The Rot of Resentment

“Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” – Nelson Mandela

Resentment never walks in loudly.

It doesn’t slam doors or throw a tantrum. No, resentment is quieter than that—slippery, sneaky. It starts small. Like a whispered thought you’re too tired to challenge. A sigh you don’t let out, loud. A boundary you let someone cross because it was easier than starting a fight. A need, you swallow, because someone else’s seemed more urgent.

At first, you barely notice it.

Maybe it starts in motherhood. Or marriage. Or friendship.

Maybe it started when you gave something of yourself—time, energy, a dream—and never really got it back. Maybe you told yourself, “this is what love looks like.” Maybe it was. But maybe you also didn’t realize how much you were giving without replenishing.

Resentment grows like mold. It likes the dark. The quiet corners of your mind where your thoughts don’t feel safe to speak aloud. It festers. One tiny, unspoken disappointment at a time.

And then, one day, it’s everywhere.

Wild. Unfeathered.

It seeps into how you respond to your partner. Your kids. Your friends. Yourself. It makes you edgy. Defensive. Unreachable. Bitter in ways that surprise even you.

And you tell yourself, “I’m just tired.”

But it’s more than that.

Resentment, left unchecked, becomes malignant. It metastasizes. It doesn’t stay in the place it started—it spreads. To every part of you. Until the original wound is almost unrecognizable under layers of unspoken grief, unmet needs, and quiet fury.

It’s the reason your laughter doesn’t come as easily.

Why the tiniest thing feels like the final straw.

Why your heart feels heavy even on the good days.

But here’s the truth: Resentment doesn’t mean you’re broken.

It means something mattered. Something hurt. Something was missed or taken or misunderstood. And your body, your spirit—it kept the score.

The good news is that it’s not permanent. Not if you’re willing to call it by name.

Healing from resentment means becoming radically honest with yourself. It means asking:

• What have I been holding onto in silence?

• What needs haven’t been met—and have I ever voiced them?

• Where do I need to forgive? And where do I need better boundaries?

It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also freeing.

Because when you clear out resentment, what’s left underneath is clarity. Compassion. Room for joy. For connection. For truth.

You deserve a life that isn’t clogged with bitterness.You deserve relationships that aren’t built on silent expectations and unspoken hurt.You deserve to let go of what’s poisoning you.

Not for them.

But for you.

🤍Kelleen

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