Champagne Confessions

Resentment is a peculiar thing, it doesn’t erupt, it accumulates. It’s not the grand betrayal, the heated argument, or the dramatic breakup that makes a person bitter. No, resentment is quieter than that. It’s the slow erosion of goodwill, the gradual depletion of emotional generosity, the moment you realize you’ve spent years giving without receiving and suddenly, even the smallest request feels like a battle.

I used to think resentment was a reaction to being wronged, but now I see it as something more insidious, the byproduct of unmet expectations, of invisible labor, of feeling unappreciated in spaces where you once felt cherished. It’s what happens when love becomes obligation, when acts of kindness are taken for granted, and when the things you used to do so freely start to feel transactional.

For women, resentment is especially dangerous because we are conditioned to suppress it. We are taught to be understanding, to be patient, to manage our emotions so that others are comfortable. We tell ourselves it’s just a phase, that they didn’t mean to forget, that our needs are small compared to everything else going on. But every time we swallow our disappointment, every time we tell ourselves it’s not a big deal, we’re chiseling away at our own sense of worth.

And then, one day, you wake up and realize you no longer admire the person next to you, you tolerate them. The things that once endeared you now irritate you. The sound of their voice, the way they move, the little habits you used to love, suddenly, it all feels unbearable. You start keeping score, tallying every unreciprocated effort, every dismissal, every forgotten gesture of affection. And with every unchecked box, every unacknowledged effort, the resentment grows until it transforms into something worse: indifference.

But what is resentment, really? Is it simply the aftermath of disappointment, the natural result of a love that has become lopsided? Or is it a warning sign, a signal that we have abandoned ourselves for too long in the name of keeping the peace?

Perhaps resentment isn’t the villain we make it out to be. Perhaps it’s the voice we’ve ignored for too long finally speaking up, reminding us that love should not feel like a duty and that generosity should not be one-sided. 

Or maybe, resentment is just love’s ghost, haunting us with the memory of what could have been.

 

 

 

 

 

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