Resentment is a feeling.
You feel it.
Before you tell a story about it—who did what to whom, what they said, what they meant, why they did it—resentment is already happening in you.
This is why it seems almost funny that therapists often begin by helping people identify what they feel before diving into the entire history of who hurt whom.
Because once you can identify what you’re feeling, you know who needs your presence most.
You.
Not the person who caused it.
Not the person you’re angry with.
You.
Before something is named, it is life.
As humans, we name things. We label them, explain them, confess them. But sometimes we can’t name what we’re experiencing because we haven’t learned to feel it yet.
This is what it means to live in the body.
To live in yourself.
You don’t have to be strong.
You have to feel.
Feel the very human presence of resentment.
Stay with it.
Let yourself experience it without immediately turning it into a story.
And then watch.
Because it will change.
It always does.
The angry person becomes calm.
The happy person becomes sad.
The resentful person laughs.
They aren’t angry people.
They aren’t happy people.
They aren’t resentful people.
They are life experiencing life.
God experiencing itself through humanity.
When resentment takes over a life, love can seem to disappear from the world and from our relationships.
But love hasn’t gone anywhere.
It is still here.
It lives in the hateful person.
The abandoned person.
The person we call lost.
The person we have decided is impossible to love.
Be careful about making any of these states permanent.
People aren’t furniture.
They aren’t fixtures we can place in a room and decide, That’s who you are.
They are moving.
They are changing.
They are life flowing through a body, through me, through you, through everything.
And resentment is part of that movement.
Feel it.
Stay with it.
Let it move.
Because beneath every name we give an experience, before every story we tell about it—
life is already here.
Vachon Imagined 
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