GRUDGES

For a long time, I carried a grudge against my mom.

When my dad died, he left her money.

She went through it.

Cars.
Parties.
Renovations.

When it was gone, she came to me.

I was tight.
Judgy.
Angry.

I thought, “How could you be so irresponsible?”

I helped… but barely.

Enough to pay the bills.
No warmth.
No softness.

Part of me wanted her to feel it.
Like I needed to punish her.

Later, I learned more of her story.

She lost her brother at 14 (suicide).
Had an abusive dad.
Lost her mom at 21 (cancer).
Lost my dad at 48 (cancer).
Got addicted to prescribed pain meds (Fiorinal).

That's a lot of loss, pain and suffering.

Doesn't mean I suddenly agreed with everything she did.

But it changed how I saw her.

Pain leaks out in weird ways.

Sometimes it looks like bad decisions.
Sometimes it looks like spending money you don't have.
Sometimes it's drinking.
Or pills.

The grudge wasn't hurting her.

It was hurting me.
I was the one replaying it.
Carrying it.
Feeding it.

My mom wasn't some irresponsible character in my story.
She was a human.
Doing the best she could
with the wiring and wounds she had.

My mom was a continuation of things that happened in her past that she didn't choose.

Just like me. 
Just like you. 
Just like everyone.

Letting go didn't excuse anything. But it did swap anger with compassion and love.

In that moment I realized:
Compassion and love can't co-exist with anger and fear.
That shift felt like dropping a heavy weight.

So the next time you're holding a grudge remember:

We're all first-timers at life.
Some of us are just doing it with heavier baggage.