Holding grudges and resentment: Why we hold on and how to let go

We’ve all felt it. That quiet simmer beneath the surface when someone has wronged us. It’s not always a loud anger; sometimes it’s just a subtle tightening in the chest when a memory resurfaces. That’s resentment, a kind of emotional echo that lingers long after the event itself.

What is resentment, really?

Psychologist Paul Ekman once described resentment as a long-standing feeling of being treated unfairly or unjustly. It doesn’t live in us all the time, but it can be easily reawakened when something reminds us of the hurt. The Dalai Lama added that these emotions can exist as ‘latent tendencies’ or unconscious habits of the mind that resurface when triggered.

In other words, resentment doesn’t always disappear when we have decided to “Move on.” When connected to something more unconscious, it can go quiet, then return at full strength when the right button is pressed. 

Why we hold grudges: The inner logic of holding on

When I think about resentment, I often see it as holding on to the idea that something was meant to be different. Something happened that wasn’t supposed to happen. Someone acted in a way that felt unfair, unacceptable, or wrong… and maybe as long as I hold on to it, I could make it right?! It feels like it shouldn’t have been that way, so it’s hard to let go. After all, if I let it go, does that mean it was okay?

Resentment often hides beneath our expectations. We wanted something to go differently. We wanted fairness, recognition, or repair. When that doesn’t come, our minds keep replaying the story, as if we could rewrite it by holding on to it.

The need to be seen

I believe many grudges aren’t about revenge,  they’re about validation. “If they’d just recognise what they did,” we think, “then maybe I could let it go.” But what happens when that validation never comes? When they don’t see it or worse, don’t care?

Part of us clings to resentment because it feels like the only proof that our pain matters. Letting go can feel like erasing the hurt or saying it didn’t count. Yet healing often begins when we allow ourselves to see our own pain and acknowledge it fully without needing anyone else to do it for us.

The stories we tell ourselves

Resentment isn’t just about what happened; it’s about what we make it mean. When I look closer, the thoughts sound like this:

• “I’m not being seen.”
• “I can’t let them win.”
• “I don’t matter.”

It’s not just about fairness anymore; it’s about identity. Resentment becomes a way of defending the self, of saying, “I deserve better.” It’s a battle of win versus lose, seen versus unseen. But here’s the trap: the more we defend our pain, the more power it holds over us, the more we embody the role of the victim we never wanted to be.

When perspective softens the edges

Sometimes seeing their side can help, understanding that maybe they didn’t mean to hurt us, or that their behaviour came from their own pain or blindness. Seeing this doesn’t excuse what happened; it just loosens our grip on the story.

Acceptance of what is present for the other doesn’t mean submission. It’s not saying,“It’s fine.” It’s saying, “This is not about me. I won’t let this define me anymore.” But another kind of softening happens when we turn that same compassionate lens inward and we look at our own side from a different perspective. If resentment has latent roots, unconscious patterns formed long ago, then recognising where resentment comes from can be profoundly freeing. 

For me, I began to notice that my resentment wasn’t just about a recent event or person. It reached further back, to old feelings of not being heard, of needing to “do something” to prove my worth, of believing that if I didn’t fight back, I was somehow alone, abandoned, damaged or wronged. When I saw that, I understood: this isn’t about winning or losing at all. It’s about a deeper hurt that is replaying unconsciously, a younger part of me still asking to be seen. 

That awareness itself is healing. It transforms my resentment from something sharp and reactive into something that can finally soften, because I can meet it with understanding rather than judgment.

When we stop waiting for validation or justice from the external world, we reclaim our energy. We can choose to be free even if the situation was never “repaired.”

The practice of letting go

Contentment and Trust. These words remind me that peace begins with accepting what is. Letting go isn’t about forgetting or pretending. It’s choosing to stop wrestling with reality,  to stop wishing for things to have been different. It’s about finally seeing the old wounds, finally seeing ourselves, without wanting to change who made us, us.

When we bring light to those hidden parts, we stop losing ourselves to them. They become powerful, strong and beautiful parts of who we are. The evidence of our resilience and strength. 

But letting go must start with trust.

• Trust that the world is not always trying to hurt us.
• Trust that the person in front of us is not our past.
• Trust that life isn’t waiting to wrong us again.
• Trust that things, in fact, can be different

When we can allow ourselves that trust (even a little), the grip of resentment begins to loosen. Because we no longer need to protect ourselves from everyone and everything.

Walking in my own shoes

At its heart, resentment is a defence of the self, of the part of us that just wants to be seen and understood. But real healing begins when we can walk in our own shoes with empathy, rather than waiting for someone else to do it. We can recognise the hurt, honour it, and still let it soften. 

Because resentment asks for repair, but peace begins when we stop asking the past to fix itself.