“I Wouldn't Forgive Me”: Apology, Forgiveness, and Self-Forgiveness Among Incarcerated Men and Women

When a person causes deep harm to another, the moral world they inhabit fractures. The act creates a gap between who they were and who they have become, and a chasm between them and the person they hurt. For decades, psychologists and sociologists have studied how people try to bridge this gap. Two concepts sit at the center of this effort: apology and forgiveness. An apology is not merely saying "I am sorry." It is a moral act where the person who caused harm admits their mistake, accepts responsibility, and tries to repair the dignity of the one they hurt. Forgiveness, on the other hand, is something the victim grants. It is not a reward the offender can demand, nor a step that automatically follows an apology. It is a separate, uncertain choice made by the person who was hurt.

In the high-stakes environment of a prison, these concepts take on a heavier weight. Here, the harm has already been labeled by the state as a crime, and the person who caused it is stripped of freedom and often of their social identity. Researchers have long wondered how people in this situation think about making amends. Do they see apology as a way to fix their character? Do they believe they can ever be forgiven? And perhaps most difficult, can they forgive themselves without denying the gravity of what they did? Understanding these internal struggles is crucial because how a person views their own capacity for change often determines whether they can eventually leave crime behind and build a new life.

A team of researchers at The Max Stern Yezreel Valley College in Israel set out to explore these questions by listening directly to the voices of people behind bars. They did not conduct new experiments or surveys; instead, they performed a deep, careful re-examination of forty existing interviews. These conversations had originally been recorded with twenty-three men and seventeen women incarcerated in various prisons across Israel. The participants ranged in age from twenty to sixty-nine and came from diverse religious and cultural backgrounds, including Jewish and Muslim communities. The researchers asked them to reflect on their offenses, their relationships with their victims, and their feelings about the possibility of forgiveness. By analyzing the stories these men and women told, the researchers uncovered a complex landscape of guilt, shame, and the desperate hope for moral repair.

The study revealed that for these incarcerated individuals, an apology was never just a polite phrase or a formal requirement. Instead, they described it as a profound moral duty. It was a way to acknowledge that they had caused pain and to take ownership of that pain. One man, who had been in prison for twenty-two years, explained that he wanted to tell his victims what happened because "it's the right thing to do," regardless of whether they would ever speak to him again. A woman echoed this sentiment, saying she felt she had to ask for forgiveness simply because it was the right action, even if she did not expect to receive it. For these individuals, the act of apologizing was less about changing the past and more about standing up to the truth of what they had done.

However, the researchers found that men and women often approached this moral work in different ways. For the men, the focus was frequently on the direct victim. They spoke of apology as a way to restore respect and dignity to the specific person they had hurt. They imagined facing that person, admitting their wrong, and giving back the honor they had taken. Their desire for forgiveness was tied to the idea of being seen as someone who had accepted responsibility. In contrast, the women often spoke of apology in terms of family and belonging. Their stories centered on the damage done to their children, their parents, and their wider circle of relatives. For them, asking for forgiveness was an attempt to rebuild the broken connections that defined their lives. They hoped to be seen again not just as a criminal, but as a mother, a daughter, or a sister who still cared.

The concept of forgiveness itself was viewed with a mixture of longing and deep skepticism. Almost everyone expressed a strong desire to be forgiven, yet almost everyone also believed it would never happen. This was not because they thought the victims were cruel, but because they felt they had no right to expect it. One man put it simply: "If I were in their place, I wouldn't forgive me either." This disbelief took different forms for men and women. The men often feared the physical and emotional reaction of the victim. They worried about being met with anger, rejection, or even violence if they ever tried to meet face-to-face. The women, however, struggled more with a sense of internal shame. They felt that their identity was so stained by their actions that they were viewed as "monsters" who could never be redeemed. They believed that no matter how much they changed, the people they hurt would only see the worst thing they had ever done.

Perhaps the most difficult part of this moral journey was the struggle with self-forgiveness. The researchers found that the participants were not looking for a way to let themselves off the hook. They did not want to pretend the harm hadn't happened. Instead, they were trying to figure out how to live with the heavy burden of their actions without being crushed by them. For the men, this struggle was often about guilt—the feeling that they had done a bad thing and needed to bear the consequences. They spoke of a daily effort to face themselves and accept their responsibility. For the women, the struggle was often about shame—the feeling that they were fundamentally bad people. They worried that they were irredeemable, that their very nature was flawed. This distinction is vital: guilt focuses on the act, while shame focuses on the self. The women's accounts suggested that the prison environment, combined with societal expectations of how women should behave, made them feel that their entire identity was broken, not just their actions.

The study suggests that for people in prison, the path to change is not a straight line from crime to freedom. It is a complex moral landscape where they must learn to hold two difficult truths at once: that they are responsible for the harm they caused, and that they are still capable of being more than that harm. The researchers emphasize that forgiveness from others is not something that can be guaranteed or forced. It remains an uncertain possibility that belongs to the victim. However, the work of apology and the struggle for self-forgiveness are essential parts of the internal process of change. By acknowledging their mistakes and trying to repair the moral damage, even without the promise of reconciliation, these individuals are engaging in a form of moral labor that is central to their ability to eventually leave their past behind. The study concludes that rehabilitation is not just about learning new skills or following rules; it is about the difficult, ongoing work of rebuilding a sense of self that can carry the weight of responsibility without collapsing under it.