Forgiveness works like a light switch, right? You flip it down, and the pain and hurt you felt goes dark. You move on believing it’s gone. And I really thought that was true.

Until I saw you again.

It wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t cause a scene. It was outside in public, visible for all to see. My counselor didn’t tell me how my body would physically react. Besides, I already dealt with it, right?

But like the flash floods of Cape Girardeau, all those emotions hit me as a physical feeling. They were facts, not some random occurrence. My chest tightened before my brain could tell me I was being ridiculous. But was I?

This is what it feels like to forgive someone? Then I don’t want to.

So it’s a me problem, not them.

It’s me because these are my feelings, not yours. You won’t carry them for me, and I’m not going to give them to you disguised as an outburst. I’m not avoiding Farmers Market, Barnes and Noble, Sedona, or Starbucks just because there’s a chance you might be in there. I’m not going to let your presence decide where I show up in my own life.

It’s me, not you, because I know what it looks like when someone fails to live up to the standard they expect others to follow. Someone did that to me — let their feelings become my emergency, made their discomfort my job to fix.

So instead, I’ll show up, smile, and feel every uncomfortable inch of it and let it pass through me instead of out at you.

And if I see you again, which I know I will, I’ll do it all over again. As many times as it takes until I get some relief — or until you do the harder thing: recognize what you did, and own it, not as an equal who made a mistake, but as a leader who had power in that room and used it badly.

I’m not holding my breath for that apology. I’ve been disappointed by people who owed me more than they gave. But I’ve also learned that waiting for someone else’s accountability is its own kind of trap — one more way of handing them the keys to my peace.

It’s a me problem. And I’ll solve it.

Will I pretend it doesn’t catch me off guard? Will I give lip service to performing forgiveness I haven’t fully arrived at yet? I think I’ll do better and choose to be the person who walked away with my integrity intact — even when it hurt like hell to do it.

I won’t name you, but I will continue writing about you, showing others the better way to handle forgiveness.

That’s not nothing.

Today? It’s everything. And it’s mine.