I Don’t Hold Grudges; I Just Remember.
I don’t hold grudges. I’m not that person. I don’t walk around with a heavy backpack full of resentment, anger, or bitterness. I don’t spend my time stewing over what someone did or said, plotting their demise, or wishing I could go back and change the course of history. Hell, I don’t even get bogged down in the drama of it all. I don’t waste my energy on something that drains me. But don’t mistake that for forgiveness or letting people off the hook. I don’t forgive. I just remember.
People love to talk about “letting things go,” like it’s some magical switch you can flip and everything is fine again. Like holding onto anything that doesn’t serve you is a personal failure. “Just forgive,” they say. “It’s good for your soul.” But when you’ve been around long enough, you realize that some things just can’t be erased. You can’t make memories disappear. You can’t undo the pain someone else caused. You can’t simply wave a hand and pretend it didn’t happen.
And frankly, I don’t think that’s the goal. Forgetting isn’t healing. Forgetting is just burying it all under a pile of fake optimism and pretending like everything’s okay when it’s not. So, here’s the truth: I remember. I remember exactly what you said to me. I remember the way you looked at me when you were lying through your teeth. I remember how it felt when you walked away without a word. I remember the silence, the rejection, the manipulation, the games, the selfishness.
I remember all of it.
I remember the words you said that were meant to wound. I remember how they hit me, not just in the moment but lingering in the back of my mind long after you walked away. The casual cruelty, the sharpness in your tone, the things you said without thinking that left a scar. I don’t hold onto the anger, but I do hold onto the memory of your words. They don’t fade. They don’t vanish. And I don’t want them to because that’s what gives me clarity. I can’t change the past, but I can learn from it. I can see through the masks people wear, the lies they tell themselves, the facade they put up to make themselves feel better. And I’ll never forget the way you made me feel.
People think I’m cold sometimes. Detached, distant, or maybe even bitter. But that’s not it. I’m just no longer willing to lose myself in the chaos of someone else’s choices. I don’t need to hold a grudge to know exactly who you are. Your actions, your words, your treatment of me, that’s the map I follow. You’ve already shown me who you are, and I’m not one to ignore the signs.
There’s something liberating about remembering. It’s empowering. When you remember the things that shaped you, the good and the bad, you start to understand yourself better. You begin to draw boundaries. You begin to trust your instincts and stop second-guessing yourself. You stop giving people the benefit of the doubt when they’ve already shown you their true colors. You stop excusing behaviors because “they didn’t mean it” or “it’s just who they are.” No, I remember, and that’s enough.
I remember the people who walked away when I needed them the most. The ones who said they were my friends, my family, my partners, and then disappeared without a trace when things got tough. I remember how it felt to be let down by those I trusted. I don’t hate them for it. Hate takes energy, and I don’t have time for that. But I remember. And I remember not to let them back in. I remember the pattern. I remember how easy it is for people to make excuses for themselves when it’s convenient. I remember the stories they told me about how they “meant well” or how “it wasn’t personal.” Funny how it never seemed that way to me.
Then there are the people who made me question my worth. The ones who belittled me, ignored me, or made me feel small. Maybe you didn’t do it intentionally. Maybe it was just a passing comment or an offhand remark. But it stuck. The little digs, the criticism wrapped in a thin layer of “helpful advice.” I’m sure you didn’t think it was a big deal. But I remember. I remember the way you made me doubt myself, the way your words planted seeds of insecurity. And while you probably moved on with your life, I’m still here, stronger, wiser, and a hell of a lot more careful about who I let into my world.
I remember the betrayals. The people who promised me loyalty but showed me nothing but selfishness. You didn’t just break my trust; you shattered it. But here’s the thing: I didn’t hold a grudge. I didn’t wait around to get back at you or plot revenge. I just remembered. I remember how quickly loyalty can disappear when it’s no longer convenient for someone else. I remember the hollow apologies, the excuses, the justifications. And now, I remember to trust myself more than anyone else. You taught me that.
It’s funny how people love to tell you to forgive and forget, but when the shoe’s on the other foot, they never seem to remember how easy it is to hurt someone. They don’t remember the things they’ve said, the way they’ve treated others, the way they’ve shrugged off the consequences of their actions. But I do. I remember it all. And that’s not something I’m ashamed of.
Remembering isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s the ability to stand firm in your own truth, to call out the bullshit when you see it, and to set boundaries that protect your peace. I don’t need to forget in order to heal. I don’t need to erase the past to move forward. I carry the lessons with me, every single one, like armor. The people who mistreated me? I’m not mad at them anymore. I’m just wiser. The ones who took advantage of my kindness? I don’t wish ill on them; I just know better now. And that’s a gift. That’s not something you get from holding grudges; it’s something you get from remembering.
People like to tell you that holding onto the past is unhealthy. That it drags you down, keeps you stuck in a place of negativity. But I think they’re wrong. Remembering doesn’t keep you stuck. It just keeps you grounded in reality. It reminds you of who you were, who you are, and who you want to be. And it allows you to step forward without fear of repeating the same mistakes.
Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m not a pessimist. I’m not someone who goes around assuming the worst in everyone I meet. I don’t think the world is full of bad people, and I certainly don’t live in a state of constant vigilance, waiting for the next betrayal or insult. But I do trust the evidence of my past. I trust the way people have shown up for me, or not shown up. I trust the patterns they’ve established, even if they’ve disguised them in fancy words or flattering smiles. I’ve learned that there’s more truth in actions than in promises, more wisdom in silence than in empty apologies.
I don’t need to forgive anyone who hasn’t asked for forgiveness. I don’t need to absolve them of their mistakes. But I remember. And that’s enough. It’s enough because I no longer let people’s words and actions define me. I no longer let them determine my worth. I’ve learned to take what I’ve learned, apply it, and move forward with clarity and confidence.
So, I don’t hold grudges. I just remember. I remember the people who tried to break me, and I remember how they failed. I remember the ones who walked away, and I remember how much better I’ve gotten at walking alone. I remember the pain, but I also remember how much stronger it made me. And at the end of the day, remembering is all I need to keep moving forward with my head held high.
