An Antidote to Bitterness

I recently talked with a woman who collected hurts like badges on a girl scout sash, carefully stitching each transgression into her heart until they defined her. It created a barrier that stopped her from truly loving or trusting another soul. There was no talking her out of the bitterness. She’d lived in that dark space so long, it became her home, eating away much of what was good in her life.

You see, bitterness grows quickly, and it doesn’t take much fertilizer. An offhanded comment, a bit of sarcasm, being left out of a conversation, people littering on the front yard—these are the seeds from which bitterness grows. They are planted by the people and circumstances around us, every day.

With so many opportunities for bitterness to take root, how can we avoid becoming bitter people? Ephesians 4:31 tells us to, “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice.”

It’s interesting because when you examine actual life, this verse rings true. Bitterness leads to rage and anger…which leads to fights, gossip, and other destructive things.

The antidote comes in verse 32: “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

It sounds so easy, the way Paul wrote it. As if you can just take your bitterness, push it aside, and put on a cloak of kindness and forgiveness instead. But again, there is actually truth in his advice.

I recently found myself in a situation where I was left out. Whether it was intentional or not, I will never know, but what I do know is that it instantly made me feel rejected, overlooked, and dismissed. I’m sure you’ve found yourself in a similar situation at some point in your life.

My first thought was to confront the person, but I knew I would be acting out of anger instead of calm—and I’m old enough to know better than to do that (usually). So, I began to pray and told God all the things I was thinking, “It’s not fair. How could they just forget me? Or did they overlook me? And if they did overlook me or forget me, why? What did I do? Why don’t they want to be around me?”

The thoughts continued to grow into a toxic, bitter blend. I paused for a second—just long enough to sense the Holy Spirit telling me to bless the person who had hurt me.

“Bless them? How the heck do I do that? How do I be nice to someone who is such a jerk? Why would I want to be nice to them?”

But as I stated my case, something else started to grow in me—an idea of a way I could bless this person. I didn’t want to do it. Everything in me told me why I didn’t have to do it. But I KNEW the Holy Spirit had given me marching orders—go, bless this person in this specific way. So, I did.

And guess what? The bitterness dissipated. As it lost its power, I felt a sense of freedom that was previously blocked by my hurt and resentment. It didn’t require the person to apologize or acknowledge their slight. It took me choosing to follow God instead of continuing to indulge my hurt. My action and my obedience led to my feelings changing—which is counter to our culture’s usual advice of “follow your feelings.”

In cooking, you can use salt or sweetness to offset bitter tastes. We can apply this concept to bitter feelings, too.

We add “salt” by applying God’s truth to the situation and who He says we are. Rejection loses its power when we are secure in God’s love. Joyce Meyer has an excellent list of who we are in Christ, and reading through it and meditating on the scriptures can be helpful to gain perspective, remember what’s true, and rewrite the lies that try to diminish you.

We add “sweetness” by practicing gratitude. When you stop focusing on the events or the person who hurt you and begin to give thanks for the blessings you have, bitterness loses its power.

It takes diligence and intentionality to choose to think about, “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, and whatever is excellent or praiseworthy” (Philippians 4:8). But gratitude is like a muscle—the more you practice, the easier it gets—and the fruit is a peaceful heart that’s remarkably absent of bitterness.