Waking Up to Resentment, Learning to Release

There’s a particular kind of weight that can greet you in the morning before your feet even hit the floor. For me, lately, it’s often been resentment. It sits heavy in my chest, a bitter mix of anger and disappointment directed, impossibly, towards the very people I love most in this world: my adult children.

My journey in recovery is about becoming a better man, healing from an addiction that led me to betray trust and cause deep harm. My inappropriate online behavior didn't just happen in a vacuum; it exploded into the lives of my kids, causing them embarrassment, pain, and forcing them to question who their father truly was. The shame of that is something I carry every day, and rebuilding trust is a mountain I'm committed to climbing, one step at a time.

Part of recovery is learning new tools for living, and a big one is understanding how to handle difficult emotions healthily. Resentment, as my twelve-step program makes clear, is a major obstacle – "a poison we drink ourselves, expecting someone else to suffer." It blocks us from serenity, connection, and the sunlight of the spirit. Intellectually, I got it. But knowing the theory and living the reality are different things.

Recently, I found myself stuck in a painful cycle. In my efforts to reconnect with my kids, driven by a desire to show them the changes I'm making and, admittedly, seeking some validation, I'd send texts checking in, telling them I'm proud of them. Often, silence followed. And in that silence, my mind would race, assuming the worst – rejection, proof they didn't love me. From that fear, resentment would bloom. Resentment towards my own children, the ones I hurt.

This specific, gut-wrenching resentment became my unwilling teacher. It forced me to take the general principles I was learning about releasing resentment and apply them directly to my own aching heart. The process, as I understand it, involves several key steps:

1. Acknowledge and Identify: First, I had to stop pretending I wasn't resentful. I had to name it: "I am resentful towards my kids because they aren't responding, and I'm interpreting that as rejection." I had to feel the anger and disappointment without letting it consume me.

2. Understand the Cost: I reflected on how this resentment was hurting me. It stole my peace, soured my mornings, and ironically, blocked the very love I wanted to feel and express. Holding onto it was draining my energy for recovery.

3. Shift Perspective & Seek Understanding: This was tough. It meant acknowledging my expectations. Was I seeking their validation to soothe my shame? Was my outreach truly about them, or was it subtly about controlling their response? It also involved trying to understand their perspective (without needing them to tell me) – they are processing their own hurt on their own timeline, and their silence might have nothing to do with a lack of love, but rather their own need for space or healing.

4. Acceptance: I had to accept the reality of the present moment: I cannot control their feelings or responses. I cannot undo the past. Fighting this reality only fuels the resentment. Acceptance means acknowledging, "This is where things are right now."

5. Make a Conscious Decision to Let Go: This is where forgiveness comes in, but primarily as a gift to myself. It's choosing to release the burden of anger and bitterness for my own well-being. It doesn't mean forgetting or condoning, but simply deciding I don't want to carry this poison anymore.

   
   

Working through these steps isn't just a mental exercise. For me, integrating this into my journaling practice has been incredibly helpful. Actually writing down the specifics of the resentment – the who, what, when, why – brings it out of the swirling chaos of my mind and onto the page. Seeing it in black and white helps me confront it more honestly. In fact, this very blog post started taking shape in my journal as I explored and wrestled with these feelings. There's a power in placing these thoughts and emotions down on paper; it feels like another way of physically releasing their hold on me.

Even with journaling and understanding the steps, doing this work felt like trying to lift something impossibly heavy on my own. I could analyze it, understand it, even decide to drop it, but the emotional weight often remained. This is where the spiritual dimension of my recovery became essential.

My program teaches reliance on a Higher Power, a source of strength and wisdom beyond my own. I realized I couldn't just think my way out of this resentment; I needed help. So, I turned to prayer, incorporating that spiritual surrender into the process:

• Surrender the Burden: I started praying specifically and honestly. "God," I'd say, "I'm filled with resentment this morning. I know it's hurting me and blocking my connection with You and my kids. I am willing to let it go, but I need Your help. Please, take this feeling from me."

• Ask for Healing and Strength: I prayed for the strength to accept the situation, for patience, and for divine help in healing the parts of me that were so quick to feel rejected.

• Request a Shift in Perception: I asked my Higher Power to help me see the situation, and my children, through a lens of love and compassion, rather than fear and expectation. "Help me focus on my actions, my recovery, and trust the outcome to You."

It wasn't a magic wand. There was no lightning bolt. But in consciously acknowledging my powerlessness over the resentment on my own, expressing willingness, and asking for divine help, something began to shift. It felt like handing over that heavy, jagged rock I'd been clenching. My grip loosened. The act of surrender, powered by faith, made the release possible in a way my own willpower couldn't achieve.

Releasing this resentment is still a daily practice. Some mornings, I have to consciously choose to hand that rock over again. But the practice itself creates space. The space previously filled with anger and disappointment is now more often filled with the quiet, steady truth of my love for my children, independent of their response. It allows me to feel self-compassion for the difficult journey I'm on.

Letting go of the resentment doesn't change the past or guarantee a specific future for our relationship. What it does change is me. It lifts the weight, allowing the love I genuinely feel – for them and, increasingly, for myself – to shine through. And that makes for a much brighter, more hopeful start to the day, grounded in my own recovery and faith, not in the validation I once desperately sought.