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The Power of Letting Go

What Amanda Knox’s Story Teaches Us About Forgiveness and the Freedom It Brings

When Amanda Knox returned to Italy in 2023 to meet Giuliano Mignini — the man who spent years vilifying her as a deviant and murderer — it wasn’t for vindication. It was for something quieter, harder, and more courageous: forgiveness.

Mignini was the prosecutor in the case that led to Knox’s wrongful imprisonment for the 2007 murder of her roommate Meredith Kercher. The trial was soaked in media frenzy and shaped by an accusatory narrative that Knox would spend nearly a decade unraveling. She was eventually acquitted, but the shadow of that time never left.

So why meet the man who took away her freedom and shaped the narrative that painted her as guilty, a portrayal that haunted her long after her exoneration?

In her recent memoir Free, Knox shares how that meeting wasn’t about clearing the record. It was about confronting a chapter of her life that could’ve defined her by bitterness and destroyed her but didn’t. She wrote to him. They talked. And eventually, they sat down face-to-face in Perugia. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t admit fault. And still, Knox chose to forgive him for the hell she went through.

Forgiveness for Knox was personal and internal, focused on reclaiming her peace rather than reciprocity, confession, or justice.

Forgiveness Doesn’t Wait for an Apology

Many of us hold back forgiveness until the other person “makes it right.” But that leaves our peace dependent on someone else’s growth. Forgiveness is readiness. It’s the willingness to let go, regardless of whether the other person changes.

Knox’s decision to forgive Mignini was not an endorsement of his actions. It was a bold act of personal agency.

What Happens in the Brain?

Psychologists have been studying forgiveness for decades. According to research from Dr. Everett Worthington and the Stanford Forgiveness Project, forgiveness is strongly correlated with mental and physical health.

Brain imaging studies have shown that when we recall a hurtful event, the brain lights up in areas linked to pain and stress, particularly the amygdala and anterior cingulate cortex. But when participants choose to forgive, those same areas begin to quiet. Forgiveness reduces the stress response.

This doesn’t mean forgetting or excusing. Knox never dismissed the trauma she endured. But by meeting Mignini and offering him grace, she interrupted the cycle of internal damage. She chose to stop feeding a loop that would have otherwise kept her tethered to the past.

Forgiveness Is Not Reconciliation

One of the biggest misunderstandings about forgiveness is the assumption that it must involve reconciliation. It doesn’t. Forgiveness is internal. Reconciliation is relational — and it requires safety and trust, which may never be possible.

Amanda Knox’s meeting with Mignini wasn’t about rebuilding trust. It was about claiming emotional freedom.

Amanda Knox’s story reminds us that forgiveness means acknowledging the hurt and choosing not to let the wound become the whole story.

Knox’s quiet act of forgiveness is a challenge: Are we willing to let go, even when we’re right?

Not because they deserve it. But because we do.

If you’ve been hurt and are waiting for an apology, consider this: You may never get one. But you still have a choice. You can carry the burden — or you can lay it down.

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Can't Hurt Me Series Part 3: The Cooke Jar

David Goggins has a way of turning pain into fuel. He doesn’t just run ultra-marathons on broken legs or break pull-up records—he builds mental tools that keep him in the fight long after most people would’ve quit. One of the simplest, and most powerful, is what he calls the Cookie Jar.

It’s not a metaphor for joy or pleasure. It’s a mental vault of hardship. A private inventory of every hard thing he’s survived—every moment he earned through suffering. When Goggins hits the wall, when doubt creeps in and his body wants to give up, he reaches into that jar. He pulls out a memory of a time he pushed through. A time he proved to himself that he was harder than his circumstances.

It’s not motivational fluff. It’s war-tested truth. The Cookie Jar reminds him that he’s been through worse—and that he came out stronger.

That’s the kind of mindset Can’t Hurt Me is built on.

The book doesn’t offer comfort. It offers confrontation. Goggins challenges readers to stop coddling themselves and start remembering their power. And the Cookie Jar is one of the ways he tells you to do it.

He doesn’t just say “believe in yourself.” He says prove it. Make a list. Write down the moments you didn’t think you’d survive—but did. Recall the time you showed up anyway, even when you were broken. That time you were terrified, but moved forward. That win no one saw, but you felt deep in your bones.

Then hold on to those. Don’t let them fade. Because you’ll need them.

When you’re tired. When the world’s gone quiet. When you’re in a dark place wondering if you’ve got anything left—that’s when you reach in.

