Sexy Little Thing Called Resentment

I’ve heard the sage advice to never hit publish when you’re angry. So I compromised with myself, saying, okay self. You get to write what you want but then you gotta go back over it when you’re not a hot feverish mess.

Because for days, an uber sexy topic that everyone loves talking about kept boomeranging. Resentment.

And the craziest thing happened when I (gasp!) took my own advice.

But first, the hot mess. Since that’s what everyone surely wants to know.

I’ve just come fresh off a near straight month of pup sitting outside my home. Multiple pups, multiple homes. When I looked at my calendar at first, I thought: hmm. I’ll probably feel one of two ways at the end of this lil stint.

The pups were, per usual, their pup selves. Their humans, as great as ever. But shocker, a fourteen hour turnaround time to do laundry, repack and switch out groceries, water my plants and gather my footing is not something I recommend. I’m a gal who thrives in her space and can do fabulously away when I plan for it. With that planning comes plenty of s p a c e . Breathing room. And not much of that was laced in here. And it showed when I finally got home, racing to make it in time for another appointment on my calendar.

Again, I’ll repeat clearly: this was no one else’s doing but my own. I raised my hand, took on the responsibilities and said yes to the consequences. Which were bound to provide a heaping dose of clarity, either way.

In hindsight, would I do it that way again? Thanks, but no. Because at the tippy end, once I shoved the front door behind me, it all came roiling out in a big fat hairy ball of resentment. Disguised at everything else around me. But really, at myself.

I’ve learned a simple enough definition for this term, resentment. (Doesn’t it even leave a weird chalky feeling in your mouth when you say it? No? Okay, well it does for me.) The thing that bajillions of people become half-masters at, covering up in everyday public life (except, watch out because I can see you). As my wise coach Rebecca taught me, resentment, at its core, comes from saying yes when we really mean no. Through words. Actions. Or both.

You know, like when you fire off a text in response to one that annoyingly interrupts your meditation or luxurious self book-reading time or meal or ounce of quiet you-time or whatever, you respond right away for fear of looking rude or greedy or self absorbed. Maybe you add an exclamation point or smiley face emoji just to convince yourself and the other person that you’re not totally annoyed.

Or when a communal activity is definitely not communal. In my case, there I was, unloading the car and ready to relish in my building’s shared garden space to spend quality solo time among the flowers. Until I saw that no one else had watered them during this last stretch of non-rainy weeks and scorching temps. I sang the chorus in my head. I bet they all thought "Oh, Katie’ll do it! She’s the yes girl! Will do anything!" (Because, in the past, I have. Unprompted.) But not today, Satan. Katie ain’t touching any plant she didn’t roll up her sweaty sleeves and dig up god’s great green earth to bury 'em in. I was making my own blood boil faster, rolling all these stories around my brain like marbles.

plant catastrophes of another caliber

So I kept my phone on silent do not disturb mode all freaking day, trusting that the world wouldn’t implode if I didn’t respond rightthisinstant. (It didn’t.) And stopped short of watering the entire backyard even though those droopy azaleas were definitely sad-pants. (Still living. For the most part.)

But even after all that, I felt gross. And I hate feeling gross. Ferg used to stare at me with his all-knowing Westie power and point out what I should really do in his silent, wise old man ways. Sometimes I’d do them. Sometimes not. Only he would know. But I think he’d be proud of the part that comes next.

Because you know what lifted that funk? (Fellow introverts, this will suck to hear.)

HUMAN CONNECTION FOCUSED OUTSIDE MYSELF.

Oh my god. Yes I said it.

I carried out my duties and wrote a story for work about someone else’s life that took me out of my own spiral. Felt pretty good.

Then I took time to check out a friend’s new media venture that, when I read it, lit me so far up the Christmas light string that I couldn’t not tell her. So I did. And we both had all the feels. (P.S. It’s called Late August and it’s amazing so go look.)

During that love fest, I ran into a neighbor in the laundry room and instead of erupting about the almost dead azaleas, had a lovely connective chat. Which ended in HIS offer to water the backyard. (He also said I should be a lobbyist and I am taking that as a compliment.)

And lastly, when I saw one of my pup clients to round out the day, there was nothing but love in that room (even if he did eat some of my shoes last week--I need new ones, anyway) accompanying a heartfelt handwritten thank you note.

So there you go. I’m not the preaching type, just sharing what blew my mind and heart wide open. Because it’s pretty neat.

But one last thing. Last night as I was lying in my bathtub — my favorite place to escape from the world— I finished a highly recommendable book for ambitious types, Everything is Figureoutable by Marie Forleo. She references Bonnie Ware, a former nurse who spent a considerable amount of time listening to people’s regrets during their last weeks of life. Among the top was this:

“I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

Boom. Doesn’t that just make you want to slap resentment in the face? Luckily, I can. We can.

So from today on, I’m focusing on reversing the tides. Committing to only saying “OKAY! :)” when I mean it, and deferring the rest. Way sexy, right? Enjoy this piece? I'd love to have you on my VIP list where subscribers get first eyes on all my stories + personal notes from me.

*Author's note: This story was updated 0n September 2, 2023 to attribute a definition of resentment to Rebecca Niziol.