The Resentment You Don't See Coming
Resentment doesn’t announce itself loudly. It lingers beneath the surface, showing up indirectly: in a passive-aggressive text, an awkward silence after a sharp joke, a harsh remark disguised as feedback, or the quiet frustration of watching someone do what you never allow yourself to.
What’s interesting about resentment is that it builds gradually, quietly—settling in unnoticed until one day, it’s impossible to ignore.
At its core, resentment is often a response to perceived unfairness. A friend repeatedly cancels plans at the last minute, a colleague takes credit for your ideas, or your efforts in a relationship go unnoticed. Over time, small disappointments harden into bitterness, usually accompanied by anger—sometimes even shame.
But resentment isn’t always about being wronged or treated unfairly. Sometimes, it comes from our own unspoken rules and expectations, unnecessary sacrifices, the ways we suppress ourselves, and rigid thinking. The problem is that we don’t always recognise resentment when there’s no clear wrongdoing by someone else. Instead, when we feel resentful, we often assume we’ve been treated unfairly.
Suppose you take pride in being responsible, composed, disciplined, and hardworking. Maybe you grew up learning that love and acceptance were earned by being a ‘good person’—someone with those traits. Or perhaps you were taught that duty comes before comfort, that success requires struggle, and that emotions should be managed, not indulged. These aren’t bad values.
But then, you encounter someone who moves through life differently—a coworker who takes long lunches without guilt, a friend who declines extra responsibilities simply because they “just don’t feel like it,” a boss who fails to acknowledge your sacrifices, a partner who freely expresses emotions instead of swallowing them.
And it irritates you, as if their refusal to follow these unspoken rules undermines your struggle. Over time, that irritation deepens. You begin noticing every time someone else takes a break while you push forward, or when another person voices a need while you suppress your own. It doesn’t seem fair. More importantly, it contradicts your own rules about how people should behave. And that quiet frustration gradually turns into resentment.
Resentment often takes root in the unspoken rules that shape our lives. When we follow a certain set of internal expectations, we expect others to do the same:
“If I have to suppress my emotions, you should control yours.”
“If I work hard without complaint, you should too.”
When others don’t follow our unspoken rules—not by mistreating us, but just by living differently—it feels personal. What others see as preferences, we interpret as disrespectful actions.
A similar pattern occurs when we suppress parts of ourselves—to fit in, to be liked, to avoid conflict, or to maintain an image. We tell ourselves we’re doing what’s necessary, but over time, unease creeps in. Small things start to irritate us—not because of the other person, but because of what we’ve sacrificed. When we consistently mold ourselves to accommodate others, we start believing we’re owed something in return. If we’ve given up parts of ourselves for the sake of harmony, surely others should recognise that. Surely, they should appreciate our sacrifices.
But often, the person we resent never asked for our self-sacrifice. They never agreed to the silent transaction we assumed would guarantee appreciation or care. We believed that if we shaped ourselves in just the right way, we would be rewarded. And when that reward never comes, we simmer in resentment.
Those who chronically prioritise pleasing others know this cycle well. When we overextend ourselves—giving, accommodating, and adjusting beyond our capacity—a resentment debt accumulates. We tell ourselves that selflessness is a virtue and that we’re doing the right thing. The problem is that we often give from obligation rather than genuine care, and we keep track of what we’ve done, expecting something in return. The people we’ve tried to please may never have agreed to this unspoken transaction, leaving us feeling bitter and unappreciated. But the real issue isn’t what others have done—it’s what we’ve failed to ask for or recognise in ourselves.
Suppressing ourselves can also mean not showing up authentically—wearing a mask in a relationship or at work, not because others demand it, but because we believe it’s necessary. We convince ourselves that this performance is a sacrifice, a requirement for success or acceptance. Although it’s neither necessary nor natural to bring our whole selves into every aspect of life, suppressing the most essential parts of who we are—especially in the name of “sacrifice”—has a way of catching up with us. For instance, if you present a completely different version of yourself at work than in your personal life—because you believe professionalism demands it—you may start to feel resentment building. Over time, that frustration gets projected onto others, like your boss. Every time they give you feedback or ask for something reasonable, it irritates you. Eventually, resentment takes hold. “If I’m already sacrificing so much, they shouldn’t expect more from me. They should just leave me alone.”
But the problem here isn’t their expectations—it’s the weight of the mask you never questioned wearing.
Resentment is neither inspiring nor productive. It may soothe the ego momentarily by shifting blame, but over time, it diminishes our sense of control and leaves us feeling powerless. It distorts our thinking, makes us judge others harshly, and fuels shame—not just toward others, but toward ourselves. Worst of all, resentment breeds more resentment. It doesn’t just affect our well-being; it also strains our relationships, creating emotional distance where there could be connection.
Although resentment often signals a perceived injustice, we need to ask: how much of this injustice comes from actual wrongdoing, and how much comes from our own unspoken expectations? Have we ever communicated these expectations, or did we just assume others would follow them?
You feel annoyed that your partner makes plans with friends without checking with you first. If you both agreed to check in with each other, your frustration is understandable. But if your reasoning is, “I always check with them first, so they should do the same,” then your resentment may be coming from an expectation they never agreed to.
This doesn’t mean our expectations are wrong. But when we impose them on others without discussion, we set ourselves up for disappointment. We mistake fairness for mirroring, believing that if we act a certain way, others should follow suit. But fairness isn’t about uniformity—it’s about mutual understanding and compromise.
To move beyond resentment, we need to be clear about what we will and won’t tolerate—whether it’s a certain type of relationship, interaction, or pattern of behavior. That means identifying our limits, setting firm boundaries, and communicating them directly. Holding on to resentment when we haven’t voiced our needs, wants, or dealbreakers is unfair—not just to others, but to ourselves.
Noticing resentment and its roots—our rigid expectations, the parts of ourselves we’ve suppressed, or the ways we’ve overextended—can be a turning point. It can push us to live more authentically, recognise and address our unmet needs, and become more open to communication. Instead of simmering in silence, we can speak up. Instead of envying others, we can reflect on what their choices reveal about our own desires.
And in that awareness, we might find more clarity, agency, and maybe even peace.