There’s something deeply unsettling about the idea of a class reunion where you don’t just see old friends but also someone from your past you’d rather erase from your memory. I know he’ll be there. My gym teacher. The person who made me wake up with a knot in my stomach every single morning we had gym class.
I was a good student, well-behaved, competing in Hungarian and math contests, but when it came to gym, I’m the first to admit I wasn’t skilled. In fact, I ran slower and was less coordinated than the others. And he not only noticed but made sure everyone knew it. Loudly. In front of the whole class. Yelling, shaming me while others laughed or stayed silent. Back then—in a small rural school in the ’90s—this was sadly normal.
I won’t say I escaped without scars, but I survived elementary school and moved on to a high school in a nearby city. He stayed. He kept teaching, coaching handball teams, winning awards, and eventually retired. Meanwhile, I went to university carrying with me a ten-year-old anxious child who still flinches at raised voices.
Now, twenty years later, we’ll be in the same space. And the question arises: how do I handle this? What do I say if he smiles at me? If he talks to me like nothing ever happened?
The first instinct is to finally tell him everything, to pour out all my pain. To say what I couldn’t back then. To confront him with the impact he had. To shake the image he has of himself as a good teacher. Because he wasn’t.
But honestly, that desire is more about getting even than healing.
Psychology tells us one of the biggest myths is that moving on requires closure. That we need to talk to the person who hurt us, hear their apology, or at least forgive.
In reality, this often doesn’t help and can reopen old wounds. Closure isn’t a conversation—it’s an internal choice.
Seen this way, the question isn’t what he deserves, but what serves me.
He Has No Power Over Me Anymore
Does he deserve to have the belief taken away that he was a good teacher? Probably. But will that make me feel better? I’m not sure. It might just bring a brief, bitter satisfaction, leaving me stuck with the same past.
What’s certain is that today, he has no power over me. He doesn’t teach me, judge me, or humiliate me in front of others. And most importantly: he can’t hurt me or anyone else anymore.
That’s why I increasingly feel I owe him nothing. No confrontation, no polite smile. I don’t have to engage in a conversation I don’t want, nor do I have to say anything hoping it will "fix the past"—because it won’t change what happened.
Maybe if he approaches and speaks to me, I’ll just turn and walk away. Not as a dramatic exit or punishment, but as setting a boundary. Because my inner peace now means more than any delayed justice.
