I don't have the patience and the strength to hold on to the

Hear the words of Rahul Vaidya, who with clarity of heart confessed: “I don't have the patience and the strength to hold on to the grudges.” Though simple in their utterance, these words shine like a lamp for those who wander in the darkness of bitterness. For in them lies the recognition that to hold a grudge is not a show of strength, but a slow surrender to weakness, a burden that bends the spirit and chains the soul.

He speaks of patience and strength, the very qualities that many believe are needed to endure hardship or fight battles. Yet here, he reverses the idea: it is not that forgiveness demands endless labor, but that holding resentment consumes both patience and strength until nothing remains. To clutch at anger is to feed a fire that never warms, but only burns. The wise, therefore, release it—not from cowardice, but from wisdom, knowing that energy must be preserved for creation, for love, for life itself.

History offers us countless mirrors. Consider Nelson Mandela, who after twenty-seven years in prison, emerged not with vengeance, but with forgiveness. He could have carried the weight of wrath, but he chose instead to lay it down, for he knew that bitterness would consume the very strength his people needed to rebuild. Had he held onto grudges, South Africa might have plunged into unending bloodshed. Instead, his act of release became the foundation of reconciliation.

Rahul Vaidya’s words, though personal, echo the same ancient wisdom: grudges do not keep others bound; they bind the one who carries them. They demand vigilance, memory, and constant rekindling. To carry resentment is to place a heavy stone in your own sack and walk with it day after day, growing weaker under its weight. To let go is not to excuse the wrong, but to refuse to let the wrong master your spirit.

In this way, forgiveness becomes not an act of surrender, but of power. It is the breaking of chains, the declaration that your energy will not be wasted on bitterness. To say “I don’t have the strength for grudges” is to say, “I choose to keep my strength for life, for joy, for growth.” The hero does not cling to every insult; the hero marches forward, leaving stones behind, so that the path ahead may be walked with lighter steps.

This lesson is not only for leaders, but for all. In families, friendships, and work, grudges fester like wounds that are never cleaned. They demand attention, they demand the soul’s resources, and they leave no room for peace. Release them, and the heart breathes again. Refuse them, and your spirit will know freedom. As the ancients said, the river that clings to no stone flows most swiftly to the sea.

The teaching is clear: do not spend your patience and strength on grudges. Spend them instead on building, on loving, on striving. Practical actions follow. When hurt, acknowledge the pain, but refuse to let it anchor you. Speak openly if reconciliation is possible; if not, walk on with dignity. Practice forgiveness as a discipline—not because others deserve it, but because your soul deserves peace. And remember always: true strength is not in carrying burdens of bitterness, but in letting them fall away.

Thus Rahul Vaidya’s words, humble though they seem, become a noble guide: that the one who lets go of grudges is not weaker, but freer; not poorer, but richer; not defeated, but victorious. For the soul that is unburdened by anger walks lightly, and can soar.