by Annette Lyon

Grudges are painfully easy to hold onto and are hard to let go. It’s not until you put down the burden and walk away that you realize just how heavy it was to begin with—and that the person you’ve been so angry with wasn’t being affected by the bitterness.

I remember all too well a difficult time in high school when a person wounded me very deeply. It happened in the spring, and I felt the hurt—and the resulting anger—for the rest of the school year, all of the summer, and into the next school year. For a good six months, every time I thought about the person involved or saw them, even just passing by in the hall, I’d get a nauseating pit in my stomach. My heart would race, and I’d have difficulty breathing. I’d quickly look away, clenching my books as I escaped down the hall.

Beyond noticing my dirty looks, the other person was likely unaffected by my visceral reaction, but I couldn’t go to school without a sinking pit in my middle. I could think of little else. Eventually, I knew that I couldn’t go on that way; something had to change.

Through prayer and sheer willpower, I arrived in the school’s main hall one morning, determined to do something different. When I saw the other person near the staircase, I forced myself to smile pleasantly and say hello.

The shock and confusion on their face was priceless.

But more than that, as I walked away, I felt as if heavy lead scales had dropped off my body.
My shoulders literally felt lighter. Instead of a pit in my stomach, it had butterflies. I took a deep breath. It felt good. My heart raced as it often did after a confrontation, but this time it was the pitter-patter of nerves, not the heavy drum beat of anger and resentment.

In the nearly two decades since that experience, I’ve faced situations far more complex and difficult to handle than a simple high school peer issue. And I’ve noticed that any time I allow anger to take root, even for a moment, I can sense a change, starting on a physical level. My heart rate and breathing are altered. I can feel muscles tensing up. A throbbing headache begins at the base of my neck.

But most importantly, the Spirit withdraws.

Learning to forgive has been a gradual lesson, one I’m still learning on a day-by-day basis. I have to remind myself that holding onto anger is like drinking a poison—then hoping the other person will be made sick by my drinking it. Refusing to forgive only hurts me.

Instead, we are to turn over the situation to the Lord, for He has borne our burdens so we don’t have to. Forgiving doesn’t excuse the actions of the other person; it’s just a way to let the Lord be the one to take care of it, for us set down the burden, knowing that it’s in good hands.

For me, the most powerful way of letting things go is to find a quiet place, close my eyes, and—as silly as I may feel—verbalize my forgiveness. It’s important for me to hear my own voice saying the words. “I forgive [person] for [action].” The more specific I am, the better—even if I’m forgiving myself for not living up to the level I know I should. As I forgive and let go of the anger or bitterness, a peace descends over my body almost immediately.
The tension in my muscles and my stomach loosens, and I can breathe easily.

Most importantly, the Spirit returns as my companion.

The more I’ve learned about forgiveness, the more I see how critical it is for each of us to do in working out our salvation. No wonder the Lord commanded us to keep forgiving until “seventy times seven.”

I’m still very much a work in progress with this principle, but the more regularly I apply it, the lighter and more vibrant I feel. It’s easier for me to experience joy and peace, to feel the promptings of the Spirit, and to progress as a daughter of God.

There is so much benefit we can all tap into from this single concept taught by Nephi with such simplicity: “I did frankly forgive them all that they had done” (1 Nephi 7:21).