#34 The ugly side of grief no one talks about

When resentment makes you question yourself after loss

May 30, 2025

If you’re new here, welcome to Grieve Fully, Live Fully — a space for honest, heartfelt reflections on grief, growth, and the messy, beautiful middle of being human. Whether you’re navigating loss, facing life’s uncertainties and challenges, or simply seeking a little hope, you’re not alone.

I’m Ruhie — writer, doctor, mum & grief advocate. I don’t have it all figured out, and you don’t need to either. Let’s walk this path together with honesty, intention, and compassion.

P.S. Just a quick heads up: Starting next week, I’ll be shifting to posting on THURSDAYS. I don’t know about you, but Fridays have started to feel a little crowded heading into the weekend. Moving things a bit earlier feels like a better rhythm — for me, and hopefully for you too. As always, thank you for reading and walking this road with me.

woman in brown sweater covering her face with her hand — Photo by Dev Asangbam on Unsplash

There are parts of grief no one talks about. Resentment is one of them. It’s often left unspoken, maybe because it feels shameful or doesn’t fit what grief is ‘supposed’ to look like. I never expected grief to show up as anger. Or jealousy. Insecurity. Bitterness. But it did. And if it has for you too, you’re not alone.

In the early days, resentment can feel overwhelming — frequent, intense, and impossible to escape. Like being pulled into a black hole with no way out. Over time, it shifts, becoming less constant but never fully disappearing. It simmers just beneath the surface, rising up unexpectedly. A casual comment. Someone’s good news. An everyday moment that reminds you, suddenly, sharply, of everything you’ve lost. When it hits, it hurts deeply. Then, slowly, it fades — until the next time.

It’s a disorienting feeling, this mix of anger and longing, especially when you know it’s no one’s fault. You don’t want to feel this way, and you certainly don’t want to be the person who resents others for circumstances out of anyone’s control. But sometimes, it’s hard not to…

Admitting this feels deeply vulnerable, because it clashes with the kind of person I hope to be — compassionate, grounded and thoughtful. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling this way, and at times, it’s really made me question who I am. But if we want to talk honestly about grief, we have to be willing to talk about all of it. Even the parts that are uncomfortable, messy, and hard to say out loud.

Resentment can take many different forms… here’s just some of the ways it can show up for those of us grieving:

You resent others for moving on with their lives

You know it’s natural — people have routines, responsibilities, things to look forward to. But you feel stuck. Trapped in a version of your life that shattered the moment you lost someone you love. While others make plans, book holidays, celebrate promotions, and laugh with friends, you feel frozen in time — your life split in two: before and after. It’s not that you want people to stop progressing; you just wish you could too. But grief is heavy, and while the world keeps spinning, you no longer move with the same ease or freedom you once did.

You resent anyone who still has their loved one in their life

Even as you feel it, you know it’s irrational. It’s not that you wish anyone harm. But when you’ve lost someone so important to you, seeing others with their parent, partner, child, sibling, friend, or whoever it is you lost, can feel like a gut punch — a painful reminder of what you no longer have. For me, it hits in big and small ways. Missed milestones and celebrations. Watching a child laugh and play with their granddad. A friend casually mentioning their dad helped them move. Seeing whole families together during the holidays knowing one seat at our table will always be empty — not just this year, but every year, for the rest of time. You try to be happy for them. You ARE happy for them. But you’re also hurting. And that duality is so real, and so exhausting.

You resent others for the ‘luxury’ of having ‘normal’ problems

It’s not because you think your pain is the only thing that matters — but because grief has shifted your perspective so dramatically. The everyday complaints and frustrations that once felt significant now feel trivial. Someone complains about traffic, a delayed flight, or an argument with their parents, and all you can think is: “At least they’re still alive”. You know it’s not their fault. They haven’t been forced to face mortality the way you have — and you hope they never do. But when you’re hurting, it’s hard not to feel disconnected from a world caught up in minor inconveniences. You used to care about those things too. Now, you just want your person back.

You resent people who take life, and their loved ones, for granted

You watch them rush through their days, caught up in small worries and routines, unaware that their time with those they care about is so fragile and fleeting. Don’t they realise how every moment is a gift that can vanish in an instant? It’s hard not to feel a sickening ache when you know firsthand how quickly everything can change — and how easily we forget to truly cherish what we have until it’s gone.

You resent the person who died

But perhaps the most painful resentment of all — the kind that feels almost unspeakable: you can’t help but feel some resentment towards your loved one who died. For not being here when you need them most. For leaving you to deal with the wreckage. For never knowing what it’s like to live in a world without them.

For a long time, I believed that feeling resentful made me a bad person — but I’ve come to understand that’s simply not true. Resentment is a natural, common part of grief; one of the most painful and honest emotions we face. It’s something many of us carry quietly, hidden by shame or fear of being judged.

If you’ve felt this too, please know: you are NOT broken or unkind. You are deeply human.

Resentment doesn’t mean you’re trapped in bitterness or negativity; it means you loved someone so deeply that their absence has left a hole in your life than can never be filled.

Coping with feelings of resentment

Learning to live with this feeling is a difficult, but necessary, part of healing. Since my dad died, I’ve had to find ways to navigate resentment, giving myself space to feel it without judgment, and without letting it consume me.

It’s not easy, but these are some things that have helped me along the way:

Naming it: Acknowledging the feeling and saying to myself: “This is what I’m feeling right now. It sucks, but it doesn’t control me. I’m allowed to feel this, and it will pass, just like it always does”.
Talking to someone who understands: Finding people who’ve been through loss themselves and can relate deeply. That’s why I’m so passionate about talking openly about grief — it reminds us that we’re not alone in struggling with these heavy emotions.
Journaling it out: Letting the feelings flow onto the page — no filters, no shame. Just releasing what’s inside so it doesn’t stay bottled up can be incredibly therapeutic.
Setting boundaries: Knowing it’s okay to step back from situations or people that continually poke at that open wound. Protecting my peace, even when it feels uncomfortable. (as a people pleaser, I find this one the hardest to do!)
Self-compassion: Understanding that the goal isn’t to force the resentment away — that’s unrealistic. The goal is to be gentle with ourselves, to acknowledge the pain, and slowly loosen its grip.

Resentment doesn’t define your grief — or your identity. It’s just one piece of a complex, often messy journey. And in naming it, sharing it, and sitting with it, we find a little more room to heal.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your experience.

Have you noticed resentment showing up in your grief? How are you learning to cope with it?

Grieve Fully, Live Fully