The Dilemma: To Avenge or Not To?
“Pope, I need a favour. Can you reflect on my life story?” pleaded a female healthcare worker.
“Why not? Go ahead—most of my write-ups are by popular request” I beckoned her to begin.
She started:
“There was a time in my career when I worked alongside a colleague who, on the surface, was the picture of professionalism—charming, articulate, well-liked by patients and staff alike. But beneath that polished exterior was a quiet, calculated malice. I didn’t see it at first. In fact, I admired him. He had a way of making people feel seen, even special. But over time, the inconsistencies piled up—the subtle undermining, the misattributed mistakes, the whispered doubts about my competence. It was gaslighting, plain and simple. And I was the target. He actually set me up for dismissal” She paused, sobbing quietly, then continued.
“What he didn’t know was that I had access to enough damning information to end his career and marriage with just a click on my phone. My friends knew. They were furious on my behalf. ‘You’re too soft,’ one of them said. ‘You’re a healer, not a fighter. But sometimes, people like him need to be burned.’ I won’t lie—I was tempted. The power to expose him was intoxicating. I imagined the vindication, the justice. But every time I hovered over the ‘send’ button, something in me hesitated.
Instead of reacting, I did something unexpected: I paused.
I started observing—not just him, but myself. Why had I ignored the red flags? Why had I allowed his subtle digs to chip away at my confidence? The truth was hard to swallow: I had spent so much of my life trying to be agreeable, to avoid conflict, to keep the peace, that I had become an easy target. That realisation hurt more than his tactical attacks.
So I made a choice—not to retaliate, but to evolve.
I drew boundaries. Not loudly, not dramatically—just firmly. I stopped covering for him anytime he left his duty to hook up with women. I documented everything. I stopped laughing at his jokes that weren’t funny. I stopped shrinking. And something strange happened: the very tactics he used to try to break me became the fire that forged a stronger version of myself. I became more assertive. More discerning. I learned to advocate for myself with the same passion I reserved for my patients.
Eventually, he found out that I knew everything. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realised I had held that kind of power all along—and chose not to use it. There was no gloating, no smugness. Just silence. And then, something shifted. The bravado cracked. He became… human. Flawed. Ashamed.
Over time, something unexpected grew between us—not friendship, not at first, but a kind of mutual recognition. He apologised, genuinely. I didn’t excuse what he did, but I accepted the apology. We began to work together differently. Honestly. Carefully. And slowly, trust began to take root.
Today, he is one of my most reliable colleagues. Not because I spared him, but because I chose to grow instead of retaliate. We both did. There is a quiet respect between us now, forged not in vengeance, but in restraint.”
She stopped, smiled, and ended reflectively:
“I often think back to that moment—when I could have destroyed him with a single decision. And I’m grateful I didn’t. Not because he deserved mercy, but because I deserved peace. And sometimes, the most radical act of power is not to strike back, but to rise above.”
Reflectintrospection
As humans, retaliation is in our default settings.
However, true strength isn’t in striking back, but in resisting the urge to destroy—choosing instead to break the cycle within, rebuild ourselves, and rise above what tried to break us.
The highest form of justice is restraint: when we hold the power to ruin, yet offer a mirror for transformation—proving that nobility lies in deciding not to become what hurt us and that the best revenge is to be unlike your enemy.
It takes far less energy to outgrow them and evolve with purpose than to burn with vengeance. Choose growth.
We all deserve a second chance but will everyone take the offer genuinely? Therefore, to the wise, compassion is a strategy, not a surrender. When our mercy is mistaken for weakness, we must retreat with intention. Our energy is sacred—guard it fiercely from those who refuse to grow. Silence and distance are our strongest defenses against the unrepentant
🛐 Serenity Prayer☦
Dear Lord,
Grant us the strength to rise without retaliation,
The grace to rebuild what pain tried to destroy,
And the wisdom to choose transformation over vengeance. Amen.
