Get Rid of All Bitterness

The Bible gives us some guidelines about anger toward others.

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:31-32

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. James 1:19-20

For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. Matthew 6:14-15

Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs. Proverbs 10:12

Anger shouldn’t be your go-to response to someone’s sin against you—and when anger arrives, you should forgive. Choose love and compassion over anger.

This hasn’t always been easy for me. I’d like to share a long story with you about holding onto anger, and then I’ll bring it back to marriage.

The story of a grudge

My family will tell you that it takes a lot to get me angry.

Don’t think that makes me a good example of the Bible’s instructions about anger, though. Although it’s true that I am slow to anger, here’s the other thing my family will tell you: once I do get angry at someone, I stay angry for a long, long time.

It is accurate to say that I am a grudge holder.

Several years ago, I realized how much of a grudge holder I am when a high school classmate died.

It started in junior high or high school, when one of the physical education teachers asked me to find out who was smoking in the showers. I remember feeling like I was in an awkward position. I didn’t want to make other girls mad at me for tattling, but I also didn’t know that it was an option to not do what the teacher asked. The next day I figured out which girls were smoking, and I gave the teacher their names, feeling horrible for tattling.

The girls must’ve gotten in trouble, because a few days later, the bullying began. I was kind of an easy target anyway, being so shy and sensitive. They called me names, threatened me, and followed me when I walked to my after-school job at the library. Their friends picked on me in the halls at school. One girl in particular bore the brunt of my negative feelings. Her taunts were the loudest and most frequent.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but all through the rest of junior high and high school, I was wary around these girls. They had made me afraid, and I didn’t like that feeling—so I hated them. I understood that from their point of view, I had started everything by tattling, but since I hadn’t felt like I had a choice, I thought it was completely unfair of them.

Although I thought it was unfair, I also thought I kind of deserved it. What kind of person am I, I wondered, that I tattled without even thinking about whether it was the right thing to do?

I felt like I deserved to be picked on, ashamed of my weakness of character in not telling the teacher that she shouldn’t have asked me to snitch on someone and ashamed that I’d tattled. Not only was I was angry and afraid not only because I was being bullied, I was also angry and afraid because every time I was picked on, I was reminded of the weakness in my character. I was afraid to face my weaknesses.

During my formative years, I poured a lot of mental energy and anxiety into fear of what these girls would do to me. For many years after high school, I felt like I was a victim of bullying, even though I didn’t think about the bullies themselves.

A glimpse of a darkness in my heart

The girl who was the chief bully died when we were well into our 40s.

That’s when I discovered what a lack of forgiveness looked like in myself—and I was ashamed of what I saw in my heart.

Someone in one of my high school Facebook groups posted a death announcement that included this girl’s picture. No, that isn’t right. It was this woman’s picture. She hadn’t been a girl for a long time.

I hadn’t thought of her for years, but when I saw her picture, I felt that old familiar anger begin to boil in my stomach, along with the discomfort at being reminded of my character weakness. That’s when I had the horrible thought: Serves her right. Yes, that’s right. My first reaction to news of a classmate’s death was to think that she deserved to die.

That’s not all. As I watched the outpouring of grief from our classmates, I found myself feeling resentful. Why is she getting all this love after what she did to me?

I started reading through her Facebook profile, sure that I would find something to justify my continued resentment—but I was wrong. The woman I saw had grown children who had just lost their mama. She had a grandchild who she helped to look after. Her husband adored her. In comments on her photos, many of her friends expressed their appreciation for her kindness or assistance with one thing or another. She posted many of the same memes and articles as I did. She went out of her way to help others. She was generous with her self and her time.

It occurred to me that if I’d met her as an adult, she might be someone I would genuinely like. I resisted this thought, because I didn’t want to like her. I wanted to be able to stay in my victim mode and hate her. I wanted to hate someone because of her actions at the age of 14.

With shame, I grasped the horribleness of my first reaction to the news of her death.

Here I was, a woman nearly 50 years old, still angry and hateful toward a 14-year-old girl. A child.

What kind of person am I, I wondered, to hold onto such deep anger and resentment for so many years just so I can continue to feel like I’m the victim?

Feeling hurt and afraid at the time I was being bullied was understandable and appropriate. Hanging onto it for so many years, though? That wasn’t okay.

I was clinging to my victim identity long after I was being picked on.

Holding on to that resentment and hurt had turned me into a woman who could hate and think someone deserved to die—all because of something done as an adolescent. Who among us would want to be judged on the basis of our teenage decisions?

I knew that needed to forgive her. I had to let go of my resentment and hurt.

Letting it go

As I’d learned about my former classmate through the outpouring of grief on Facebook and through her own profile, I had found compassion for her even though I hadn’t wanted to. I forgave her for what she had done, and I prayed for her soul and for her grieving family.

As I repented of my long-held grudge against a classmate, I began to think about my reputation as the family grudge-holder.

What is a grudge, other than bitterness that we cling to?

Ephesians tells us to get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger. It says that compassion is part of forgiving.

I thought of others I hadn’t forgiven—and I realized that in every situation, I was clinging on not only to anger, but also to a victim identity. It was much easier than facing my own weaknesses and fears.

Sadly, this was true even in my marriage.

I allowed myself to relish in the sympathetic role of misunderstood wife, underappreciated wife, under-loved wife. It was far easier to allow myself to feel like a victim than to face any of my own sins and weaknesses.

I stored up grudges from times Big Guy had hurt my feelings. I was holding onto hurt and resentment for comments or actions from years before.

Just as I had with my teenage bullying, my grudge helped me avoid facing my own sins and weaknesses. It justified my own negative thoughts and behaviors. When I would experience a twinge of guilt for his unhappiness in our marriage, all I needed to do was tap into the grudge and resentment to affirm that he didn’t deserve to be happy. It was far easier to think of myself as a sympathetic victim than to face my own weaknesses.

I realized that much of my grudge against Big Guy was based on things from early in our marriage. He was a young man, a new husband who was still learning who his wife was. I was holding a grudge against a man in his 20s—a man who I knew had grown and matured. Big Guy wasn’t that young man anymore, just as I was no longer the young woman who had assumed the worst of him so often.

The resentment that I clung to had been a barrier to the intimacy in our marriage. I found compassion for Big Guy and what he was experiencing in our marriage. With the compassion came a release of the bitterness in my heart and a willingness to deal with my own weaknesses and sins.

As I let go, the resentment in my heart was replaced by love and forgiveness.

What do you need to let go?

Take a look at your own marriage. Are you holding onto any grudges? Are you hanging on to any long-ago situations, living with bitterness and resentment? Are you clinging to a sympathetic role of misunderstood, unappreciated, and under-loved wife?

I want to be very clear: I am not talking about feeling like a victim when you are actually a victim of a husband’s abuse or other unrepentant sin against you. Feeling hurt and angry about these things is not wrong. It is not a grudge to be angry about something that continues to happen. I would say that it is a righteous response.

I encourage you to strive for kindness and compassion with your husband, for these things will help you conquer the bitterness and anger.

When you get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger, you will find that your heart has space for righteousness and forgiveness.

Choose love and compassion over anger.

A sign of growth

Although I’m not yet a completely reformed grudge-holder, I am working my way in that direction. I continue to see progress.

Although I was not able to attend my recent class reunion, people posted videos and pictures. There was a nice display with pictures of classmates who have passed away.

I saw the picture of the girl I had hated for so many years. This time, I felt no anger or discomfort. Instead, I felt sadness that she had died so young and that I had not known her better.

Forgiveness brings me far more peace and joy than bitterness and a grudge ever did.

Image credit | Chris Taylor