Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Why Letting Go of a Grudge Is Harder Than Holding It | Still Standing
Transcript
- I used to think holding a grudge was a sign of weakness, until I realized it was actually the only thing keeping me warm in the cold. Take a breath with me, because what we’re about to talk about isn’t about forgiveness; it’s about why your hands are so full that you can’t let go. There is a story I love to tell, though I rarely say it out loud on air. It’s about how heavy my own grudges felt. Not the dramatic, movie-style kind where someone screams and throws a plate. No, these were the quiet ones. The slow-burning embers of resentment that I carried around like smooth, cold stones in my pockets. For years, I believed that if I let go of that stone, I was letting the person who hurt me win. I thought that by staying angry, I was protecting myself. I was signaling that what happened mattered. That I mattered. But here is the truth I learned only after years of therapy and hiking through muddy trails in small towns: the stone wasn’t hurting them. They had moved on. They were sleeping soundly. The stone was just digging into my palm, cutting off circulation, making my hand stiff and useless. We often talk about resilience as this big, heroic act of bouncing back. But sometimes, resilience is just the quiet, terrifying decision to open your hand when every muscle in your body wants to clench tighter. Let’s sit in that for a second. Why does opening your hand feel like surrender? Think about the last time you replayed an argument in your head. Maybe it was from three years ago. Maybe it was yesterday. You can probably recite the exact tone of voice they used. You know exactly what you should have said. In those moments, anger feels like power. It feels like you are still in the fight. If you stop being angry, you feel like you’re leaving the battlefield defenseless. I get it. I really do. When I was in my corporate life, before everything fell apart, I wore my resentment like armor. I told myself I was holding the line. But armor is heavy. It restricts your movement. It makes it hard to breathe. What did that cost you? Every ounce of energy you spend rehearsing that old argument is an ounce you can’t spend on your own joy, your own peace, your own present moment. We hold onto grudges because we mistake intensity for importance. We think that if we keep the pain fresh, the lesson stays valid. But the lesson doesn’t need the pain to survive. The lesson can live in your wisdom without living in your wound. You don’t have to drop the stone today. Just notice how heavy it is. Notice how much lighter your hand might feel tomorrow. I’m Marissa Davidson. Thank you for listening. Until next time.