How curiosity can keep disappointment from becoming resentment

This encouragement is written by Tanner Smith, Chief of Consulting and Culture at The Colossian Forum. 

When someone disappoints me repeatedly, I have a hard time not making it personal. Does my time matter to them? Can I really count on them? Do they even care about me like I thought they did? I notice a pattern where I disengage from them while also watching for the next thing that confirms what I suspect.

And once I start looking, there’s usually something to find. Another late arrival. Another unanswered email. Another dismissive comment. Each one becomes evidence of what I’m beginning to believe about the relationship. This is how disappointment (a natural part of human relationships) becomes resentment. I question intentions, care, and maybe even whether I ever knew you as well as I thought I did. (Insert dramatic sigh here)

So, how do we address real hurts without letting resentment frame who the other person is?

My colleague Sarah recently shared a story on the Practicing Hope podcast about a boss she loved and respected. There was a time period when Sarah would show up for meetings and her boss wouldn’t be there. It didn’t seem like there was a good reason, and Sarah wondered if her boss still cared. Then emails started going unanswered. Sarah noticed she was growing resentful and started to question if they were ever close at all. She’s not showing up for me, so she must not care about me. 

We call this a “script of disappointment.” We get hurt, and we begin telling ourselves a story about what it means.

Disappointment is worth paying attention to. It’s data! It may tell me that a commitment matters, that I’m missing connection, or that something needs to change — like a new boundary needs to be put in place. The trouble is, when I write my own explanation or “script” for the disappointment, it can keep me from learning a different one. If I decide you don’t care, I stop expecting you to. Maybe next time it won’t hurt so much.

So, when I notice I’m disappointed, I can take that as an invitation to get curious. My colleague Jess likes to say, “I want to wonder about …” when she notices judgment creeping into a conversation. Curiosity asks me to loosen my grip on that certainty. I know I’m disappointed. Do I know why you acted this way? What might I be missing?

What Sarah eventually discovered is that layoffs were coming to her department. Behind the scenes, her boss was working to protect her and her coworkers’ jobs. That’s a heavy load that her boss couldn’t yet share.

Sarah had interpreted the distance as a lack of care. Learning what her boss was carrying changed what she believed those absences meant. There was care she hadn’t been able to see through the story she was telling herself.

Sometimes we’ll discover that someone really has been careless with our time or trust. Curiosity doesn’t mean we have to explain away what happened. Curiosity means being willing to learn what’s true before deciding what the other person’s actions mean.

One question I can ask myself is:

“What happened, and what have I decided it means?”  

Separating facts from the meaning we assign to them is really helpful, and an important part of becoming mature.

And instead of marinating in my own disappointment, I might say to the other person, “When you missed our meeting, I felt like my time didn’t matter. Is something going on that I don’t understand?”

Following Jesus in these hard moments requires something of me. God knows and loves this person beyond what I can understand. And God sees my hurt, too. I can take that hurt seriously without assuming I know everything about the person who caused it. Remembering this can help me stay generous enough to be surprised.