For twenty years I carried a grudge against my former business partner. He had taken credit for work that was largely mine, and our friendship had ended badly, with accusations and lawyers.
I wrote the letter when my doctor told me my blood pressure was dangerously high. My wife asked what was worrying me. I said nothing. She raised an eyebrow.
That evening I sat down and wrote — not to send, but to release. I wrote everything: the betrayal, the hurt, the wasted years of anger. Five pages.
Then, unexpectedly, I wrote: "I forgive you."
I stared at those three words for a long time. And then I put them in an envelope and mailed them.
He called me two weeks later. He wept. He apologised. We are not close friends, but we have had coffee three times since.
My blood pressure normalised within a month.
Forgiveness, I learned, is not a gift you give the other person. It is medicine you take yourself.