I Thought I Wasn’t Bitter-Until I Realized This.

Most people don’t wake up and announce, “Today I’m going to be bitter.” Yet, surprisingly, some of us don’t even realize how bitter we really are. In fact, it took me years — literally most of my life — to recognize my own journey with bitterness and how it quietly messed up parts of my life. And I am not a bitter person.

At least that’s what I told myself.

Bitterness is the slow and silent relationship killer caused by the accumulation of real injuries: a harsh word, a missed apology, a betrayal by someone you really trusted, a season of being overlooked.  And then we do the most “reasonable” thing in the world — we carry it.

Bottom line upfront: bitterness doesn’t just poison relationships, it quietly convinces you that you don’t matter. And when you don’t feel like you matter, you stop living and loving like a person Jesus can use to mentor and disciple others.

If I were to draw a bitterness map over the landscape of my life, the foundation would be here: I never had the opportunity to meet my biological mom and dad. Now, let me be clear — the folks who adopted me were the best. I couldn’t have asked for better. But nevertheless, somewhere deep inside, I swallowed a bitterness pill based on this narrative: My biological parents dumped me… nothing lasts forever… including love.

That belief sat underneath everything. I didn’t walk around angry. I walked around guarded. Subtle difference. Big impact. And I took that pill daily until I was a little over 40 when I met Char, the love of my life. And shortly after that, I met Jesus, the love of my eternal life — a love so important to me that Romans 8:38–39 feels tattooed on my heart. You would think that would have erased bitterness.

Not quite. Because then a new form crept in.

As a Christ Follower and as a researcher obsessed with spiritual formation, I developed a strange, almost embarrassing bitterness. I started feeling like a failure. After pouring most of my adult life into research, writing, and trying to help the Church grow up spiritually, I began to wonder if any of it actually mattered. (Click video above to see how the jury voted last week on our research)

And in a researcher’s mind, that is the ultimate insult: irrelevance. The null hypothesis in full form. No significant difference detected. This new bitterness didn’t show up as rage. It showed up as I replayed matters in my own mind.

So yes, I’m not writing this as someone above bitterness. I’m writing this as someone who can replay a sentence I didn’t like over and over in my mind for days, leading to months leading to years. And somehow, in my head, it gets worse every time I replay it.

If I’m not careful, I don’t just remember a moment — I start mentally building a case. I’ve caught myself in the car having a full conversation with someone who isn’t even there, and “winning” an argument nobody else knows we’re having.

That’s not righteousness. That’s bitterness trying to matter.

Bitterness doesn’t merely make us mad at a person; it reshapes the story we live in. The story it tells is usually an anti-mattering story: “I was treated like I didn’t count. I guess I don’t.” We’d never say that out loud. But bitterness trains the heart to expect dismissal, to brace for disappointment, and to stay guarded. And guarded people rarely share good news. It’s hard to offer hope when your heart is already armored up.

So let me ask you a personal question: Where have you been hurt—and then quietly decided you’d rather carry it than risk being hurt again?

The Bible calls bitterness a “root” for a reason. Roots grow underground. They don’t announce themselves. But they spread. Hebrews 12:15 warns that a root of bitterness can grow up and “defile many.” Bitterness is never private for long.

Here’s how it often shows up (and you’ll recognize yourself somewhere in here — so will I):

• It changes how you interpret everything. Neutral looks dismissive. Ambiguous feels intentional.

• It shifts you from connection to grievance. You stop listening for understanding and start listening for ammunition.

•  It leaks out of you. Even when you’re trying to be “fine,” there’s an edge in your tone — and people respond by pulling back. And then the loop tightens: “They pulled back… see… I don’t matter.”

  
  

That’s why bitterness and mattering are tied together.

Mattering is that deep, steady belief that you are significant, valued, and making a difference doing what the Lord called us to do. When that belief erodes, you stop taking spiritual risks. You withdraw. You go quiet. You protect yourself. And, the worst possible consequence of all, you stop sharing Jesus because you are convinced you simply don’t matter.

So what do we do?

Realize that bitterness weakens three witness muscles: your mattering muscle (“people don’t care”), your love muscle (your presence goes cold), and your gentleness muscle (you get sharper—quicker to correct than to care).

If you’ve been carrying something for years, start small. The first win is noticing the root and refusing to water it again today.

Let’s be clear: letting go of bitterness does not mean excusing harm, pretending it didn’t happen, or removing wise boundaries. Forgiveness is not denial. Forgiveness is refusing to let the wound become your identity. (Reconciliation takes two. Wisdom matters.)

Ephesians 4:31–32 is blunt: get rid of bitterness and replace it with kindness, compassion, and forgiveness because Christ forgave you.

If you want one small starting point, try this today:

• Name it: “Lord, here’s where I’m hurt…”

• Release it: “I refuse to keep rehearsing this as my identity…”

• Bless them: “Jesus, do good to them and do surgery in me.”

We’re choosing Jesus’ way even if our emotions are still catching up. Your thoughts on this are critical.  Please let me know.

P.S. If you have a comment or prayer request, contact me here: or call me and leave a message at 1-800-811-2387. And be sure to join me tomorrow through Friday on our new podcast Spiritually Fit Today.