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

If I’m being completely honest, I think forgiven is quite a strong word.

There are some things in life that you eventually make peace with. Not necessarily because the person responsible deserves your forgiveness, but because you eventually realise that carrying the weight of it around is doing you absolutely no good.

For me, that would have to be my biological father.

Or, as I’ve occasionally referred to him sperm donor.

Now, before anyone starts clutching their pearls, let me explain.

He walked out on my mum on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day.

I wasn’t even ten years old.

He never paid a penny towards bringing me up. There were weekends when I’d sit and wait to be collected, only for him not to turn up.

If you’ve ever been a child waiting for someone who doesn’t arrive, you’ll understand that it’s not simply disappointment.

It’s the waiting.

The wondering.

The little voice in your head asking what you’ve done wrong.

And then there’s the rather spectacular finale.

At some point, he instructed a solicitor to suggest that I was a con artist who had simply attached the family surname to my own in an attempt to con his family out of money.

I mean, really?

That’s some soap opera shit right there.

So, have I forgiven my biological father?

I’m not entirely sure I’d use that word.

What I have done is made peace with what happened.

I’ve accepted that I had a father who didn’t behave like one. I’ve accepted that I wasn’t responsible for his decisions, his absence or the things he subsequently said about me.

And, perhaps most importantly, I’ve stopped waiting for something that was never going to arrive.

An apology.

An explanation.

An acknowledgement of what he did.

Sometimes we spend far too much of our lives waiting for people to give us something they simply aren’t capable of giving.

And that’s an exhausting way to live.

A little Buddhist perspective

As someone who follows Buddhism, I’ve come to look at these things rather differently over the years.

One of the things I’ve learnt is that letting go isn’t about pretending something never happened.

It isn’t about erasing memories, excusing behaviour or suddenly deciding that someone who hurt you was actually a wonderful person.

It’s about understanding attachment.

We attach ourselves to memories, expectations, regrets and the stories we repeatedly tell ourselves about how things should have been.

And sometimes, without even realising it, we keep reopening the same wounds.

We replay conversations.

We imagine what we would say if we had another opportunity.

We wonder why someone behaved the way they did.

We spend years trying to make sense of something that perhaps will never make sense.

But the past has happened.

No amount of anger will change it.

No amount of resentment will give that little boy the father he deserved.

And no amount of replaying those memories will make someone turn up on a weekend they missed decades ago.

That’s not to say the memories disappear.

They don’t.

And nor should they necessarily.

They are part of my story. They helped shape the person I’ve become, and there are lessons in them that I wouldn’t want to lose.

But there’s a difference between remembering something and allowing it to continue hurting you.

That’s something I’ve had to learn.

So, have I forgotten?

Absolutely not.

I remember the weekends waiting for someone who never arrived.

I remember my mum having to get on with things without the support she deserved.

I remember the accusations.

And I remember the grandfather who actually showed me what a father figure should look like.

But I don’t spend my days consumed by anger towards someone who chose not to be part of my life.

Why would I?

I have a family of my own. People who love me, people who show up, and people who understand that relationships are built through actions rather than simply sharing a bit of DNA.

If anything, those experiences have made me appreciate the importance of being present for the people who matter.

Because anyone can become a biological parent.

Being a parent, however, is something rather different.

And perhaps that’s the biggest lesson I’ve taken from all of this.

Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean reconciliation.

Making peace doesn’t mean approval.

And letting go certainly doesn’t mean forgetting.

It simply means refusing to let someone else’s actions continue to dictate how you live your life.

I can’t change the little boy’s past.

But I can make sure the man he’s become doesn’t spend the rest of his life living in it.

So, what’s something I’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?

Perhaps the more honest answer is that I’ve made peace with something I will never forget.

And I’m rather comfortable with that.

After all, Buddhism isn’t about pretending life hasn’t hurt you.

It’s about learning not to let that hurt become the thing that defines you.

Sometimes the greatest freedom isn’t getting an apology.

It’s realising you no longer need one.

Stay safe,

Bc