A simple way to soften what hurts.
Hoʻoponopono (pronounced ho-oh-POH-noh-POH-noh) is an ancient Hawaiian healing practice. It began as a sacred ritual—used by families and communities to clear the air, restore peace, and come back into harmony with each other.
It wasn’t about blame or punishment. It was about truth. About healing what needed to be healed—together.
In traditional settings, elders or spiritual leaders would guide the group through a process of honesty, accountability, and forgiveness. The goal wasn’t to point fingers. The goal was to clean the space between people so that love could move freely again.
Most of us today experience Hoʻoponopono as a personal, quiet practice.
This version was adapted by Morrnah Simeona, a respected Hawaiian healer. She reshaped it into something you could do on your own—without a group, a guide, or a formal setting. Later, Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len helped bring it to wider awareness through his own healing work.
At its heart, this version of Hoʻoponopono is a prayer made up of four simple phrases:
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.
They might sound like something you’d say to someone else—but in this practice, you’re often saying them to yourself.
Not necessarily because you’ve done something wrong. But because something inside you is asking to be seen. To be heard. To be softened.
These phrases are invitations. Each one a doorway, back to yourself.
One of the most well-known examples of this practice comes from Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len.
In the 1980s, he worked at the Hawai‘i State Hospital, where patients with severe mental illness—many of whom had committed violent crimes—were housed. The facility was known for being tense and chaotic. Staff turnover was high. Morale was low.
Dr. Hew Len didn’t treat the patients directly. Instead, he sat in his office with their files. And one by one, as he read through their stories, he silently practiced Hoʻoponopono.
To each name, each case, each painful history, he offered the four phrases:
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.
He wasn’t saying it to fix them. He was saying it to heal whatever in him might be connected to their pain.
Over time, things began to shift. The ward became calmer. Patients began to improve. The staff felt safer. Eventually, some patients were even released.
And through it all, Dr. Hew Len kept practicing. Quietly. Consistently. Not as a therapist trying to change someone—but as a human being taking responsibility for his part in the whole.
These four phrases aren’t a script—they’re more like keys. Each one opens a little space inside you. Together, they invite a kind of inner peace—not through control, but through willingness.
“I’m sorry” is a way of noticing. It says, I see that something is out of balance, and I care.
“Please forgive me” creates room for healing to begin, even when you're not sure what you need to be forgiven for.
“Thank you” brings presence into the moment. A small, quiet acknowledgment that you're here.
“I love you” is a return to connection—with yourself, with life, or with whatever needs your attention right now.
There’s no need to force meaning. You can simply let the words meet you where you are.
This practice meets you wherever you are.
You’re welcome to speak the words softly as you go through your day. While making tea. Sitting in traffic. Folding laundry.
You might think of them when a memory surfaces, or when your heart feels heavy.
You can write them down, one line at a time, in a journal just for you.
The four phrases offer a way to reconnect—to yourself, to others, to life:
I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.
You can turn to them in moments of overwhelm, or whenever you want to feel more grounded and present.
They gently support the parts of you that may have been waiting for kindness.
Even if you're unsure why the words feel meaningful, you're free to explore them anyway.
I’ve been using this practice for a little while now, and what I’ve noticed isn’t anything dramatic—it’s just that things feel a bit softer. There’s a quiet kind of comfort in saying the phrases, even when I don’t feel something right away. Over time, it’s helped me feel less like I’m carrying everything by myself. There’s a sense of release, or maybe just permission, that comes with it. I’m not always sure what I’m asking forgiveness for, or who I’m saying “I love you” to—but I say it anyway, and something in me responds. It’s not about fixing anything. It’s about being kind to the parts of me that feel tired, or tangled, or forgotten. If you’re curious about trying it, you’re free to begin gently. You might say the words in your head when something feels off, or write them down when you’re not sure what else to do. You don’t need to feel anything specific. Just being willing to show up is enough. That’s been true for me, at least—and I wanted to share it in case it’s true for you, too.
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