keep speaking the truth in love.

And remember:
Forgiveness is freedom.
Truth is power.
And God is still the God of justice.