Forgiveness? Sorry, That Department Is Permanently Closed.

What’s something you’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?

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I was scrolling when this question caught my eye, and I genuinely wondered who decided forgiveness was some compulsory maintenance service for the human soul. Apparently, we’re all supposed to collect our disappointments, wash them in understanding, hang them out to dry, and return to society as emotionally upgraded versions of ourselves.

How very convenient. Especially for the people who caused the mess in the first place.

Personally, I don’t do forgiveness. I’ve never seen much value in it, and the older I get, the less interested I am in pretending otherwise. Before someone reaches for their favourite inspirational quote about inner peace, allow me to explain.

Forgiveness Doesn’t Come With a Cleaning Service

There’s a particular kind of disgust that settles in after someone has seriously wronged you. Not necessarily anger, because anger eventually runs out of steam. I’m talking about that unpleasant, almost physical sensation when you remember what happened and your stomach gives a little twist, as if you’d just bitten into something rotten.

You know exactly what I’m talking about. That sour aftertaste of betrayal, dishonesty, or watching someone demonstrate just how little your trust was worth to them.

Now, explain to me how saying “I forgive you” is supposed to clean that up.

Does it change what happened? Does it remove the memory? Does the person responsible suddenly develop a conscience, discover personal accountability, and become a functioning adult?

Or are we simply expected to wrap the whole unpleasant business in a pretty little ribbon, call it emotional maturity, and congratulate ourselves for being wonderfully evolved?

Because from where I’m standing, the rubbish is still sitting in the middle of the room. We’ve just agreed to stop mentioning the smell. And I fail to see the benefit.

Be the Bigger Person? I’d Rather Have a Better Memory.

Ah, my personal favourite. The moment someone runs out of reasonable arguments, they pull out the grand old classic: “Be the bigger person.”

Why, exactly?

Who decided that being wronged automatically signs me up for an unpaid position in someone else’s character development?

I didn’t apply for the job. I don’t remember receiving a contract. And the benefits package looks suspiciously like swallowing my own disgust while somebody else enjoys the comfort of being forgiven.

What a magnificent arrangement. For them.

People say forgiveness is for your own peace, not for the person who hurt you. Fine. If that works for someone, wonderful. But why must my peace come with a forgiveness certificate attached?

I can walk away perfectly well without handing out absolution.

I can stop being angry, stop wasting time, stop caring whether someone has changed, and still remember exactly why I wouldn’t trust them with a teaspoon, let alone another opportunity to disappoint me.

And no, remembering doesn’t mean I’m secretly sitting at home sharpening imaginary knives and plotting their downfall. Frankly, that would require a level of dedication I reserve for things I actually enjoy.

It means I learned something.

Sometimes the lesson was unpleasant. Occasionally expensive. Quite often accompanied by that spectacular moment of realisation when you stare at someone and think, well, that explains everything.

Why would I throw away a perfectly useful lesson just to satisfy someone else’s definition of emotional maturity?

I’m Petty. My Memory Is Excellent. We’ll Survive.

Here’s the thing people seem to find difficult to accept: not everyone needs forgiveness to move forward. Some of us simply close the door.

No dramatic farewell speech, no heartfelt reconciliation over coffee, no emotional ceremony where everyone gets to cry into a tissue and declare themselves healed.

The person who wronged me can continue living their life, making choices, learning lessons, or spectacularly failing to learn anything at all. That’s their business. I’m not running a rehabilitation centre for disappointing adults.

And I don’t need to hate them, either. Hatred takes energy, and I have absolutely no desire to keep paying for someone else’s behaviour with my own time.

But forgiveness? That’s not something I owe them.

I know this won’t win me any awards for spiritual enlightenment. Somewhere, someone with a collection of motivational mugs is probably clutching their chamomile tea in horror.

They’ll survive.

Because here’s my answer to that original question: I haven’t forgiven and forgotten, or forgiven and remembered. I’ve simply remembered, adjusted my expectations, and carried on.

Call me petty. Accuse me of having a terrible temper. Suggest I should work on becoming a bigger person.

You’re welcome to your opinion.

I happen to be a petty woman with a bad temper and a remarkably good memory, and so far, that memory has done a considerably better job of protecting me than forgiveness ever promised to.

Besides, if being the bigger person means pretending something rotten suddenly smells like roses, I’ll happily remain my current size.

At least my nose still works.