Let’s sit with this for a while.
Not to judge. Not to argue. Just to think. Honestly. Quietly. From one human heart to another.
Grudges.
We all have them. Some are loud and open. Others are silent and buried so deep that even we forget they’re there, until a name is mentioned or a face appears in a photo or memory.
But what really is a grudge?
It’s pain, frozen in time. It’s a wound we refuse to let heal. We dress it. We talk about it. We remember it. And sometimes, we even nurture it. It becomes part of our story. We carry it around, sometimes proudly, as if it proves something. As if it gives us power.
But deep down, does it really?
Let me share something personal.
I once had someone I trusted with my whole heart turn away from me without warning. No explanation. No conversation. Just silence. It felt like being dropped in the middle of a cold room with no door to walk out from. And because I didn’t understand it, I held on to the hurt. I replayed the last conversations, searched for what I might have done wrong, and imagined scenarios where they’d come back to apologize.
And when that didn’t happen, I grew cold. Distant. I called it strength. I said I’d moved on. But in truth, I was keeping the pain alive, feeding it a little each day. And even though I smiled on the outside, my heart was heavier than I wanted to admit.
Have you ever felt that way?
Have you ever held a grudge not because you couldn’t forgive, but because you wanted the other person to know how deeply they hurt you?
It feels fair, right? To wait until they suffer too. To hold out until they need you. To show them how it feels to be ignored, abandoned, betrayed.
But here’s the problem—while we sit and scheme and plot and wait for them to come around or fall into our trap or need us again, they are often just… living. Laughing. Growing. Loving. Moving on. Not because they’re wicked. But because maybe they don’t even know how much they hurt us. Or maybe they knew and didn’t know what to do with it. Or maybe they just chose not to care.
So then, who is really suffering?
Are we not the ones who lose sleep when their names come up? Are we not the ones who tense up when we see them doing well? Are we not the ones whose hearts skip a beat when we hear they are coming around?
Now here is a deeper question. What if the person you’re holding the grudge against is genuinely unaware of how you feel? What if, in their heart, there was no intention to hurt? What if your silence and coldness is just confusing them more than punishing them?
And even if they did wrong you, and I mean truly wrong you, why let that moment define the rest of your journey?
Now let’s take this even further.
What if the root of the grudge isn’t only what they did—but what you expected them to do?
Let that sink in.
So many grudges grow not from deliberate harm, but from disappointment. From expectations that were too high. From feeling let down by people who never even knew they were being held to such standards.
You expected your friend to always be there.
You expected your cousin to help when you were broke.
You expected your parents to understand your dreams.
You expected your pastor, your boss, your partner to read your silence and show up.
And when they didn’t, it hurt.
But we must ask: were those expectations ever spoken? Were they realistic? Or were they built on a sense of entitlement we’ve carried quietly, believing that certain people owe us certain things?
Until we walk through life understanding that no one owes us anything—not the world, not friends, not family, not even our parents—we will always be victims of unmet expectations. We will confuse love with obligation. We will measure care by how much people “deliver” for us. And when they don’t, we’ll collect those hurts like unpaid debts.
But here’s the truth: people are flawed. People are busy. People are human. And sometimes, they don’t show up—not because they don’t care, but because they’re struggling too. Or because they just don’t know how to. Or because they were never supposed to fill that gap in the first place.
And so grudges are born from misunderstandings. From disappointments. From silent contracts that were never signed.
Sometimes, grudges are not about justice. They are about pride. About control. About the fear of being seen as weak. We convince ourselves that forgiving makes us look like fools. That it means we condone what was done. But forgiveness is not about pretending the pain didn’t happen. It’s about refusing to let it keep happening inside you.
Here’s the truth. Life is short. And the heart is already burdened enough with the weight of survival, responsibility, and uncertainty. Why add the weight of people who have already walked out of the room?
Why let your peace depend on whether someone else has repented or not?
I’ve seen families torn apart for decades because of something that could have been solved with one honest conversation. I’ve seen people cry uncontrollably at funerals, saying they wish they had made peace. But now, the lips they wanted to talk to are closed forever. And those tears? They can’t be shared. They fall alone.
Let’s stop pretending. We say life is short, but how do we live like it?
Do we forgive quickly? Do we speak when we are hurt? Do we leave room for grace?
Here’s something I want you to really think about.
Is it your silent wish that because of the grudge you hold, God will stop blessing the other person?
Do you really believe your breakthrough is dependent on someone else’s downfall?
Is that the life you want to live?
Let’s talk plainly. If someone has hurt you, say it. Speak up. Confront with maturity. Share your pain. And if they refuse to understand or apologize, then walk away if you must, but leave the hate behind. Leave the bitterness. Leave the weight.
It’s like trying to drink poison to hurt the person who offended you. All it does is burn your own throat.
Letting go doesn’t mean you forget. It means you are choosing freedom over bondage. Peace over pride. Healing over proving a point.
And I know this isn’t easy. Some wounds go deep. Some betrayals feel like they shattered your very foundation. But holding on doesn’t rebuild it. It only keeps you standing in the ruins longer.
You deserve to breathe again. To love fully again. To smile without faking it. To attend a gathering without watching your back. To hear a name and not feel your chest tighten.
You deserve that freedom.
So ask yourself again, who am I holding this grudge against?
Why?
Have I told them?
Do they even know?
And if they walked into the room right now, what would I do? Hug them? Speak? Ignore them? Or crumble under the weight of all the things I never said?
You don’t need to wait for a funeral to make peace.
You don’t need a near-death experience to soften your heart.
You don’t need everyone to understand your decision to forgive.
You just need the courage to let go.
Because the longer you hold on to pain, the more it becomes a part of who you are. And you were never created to be a prisoner of your past.
So here’s what I want you to do. Not tomorrow. Not next year.
Today.
Make the call. Send the message. Or even just whisper their name to God and say, “I forgive them.”
Do it shaking. Do it crying. Do it confused if you must.
But do it.
Free yourself.
You have carried this long enough.
Now go.
Live.
Heal.
And breathe again.
By Victor Raul Puobabangna Plance from Eggu in the Upper Wes Region of Ghana
#Puobabangna
