The Poison We Keep Drinking
No one would willingly drink rat poison.
Not to make a point.
Not to prove theyâre right.
Not even to hurt someone else.
And yet, emotionally and spiritually, we do something just as irrational all the time.
My wife was listening to a sermon by Pastor Vladimir Savchuk, and he said something that landed with uncomfortable clarity:
Holding on to bitterness and offense is like drinking rat poison and hoping the other person dies.
Itâs an absurd image.
And itâs painfully accurate.
Why We Keep the Cup in Our Hands
Most of us donât hold onto offense because we enjoy it.
We hold onto it because we believe it serves us somehow.
We think it preserves justice.
We think it protects us from being hurt again.
We think letting go means saying what happened didnât matter.
So we sip it slowly.
We replay the moment.
Rehearse the conversation.
Wait for the other person to feel what we felt.
But the poison doesnât travel outward.
It works inward.
The Quiet Damage of Bitterness
Poison rarely kills instantly.
It works gradually, quietly, often unnoticed at first.
Bitterness does the same.
It shows up as shortened patience.
A hardening toward people who had nothing to do with the original wound.
A dulling of joy thatâs hard to explain.
A heaviness in prayer that feels more like resistance than rest.
You donât wake up one morning bitter.
You become bitter by refusing, little by little, to release what you keep consuming.
And the person youâre hoping will be affected often has no idea youâre even hurting.
From Weight to Toxin
In a previous reflection, I wrote about The Weight of Offense.
How carrying it exhausts us.
Distracts us.
Pulls our attention away from what God is actually doing in front of us.
But weight carried long enough becomes something worse.
It doesnât just slow you down.
It changes whatâs happening inside you.
What begins as a burden eventually becomes a toxin.
The longer offense is held, the more it reshapes us.
Not them.
Us.
Forgiveness Isnât Approval
This is where forgiveness is often misunderstood.
Forgiveness doesnât mean the offense was acceptable.
It doesnât minimize harm.
It doesnât erase wisdom, boundaries, or truth.
Forgiveness is not denying the poison exists.
Itâs deciding to stop drinking it.
Scripture warns about bitterness taking root not because God is protecting the offender, but because Heâs protecting the one carrying it. Roots grow unseen, but they always bear fruit. And not all fruit leads to life.
Letting go is less about releasing someone else and more about reclaiming your own spiritual health.
Putting the Cup Down
You may never get the apology.
You may never get the acknowledgment.
You may never see justice unfold the way you hoped.
But you still get to choose what you carry.
You donât have to reconcile today.
You donât have to confront today.
You donât even have to feel resolved today.
But you can decide whether youâll keep drinking something thatâs slowly harming you.
Forgiveness isnât pretending the poison wasnât real.
Itâs choosing not to ingest it anymore.
âŚjust a thought.
