How to stop holding grudges

Close your eyes for a second. Think about the last time you obsessed over this hurt. Did your shoulders tense up? Did your stomach twist? That’s your body telling you something’s wrong. Grudges aren’t just mental—they’re physical. They live in your clenched jaw, your restless nights, the way you snap at people who don’t deserve it. I remember a friend who held onto a betrayal for years. She’d say, ‘I’m fine,’ but her sleep was terrible, her anxiety was through the roof, and she’d cancel plans last minute because she was too drained. That’s when it hit her: the grudge wasn’t punishing him. It was punishing her. So ask yourself: What’s this really costing you? Your peace? Your joy? Your ability to trust again? Write it down. Not to shame yourself, but to see it clearly. Sometimes, just realizing how much it’s stealing from you is enough to make you want to let go.

Here’s the thing that trips so many people up: forgiving someone doesn’t mean you’re saying what they did was okay. It doesn’t mean you have to invite them back into your life, trust them again, or even speak to them. Forgiveness is for you. It’s the difference between carrying a backpack full of rocks and setting it down. You can still walk away. You can still protect yourself. I had a client who was terrified to forgive her ex because she thought it meant she’d have to be friends with him. But once she realized forgiveness was just about her peace, not his redemption, everything shifted. She could wish him well (or not) from a distance, without ever opening the door again. That’s the power of boundaries. They let you forgive without putting yourself back in harm’s way. You get to decide what safety looks like for you.

Grudges thrive on repetition. The same thought, over and over: ‘How could they?’ ‘They ruined everything.’ ‘I’ll never trust again.’ It’s like a song stuck on repeat, and the more you play it, the more power it has over you. But here’s the secret: you get to change the track. I worked with someone who’d been replaying a work betrayal for years. Every time she thought about it, she’d spiral into ‘I’m not good enough.’ Until one day, she tried something different. She wrote down the thought, then rewrote it: ‘They made a bad choice, but it doesn’t define me. I’m learning to trust my instincts again.’ It didn’t erase the hurt, but it took the sting out. The memory became just that—a memory, not a weapon. Try this: Next time the old story pops up, pause. Ask yourself, ‘Is this true? Is this helpful?’ Then give yourself permission to tell a new version. One that leaves room for growth, not just pain.

There’s something about putting pen to paper that makes the invisible feel real. The anger, the sadness, the ‘I can’t believe they did this’—it’s all in there, swirling around, taking up space. But when you write it down, it’s like you’re pulling it out of your body and putting it somewhere else. That’s why unsent letters are so powerful. You get to say everything—the ugly, the messy, the things you’d never say out loud. And then? You let it go. Burn it. Shred it. Delete it. It’s not about pretending it didn’t happen. It’s about giving yourself permission to stop carrying it. I once had a client who wrote a letter so raw, she cried the whole time. But afterward, she said it felt like she’d taken off a heavy coat she’d been wearing for years. That’s the gift of this step. You don’t have to forgive right away. You just have to let yourself feel it. All of it. Then set it down.

Letting go of a grudge doesn’t mean you have to be a doormat. In fact, it’s the opposite. When you set boundaries, you’re saying, ‘I matter. My peace matters.’ And that’s the healthiest form of self-respect. Think about what you need to feel safe. Maybe it’s limiting contact with the person. Maybe it’s not engaging in certain conversations. Maybe it’s walking away when things get heated. Boundaries aren’t walls—they’re gates. You get to decide who comes in and who stays out. I had a friend who struggled with this after a falling-out with her sister. She wanted to forgive, but she also knew she couldn’t handle her sister’s criticism anymore. So she set a boundary: ‘I love you, but I won’t engage in conversations that make me feel small.’ It wasn’t easy, but it gave her the space to heal without reopening the wound. That’s the magic of boundaries. They let you forgive and protect yourself at the same time.

Here’s the truth: you can’t just stop thinking about something. The brain doesn’t work like that. If you try to force yourself to forget, you’ll only think about it more. The real trick? Give yourself something else to focus on. Something that lights you up. A hobby. A goal. A person who makes you feel seen. When my mom was going through a rough patch with an old friend, she started painting again. It had been years, but the brushstrokes, the colors—it pulled her out of her head and into the present. And slowly, the grudge lost its grip. It didn’t disappear overnight, but it stopped being the loudest thing in the room. So ask yourself: What’s one thing I can do today that has nothing to do with this hurt? A walk. A book. A phone call with someone who makes you laugh. It doesn’t have to be big. Just something. Because the more you fill your life with things that nourish you, the less room there is for the things that don’t.

This isn’t a one-and-done thing. Some days, the hurt will feel fresh again. Some days, you’ll think you’ve moved on, only to have it creep back in when you least expect it. And that’s okay. Healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s two steps forward, one step back. But every time you choose to let go—even just a little—you’re making progress. I remember a time when I thought I’d never get over a particular betrayal. I’d have good days, then something would trigger me, and I’d spiral. But over time, the good days outnumbered the bad ones. The memory didn’t hurt as much. The weight didn’t feel as heavy. And one day, I realized I hadn’t thought about it in weeks. That’s how it works. Not with a grand gesture, but with small, consistent choices. So be gentle with yourself. You’re not failing if it takes time. You’re just human. And humans heal at their own pace.