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Over the past few years, I’ve had situationships in my life that completely fell apart.

Before the internet jumps in, I don’t mean romantic situationships. Some were friends. Some were family. Some were people I had known for years. Some were people who actively wanted to become close to me.

And in every single one of these situations, one thing became clear to me: I was done. Not angry, not bitter, not sitting around plotting revenge like some telenovela serial villain—just done.

Now, obviously, every relationship is nuanced and different. In one case, yes, maybe I expected more because over many years that person had repeatedly made it clear that I mattered deeply to them, that they would always be there for me, that ours was a relationship beyond obligation and circumstance. So naturally, when I needed them and they responded with a shrug and not much else, it pained me.

But the others were not asymmetrical from my side at all. In fact, if anything, the imbalance came from the other end.

One of these people was someone I was never even particularly close to in the first place. They made the effort to know me better. And although I had reservations from the beginning, I was willing to give the relationship a shot. But eventually, like the others, something shifted.

Some people were indifferent. Some were quietly mean. Some were emotionally careless. Some behaved as though my feelings were an inconvenience they simply did not want to deal with. And honestly, calling these folks “mean” or “careless” almost infantilizes the situation because what bothered me was not dramatic cruelty—it was the complete unwillingness to engage honestly when something had clearly broken between us.

So, I pulled away.

And just as quickly, I forgave them.

Honestly, I forgive easily because holding onto resentment destroys me more than it destroys the other person. I carry things deeply. I replay situations endlessly in my head. I lose sleep. It impacts me mentally, emotionally, physically.

From the bottom of my heart, I forgave them. Not because they apologized—because most of them never did—and not because we sat down and resolved things—because we never did. I forgave them because I wanted peace for myself.

And honestly, if the story had ended there, there would be no story to write.

The reason these situationships left me unsettled over the past year was because these people kept coming back into my life. Not to resolve things. Not to clarify things. Not to apologize. They just kept coming back—wanting access, wanting presence, wanting things to somehow continue.

And I simply could not understand it.

I had made it clear there were issues between us. Sometimes directly. Sometimes through distance. Sometimes through withdrawal. Sometimes through mutual friends and family, where I made it known that if they genuinely wanted to talk things through, if they wanted resolution, if they wanted to acknowledge what happened, I was open to that. I was not asking for perfection or groveling or some dramatic performance of remorse. I just wanted honesty.

But none of them took me up on it.

Instead, they behaved as if nothing had happened while simultaneously wanting to remain very much part of my life. And not just as peripheral characters from a Shakespearean play—they wanted to be the main characters.

Apart from wondering why they wanted to still be in my life, the part that thoroughly bothered and unsettled me was why their continued presence made me feel so unsettled when I had already forgiven them.

I mean…I did not hate them. I did not wish bad things for them. I was not carrying rage or resentment inside me anymore. So why did this feel so uncomfortable?

Then, a few weeks back, while doom scrolling on Instagram, I came across this random reel where someone made a distinction that genuinely shifted something inside me.

This person said that forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same thing. Read that again:

Forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same thing.

And suddenly, everything clicked.

Because I realized that these people probably thought forgiveness meant restoration. That forgiveness meant we somehow would seamlessly go back to how things were before. That they still get the same emotional access to my life, the same version of me, the same closeness, the same role inside my world.

And I was sitting there thinking, no.

No.

F*ck no.

I forgive you. But I do not want to reconcile with you. At least not unless there is accountability, honesty, conversation, acknowledgment, and if necessary, apology.

Because reconciliation requires effort from both people.

Forgiveness only required me.

And I think culturally, we really struggle with that distinction. We think forgiveness is only valid if it ends in reunion, in restoring closeness, in pretending the rupture never happened. But some relationships change permanently once something breaks. Sometimes, the healthiest thing you can say is, “I genuinely wish you well. I genuinely forgive you. But I no longer want this version of our relationship in my life.”

And I think that distinction matters because it is not anger or bitterness or revenge. It’s clarity.

For the longest time, I felt unsettled because somewhere deep down, I thought maybe I owed people reconciliation if I had forgiven them. Now I understand that I don’t.

Forgiveness is me putting down the weight.

Reconciliation is an entirely different conversation.

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