The Cookie Jar doesn’t make the pain go away. But it does remind you: you’ve done this before. Or worse. And that knowledge—that proof—can carry you another mile.

Goggins built his jar from a brutal life: childhood trauma, racism, poverty, obesity, failure, heartbreak. But he turned those into a reservoir of resilience. And that’s what this book invites you to do.

It’s not about bragging. It’s not about glorifying pain. It’s about stockpiling evidence—proof that you’re tougher than the lies fear tries to tell you.

Reading Can’t Hurt Me isn’t a feel-good experience. It’s a wake-up call. Goggins doesn’t want you to admire him. He wants you to go to war with your excuses.

And the Cookie Jar?

That’s one of your weapons.

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Can't Hurt Me Series, Part 2: Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable

David Goggins says it like a mantra: “Get comfortable being uncomfortable.”

Not just once. Over and over. Until it drills a hole in your excuses and sets up shop in your spine.

The first time I heard it, I rolled my eyes. Easy for him to say, right? He’s running ultra-marathons on broken legs and doing pull-ups until his hands split open. The guy’s a freak.

But the more I listened, the more it stuck.

Because deep down, I knew I’d been avoiding discomfort most of my life.

I used to chase comfort like it was oxygen. Numbed myself with food. With distractions. With anything that kept me from feeling the heat. I wanted the results—change, growth, strength—but I didn’t want the cost. I wanted the muscle without the burn. The breakthrough without the breakdown.

Then I joined my local volunteer fire department.

And let me tell you—nothing is comfortable about being a firefighter.

You’re sweating in 80 pounds of gear, crawling through smoke-filled rooms, trying to stay calm while alarms scream in your ear and your brain tells you to run. You’re dragging hoses through buildings on fire, heart racing, vision blurry. You’re kneeling on asphalt doing CPR on someone’s dad while traffic rushes by, praying to God they wake up.

And the weirdest part?

I loved it.

Not because I’m a masochist. But because it was real. Raw. Honest. There was no room for pretending. No space for ego. It stripped you down to your instincts and forced you to act anyway. And every time I thought I couldn’t do it—every time I wanted to quit—I pushed a little harder.

That’s what Goggins is talking about.

He’s not asking us to suffer for fun. He’s not glorifying pain. He’s reminding us that real growth—real change—only happens on the edge of comfort. When you’re scared. When you’re exhausted. When your body is screaming and your mind is doubting and you decide to take one more step anyway.

You don’t build mental toughness from your couch.

You build it in the fire.

I didn’t become stronger because I joined the fire department. I became stronger because I stayed when it got hard. Because I learned to breathe through panic. To think in chaos. To trust my training when my mind wanted to fold.

That’s what I’m chasing now.

Discomfort isn’t the enemy. It’s the training ground. The forge. The place where fear gets confronted and resilience gets built.

Goggins says you have to seek out the suck. And I get it now.

So here’s the challenge: Find your fire. Find the thing that scares you. And run toward it. One step at a time.

You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to show up—again and again—until the thing that used to terrify you becomes the thing that sharpens you.

That’s how you grow.

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Can’t Hurt Me Series, Part 1: Pain Is the Price of Growth

David Goggins didn’t grow up easily. Abuse. Poverty. Pain layered on pain. But instead of staying broken, he built something out of it. He turned his suffering into strength.

While my story isn’t his, I’ve had my war.

I started college trying to be what my parents wanted: a nice, respectable CPA, an accounting major, a safe career, and a good income. The plan was all mapped out.

But I hated it.

Two years in, I was floundering with a 2.5 GPA, below the cutoff to get into the business school. That failure should’ve been a red flag, a cue to quit. Instead, it was the beginning of something better.

I had discovered economics. And I loved it.

So, I changed my major.

That night, my parents exploded. They told me I’d pump gas for the rest of my life. They hit me—literally—and I cried alone in the hallway, wondering if I’d made a mistake.

I didn’t finish college. I failed calculus again and again. Eventually, I dropped out.

But here’s the twist: it wasn’t the end.

I started working, and I started building. I climbed from an entry-level position to running teams and departments. I had no degree—just grit.

My life is built out of failures, fights, nights I wanted to quit, and years of not knowing if I’d ever make it.

Pain is the price of growth.

You want strength? Earn it. Show up when you’re scared. Keep going when no one believes in you. Sweat, bleed, break—and get back up.

This isn’t the life I planned. It’s better.