Understanding resentment—how it works in my life, where it comes from, and how I stay out of it—has been one of my lifelong struggles. This is not something that’s easy for me to share with you, because, on top of struggling with resentment, I’m judgmental toward my own resentment. Let me explain. We know from the research that unwanted identity is the most powerful elicitor of shame. If you want to know what’s likely to trigger shame for you, just fill in this sentence stem: It’s really important for me not to be perceived as __________ “
Resentful” and “bitter” are definitely on my list. So, I struggle with feeling resentment and I struggle with how struggling with resentment makes me feel.
For years, I assumed that resentment was a form of anger related to my perfectionism. I mostly felt resentful toward people whom I perceived to be not working or sacrificing or grinding or perfecting or advocating as hard as I was. You want to see me go into full-tilt resentment, just watch someone tell me, “Yeah. I stopped working on it—it’s not exactly perfect, but it’s good enough” or “I know it’s due tomorrow, but I’m wiped out so I’m packing it in” or “I don’t get involved in those issues—they really don’t affect me.”
Ugh. IT IS ON.
I’ve spent decades working on my perfectionism, and that helped, but resentment remained an issue. Then, all of a sudden, in one sentence—my life changed. I was interviewing the emotions researcher and writer Marc Brackett for our Unlocking Us podcast, and we were chatting before the actual recording started. Out of the blue, I said, “Before we start, I’ve got a personal question. Is resentment part of the anger family?”
Without hesitation, Marc replied, “No. Resentment is part of envy.”
Oh no.
I’m not mad because you’re resting. I’m mad because I’m so bone tired and I want to rest. But, unlike you, I’m going to pretend that I don’t need to.
I’m not furious that you’re okay with something that’s really good and imperfect. I’m furious because I want to be okay with something that’s really good and imperfect.
Your lack of work is not making me resentful, my lack of rest is making me resentful.
My life changed. Maybe it’s unfair to say that it changed in one sentence because I’ve been curious and committed to figuring out my resentment for twenty-six years—maybe it’s a case of “when the student is ready, the teacher appears.” And why twenty-six years? Because I remember the moment I saw resentment in another person and thought, “Oh, no. She’s so unlikable. So awful. But so painfully relatable. I don’t want to be that person.”
It was 1995, and I was alone at the movie theater watching Home for the Holidays. It’s a funny, smart movie, directed by Jodie Foster, about adult children gathering at their parents’ house on Thanksgiving Day. Two siblings, played by Holly Hunter and Robert Downey, Jr., are unconventional free spirits who have both moved away and maintained a close relationship. Then there’s the sister, played brilliantly by Cynthia Stevenson, who never left, who takes care of the parents (more than they’d like), who is paralyzed by perfectionism, and whose rigidity makes her the brunt of family jokes. She’s bitter and resentful and exhausted.
After dinner goes very wrong, and a turkey ends up in the perfect sister’s lap, she and her obnoxiously uptight family leave. Then there’s a scene when Cynthia Stevenson’s character is in the basement of her house, working out on her StairMaster, and Holly Hunter’s character comes over to apologize for Thanksgiving turning into a circus. The resentful sister goes off about how she’s the only one who grew up and how the other two shirked all of the responsibilities that she now has to bear alone. After she says something really cruel to Holly Hunter’s character,she looks down at her StairMaster and signals for her sister to leave: “Do you mind? This is the only thing I do all day that I like.”
Yikes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been that bad, but as I said, it was painfully relatable. And scary to think that I could even be on that trajectory. Now when I start to feel resentful, instead of thinking, What is that person doing wrong? or What should they be doing? I think, What do I need but am afraid to ask for? While resentment is definitely an emotion, I normally recognize it by a familiar thought pattern: What mean and critical thing am I rehearsing saying to this person?
Here’s our definition:
Resentment is the feeling of frustration, judgment, anger, “better than,” and/ or hidden envy related to perceived unfairness or injustice. It’s an emotion that we often experience when we fail to set boundaries or ask for what we need, or when expectations let us down because they were based on things we can’t control, like what other people think, what they feel, or how they’re going to react.