The Weight of Grudges: Why I Choose to Let Go

A Reflection on Anger, Regret, and the Power of Perspective

The Weight of a Name

Ben had spent his career building something that couldn’t be bought, a reputation. In the military, a name meant everything. It wasn’t just about rank or qualifications; it was about trust, reliability, and who you were when things went sideways. But in this unit, a name carried even more weight.

This unit wasn’t a typical unit, it was a legacy. The men who came before had set the standard, and Ben had fought like hell to live up to it. He had pushed past failures and injuries, sacrificed time and relationships, all to earn a place among some of the best.

That meant he wasn’t just upholding his reputation, he was upholding the unit’s.

Then, with a few careless words from James, a teammate, someone Ben had trusted, stained them both.

It started as a whisper, a half-truth said in the right place at the wrong time. A throwaway comment that took on a life of its own.

“Yo, did you see Ben freeze up on that op?”

It wasn’t true. But it wasn’t exactly false either. There had been a moment, a split second of hesitation. A pause, not out of fear, but calculation. He had been assessing the angles, the movement, the next play. But in this world, perception was reality. And hesitation, even for the right reasons, wasn’t something you wanted attached to your name.

By the time he heard about it, the damage was done.

Ben saw that the team was different now. Trust had a smell, and now the air was different when he walked into the room. The nods felt off to him. Not disrespectful, just hollow. Conversations shifted when he got close. No one outright said anything, but it was there. A subtle shift in weight.

And it all came back to James. Someone who knew damn well what had actually happened, but let the wrong version of the story take root anyway.

Ben tried to push through it. Mission first. That’s what mattered. But anger burned slow. He carried it through every brief, every training cycle, every op where James’ voice carried more weight than his own.

It wasn’t about ego. It was about respect. And he had spent too many years earning it to let it be taken away by a man who hadn’t earned half as much.

So he held onto it.

The resentment. The grudge.

Ben convinced himself it was fuel. Trained harder, worked longer, stayed later. But instead of getting stronger, he broke himself down. The extra weight, the punishing runs, the relentless range days—all done in anger—only made his injuries worse. When his shoulder finally gave out, the team left for a training evolution without him.

The moment he really lost? It wasn’t on that op. It was in Ben’s mind, grinding himself into the dirt over something no one else was even thinking about anymore.

Weeks later, after a long training evolution, James finally walked up to him.

“Look, man,” he started, shifting awkwardly. “I think this thing between us has gotten out of hand.”

Ben scoffed. “This thing?”

James exhaled, like he’d been waiting for this. “You know what I mean. I don’t even remember how it started, but I never meant to put you in a bad spot.”

Ben clenched his jaw. Never meant to. Like that changed anything. Like intent erased the consequence.

James shook his head. “People talk, man. You know how it is. I should’ve shut it down, but I didn’t. That’s on me. I won’t make excuses. I already talked to the team while you were out because of your shoulder.”

That stopped Ben cold.

He had expected excuses. Deflection. Instead, James had already taken it to the team. The damage had already started healing, and Ben hadn’t even known.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Ben felt the weight of the grudge sitting in his chest, the fire that had kept him moving. But suddenly, it didn’t feel like fuel anymore.

It felt like a weight. Like chains.

James had done the damage, yeah. But Ben had carried it. Fed it. Nurtured it. Made it part of him.

And for what?

James ran a hand through his hair. “Look dude, I don’t expect you to shake my hand. Just… let me know when you’re ready.”

Ben watched him walk away, the anger still there. Now though, he wondered if it was worth carrying anymore.

Moral of the Story

In the military, reputation is everything. Sometimes though, the real damage doesn’t come from the rumor itself, but from the refusal to move past it. A grudge feels like fuel, but it burns the one carrying it far more than the one it’s aimed at.

Did the team actually treat Ben differently? Or was it his own perception? No one openly condemned him, no one voiced their distrust. But through his own observations, Ben convinced himself that his reputation had been destroyed. He saw judgment in every glance, distance in every silence, and doubt in every nod. But was it real? Or was it the weight of his own insecurities twisting reality?

Communication is key, both in life and in a small team environment. Ben should have confronted the issue head on, and James should have shut down the rumor before it spread. This wasn’t just a personal conflict, it was a failure in leadership and team dynamics.

In the end, the grudge made it all worse. Emotional pain turned into physical injury. Time lost that neither will ever get back. And the weight of resentment? It doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. It carries over. The cost of pride is often higher than we realize.

