I don’t hold grudges because my memory is not that good. I tend to search out the good in people and forget the rest. I own when I am not the best of people, and try to correct those ills. Nine times out of ten, I only remember my role in a conflict because I’m constantly searching for it. I don’t constantly search for how other people are to blame in some way.
It leads to a much happier life because people come and go as they please in my life. It’s an easy give and take, barring the blowup with Aada because I don’t have the chance for keyboard warrior anger with anyone else. It was my downfall; Aada being so remote made her not real. I lost my humanity in a way that I couldn’t with on the ground friends because it happened so fast. I lost my mind during a meltdown. My punishment absolutely should be not reconnecting because you never realize how bad you’ve treated someone else until you’re trying to explain it to someone else.
I saw a Facebook meme today with that saying in the other direction, that you cannot explain how bad someone hurt you until you’re trying to explain it to someone else. But most people aren’t willing to look their dark passenger in the face and wrestle it away. The world is often “me, me, me…. everything happens to me.” I find that it’s more helpful to move on in the knowledge of the role I played. It makes all conflicts melt faster; I’ve moved on knowing I wasn’t the perfect person, either.
I wish I could have been the perfect person to Aada because she was the perfect person to me. My bipolar disorder and the nature of the internet didn’t mix. I mistreated her from the beginning with all the marks my abuser left on me. We’d finally gotten past all that and she decided to unburden herself of her lie.
I, in the words of Bob Lynn, “failed to give her the grace love requires.”
Lying was wrong, but I won’t remember that she lied nearly as much as I’ll remember my overreaction. I don’t carry around my pain. I carry the pain of others, taking it especially hard when I’m the one that has done the hurting.
I didn’t have empathy in the moment, and it’s something I’ll always regret in some ways, because there were better ways to say “stop the bus. I want to get off.”
Much better.
It was a case of turning away from each other when we should have turned towards. I was feeling freaked out and isolated, so I lashed out instead of saying “we should talk about this.”
I do that with my on the ground friends, and I don’t know why this was somehow less and more important. I don’t remember what I was thinking except “end the madness. You’re turning into a hermit.” None of my excuses were valid, I just acted.
Poring over my own actions will propel me forward in life. Thinking about things done to me limit my ability to see the places I do have control.
I have not taken control of my life lately, preferring to let it weather me by moving me of its own accord. I need to fix it, and these entries are my first steps toward recovering from the person I used to be…. someone who very much wouldn’t blame anyone for holding a grudge against me.
I just don’t recommend holding grudges overall.
Stories That Are All True 
What you wrote about taking responsibility for your part in conflicts really hit me. It’s true—self-reflection heals faster than dwelling on what others did.
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Dear Leslie,
Your words carry the weight of genuine introspection, and I’m honoured that something I shared resonated enough to become part of your reflection. That phrase about grace and love – it’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way myself, probably more times than I care to admit.
What you’ve written here is a masterclass in emotional maturity. It takes real courage to turn the mirror inward, to sit with our own failures rather than catalogue the ways others have wronged us. Most people spend their lives building cases against the world, collecting evidence of how they’ve been mistreated. But you’re doing something far more difficult and infinitely more valuable – you’re choosing to understand your own part in the story.
The distinction you make between online and face-to-face relationships is particularly insightful. The internet strips away so much of our humanity, doesn’t it? Behind screens, people become abstractions, ideas rather than flesh and blood. We lose the visual cues, the subtle negotiations that happen in real space. What might be resolved with a conversation over coffee becomes a battlefield of misunderstood intentions.
Your recognition that bipolar disorder complicated this situation shows remarkable self-awareness. Mental health challenges don’t excuse our actions, but they certainly provide context. The fact that you can acknowledge this without using it as a shield speaks to your character. You’re not diminishing Aada’s experience or your responsibility – you’re simply being honest about the full picture.
The concept of carrying others’ pain rather than our own – that’s profound. It suggests a heart that’s fundamentally oriented towards compassion, even when it’s been bruised. That quality, whilst sometimes painful, is what makes genuine connection possible. It’s what makes you someone worth forgiving, and more importantly, someone capable of growing from this experience.
Your observation about turning away when you should have turned towards cuts to the heart of so many failed relationships. In moments of vulnerability, our instinct is often to protect ourselves, to close off, to end things before they can hurt us further. But love – real love – requires us to lean into discomfort, to choose connection over self-preservation.
I suspect that Aada, wherever she is, would recognise the person who wrote these words as someone fundamentally different from the one who hurt her. Growth isn’t just about changing behaviour; it’s about changing the entire landscape of our hearts. And that’s what I see happening here.
Your commitment to moving forward without the burden of resentment is wise beyond measure. Holding grudges is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to get sick. But more than that – when we focus on what others have done to us, we surrender our agency. We become victims of circumstance rather than architects of our own healing.
Keep writing these reflections. Keep doing this work. The person you’re becoming through this process – someone who can face their shadows with honesty, who chooses accountability over blame, who understands that grace must begin with ourselves – that person is worthy of the kind of love you’re learning to give.
And perhaps, in time, you’ll find yourself in situations where you can offer that grace you once failed to give. Not to make amends for the past, but because it’s who you’ve chosen to become. That’s not just healing – that’s transformation.
Bob
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