The Nature of a Grudge

Merriam-Webster defines a grudge as "a feeling of deep-seated resentment or ill will." I view a grudge as more than just lingering anger; it is a tally, a debt. An unresolved score kept in the back of the mind. Holding onto one means allowing the past to dictate the present. Grudges come from a place of perceived injustice, whether real or imagined, and they demand repayment in the form of resentment, avoidance, or even vengeance. But the longer we clutch onto them, the more they weigh us down.

I have had my share of grievances, both inflicted upon me and committed by me. Some, I suppose, were justified. Others were misunderstandings or the product of mistakes made in the heat of the moment. But over time, I have come to see them for what they truly are, anchors that keep a person tethered to something that no longer exists. To hold a grudge is to keep feeding energy into an event that has already happened, as though the past might somehow change under the weight of our anger.

“Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more hurtful to us than the injury that provokes it.” — Seneca¹

The Bridges I’ve Burned

I have burned bridges, some that needed to be burned and others that I regret setting aflame. There have been moments where I was in the right, and there were moments where I was the one who did wrong. I have made choices that hurt others, and committed offenses that I am not proud of. But what good would it do me to keep reliving them?

Some bridges needed to fall. Some connections were toxic, harmful, or simply unsustainable. Others fell because of my own mistakes, my own inability to navigate a situation properly. In those moments, I learned the hard way that sometimes, burning a bridge isn’t about destruction, it’s about survival. It’s about recognizing when something no longer serves you, or when keeping a connection alive means sacrificing your own well being. Yet, for all the necessary endings, there were also the mistakes, the impulsive decisions fueled by emotion rather than reason. Those are the bridges I regret the most, not because they burned, but because they might have been repaired had I been wiser, had I been willing to build rather than destroy.

The key lesson, however, is that regret is only useful if it leads to change. Otherwise, it becomes another weight on the soul. The important thing is to learn, to adjust, and to move forward. Carrying the weight of past mistakes, of broken relationships, does nothing but slow the journey. We can acknowledge where we went wrong, make amends if possible, but in the end, we must keep walking forward, even if the road behind us is lined with the ruins of what once was.

“Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge.” — Don Henley²

The Hollow Apology

Saying "sorry" is often an instinct, a conditioned response to conflict rather than a genuine act of reconciliation. Over time, I have realized that apologies, when spoken without weight behind them, do nothing to mend the damage done. Too often, people say sorry just to diffuse tension, to appear remorseful without any intent to change. But words alone do not heal wounds, actions do. An apology without sincerity is like a broken bridge, it offers the illusion of passage but ultimately collapses.

A real apology carries the burden of accountability. It requires not just words, but change, consistent and deliberate action that demonstrates growth. An insincere apology is a transaction meant to alleviate guilt rather than restore trust. I have seen people weaponize apologies, using them to manipulate or silence rather than to truly acknowledge harm. Over time, I have learned that not every apology deserves to be accepted, just as not every slight deserves to be avenged.

I have learned that choosing when to apologize is as important as the apology itself. When I say "I'm sorry" now, I mean it. I say it not just to acknowledge wrongdoing, but because I have reflected on it and understand the impact of my actions. A meaningful apology comes with change, with an effort to ensure the mistake does not happen again. Without that, an apology is just noise, a hollow attempt at moving forward without true accountability.

“There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness.” — Josh Billings³

The Poison of Carrying a Grudge

A grudge is a slow poison, one that seeps into the bones and settles in the mind. It is not just about anger, it is about power. When we hold onto a grudge, we believe we are keeping control over a past injustice, as if our resentment alone will tip the scales in our favor. In reality, the grudge owns us more than we own it. The more we feed it, the more it festers, creating a loop where past offenses continuously dictate present emotions. It is an illusion of control, a false sense of justice that never truly materializes.

A grudge can become an identity, shaping how we interact with the world. We carry it with us, allowing it to seep into new relationships, coloring interactions with suspicion and bitterness. It becomes a filter through which we see others, preventing trust from forming and keeping us bound to old wounds. There is no justice in clinging to resentment, only self imposed suffering.

Letting go does not mean excusing the wrongs done to us; it means reclaiming our peace. By releasing the grip of past resentments, we regain agency over our own emotions. Carrying a grudge is like dragging the dead behind you, unburied corpses that serve no purpose but to slow you down. The past remains unchanged, yet we let it dictate our emotions and thoughts, over and over again. It is exhausting, and in the end, completely useless. I refuse to be tethered to ghosts.

“Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” — Buddha⁴

Changing the Observation

We cannot always control what happens to us, but we can control how we observe it. Rather than asking, Why did this happen to me?, I have learned to ask, What can I learn from this? It is not always easy, and it does not mean excusing harm done, but it does mean refusing to let pain fester into bitterness.

Changing observation is a simple yet powerful shift. When we see events as lessons rather than wounds, they lose their power to cripple us. Every slight, every betrayal, every moment of anger becomes something to learn from rather than something to be consumed by. It is not weakness to let go, it is the ultimate act of control.

Perspective is everything. The way we frame our experiences dictates how we carry them. If we allow ourselves to be prisoners of our past, we surrender to a narrative that is not of our own making. Instead, we can choose to rewrite the story, not by changing what happened, but by altering how we understand it. Pain, after all, is inevitable, but suffering is often a choice. When we learn to see pain as part of growth rather than an anchor of resentment, we free ourselves from its grip.

Letting go of bitterness does not mean ignoring injustices. It means acknowledging them, learning from them, and then choosing not to be controlled by them. This shift in observation is not passive; it is an active, deliberate practice that strengthens over time. The more we cultivate it, the lighter we become, and the more we reclaim our own agency.

“It is not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” — Epictetus⁵

Why I Let Go

I do not let go because I am incapable of holding onto anger. I let go because I refuse to let anger dictate my life. There are those who wronged me, and I know there are those who feel I have wronged them. I cannot control their view, nor do I need to. I have learned what I needed to learn. That is enough.

Anger is an easy burden to pick up but a difficult one to put down. At times, it feels justified, even righteous. A flame that keeps us warm in the cold of resentment. But the longer we cradle it, the more it consumes. It becomes a filter through which we see the world, distorting our perception and clouding our judgment. Letting go is not an act of weakness but of wisdom. It is an acknowledgment that the past cannot be rewritten, only learned from.

Letting go does not mean forgetting. It does not mean pretending that betrayals never happened. It means refusing to carry them like an eternal burden. It means choosing to use my energy elsewhere, on things that matter, on things that build rather than things that burn. It is about recognizing that life is too short to be spent clinging to the wreckage of what was, rather than embracing the possibilities of what could be.

“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”— Mark Twain⁶

The Freedom of Letting Go

Grudges are easy to hold but costly to keep. Letting go is a choice, not one of submission, but one of liberation. I have seen too many people weighed down by things that should have long been put to rest. I have seen men haunted by slights so old they barely remember the details, yet the bitterness still lingers. They carry it like an heirloom passed down through generations, mistaking its weight for significance. I refuse to be one of them.

Resentment offers a false sense of justice, a belief that clinging to anger preserves our dignity. But this is an illusion. The universe does not tally our grievances, nor does it offer compensation for suffering prolonged by choice. Clutching to the past only ensures that we remain prisoners of it, shackled to events that have already passed beyond our influence.

I have wronged others, and I have been wronged. But I choose to walk forward. The past is a lesson, not a prison. To cling to what is gone, is to argue with time itself, a battle no one has ever won. I will not be held captive by it, and I will not allow its ghosts to dictate my future.

The weight of a grudge is only as heavy as we allow it to be. And so, I choose to let go. Not because I forget, nor because I absolve, but because I refuse to be ruled by things that no longer exist.

This is no easy task, but a learned behavior, honed over time and reflection. I still wrestle with the notions of revenge, justice, and absolution, as they are deeply embedded in the fabric of human nature. The pull toward retribution can feel like an instinct, a force that demands satisfaction. But experience has taught me that true resolution does not lie in evening the scales, but in stepping away from them altogether. Trust me though, it gets easier. Not because the weight disappears, but because you become stronger in choosing to carry only what serves you. 

The weight of a grudge is only as heavy as we allow it to be. So I choose to let go.

“When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” — Wayne Dyer⁷

1. Seneca. (n.d.). Letters from a Stoic (R. M. Gummere, Trans.). Penguin Classics. (Original work written c. 65 AD)

2. Henley, D. (1989). The end of the innocence [Album]. Geffen Records.

3. Billings, J. (1870). Josh Billings, His Sayings. G.W. Carleton & Co.

4. According to Buddhist thought, it is often said, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die” (attributed to Buddha, n.d.).

5. Epictetus. (2008). Discourses and selected writings (R. Dobbin, Trans.). Penguin Classics. (Original work written c. 108 AD)

6. Twain, M. (n.d.). [Quote attributed to Mark Twain]

7. Dyer, W. W. (2009). Excuses begone!: How to change lifelong, self-defeating thinking habits. Hay House.