THE UNFINISHED LOOP

I have a grudge with my parents.
I won’t say much about it. But it’s there. Has been for a long time.

And the strange part — I love them. I show up. I care. That’s also true.

Both things exist. At the same time. And that’s exactly what makes it confusing.
Because you think you’ve moved on. You’re functional. The relationship is intact. Life is normal.

But the loop hasn’t closed.

It just waits. And when something small happens — a word, a tone, sometimes nothing at all — it comes back. The mind drifts. Replays. Builds a case. Finds evidence from years ago that you didn’t even know you had saved.

And before you realise it, you’re not here anymore. You’re back there.

I used to think it was about them. About getting something — an acknowledgement, an apology, maybe just once being told they saw it too.
But that’s not really it.

The loop lives in me. In the gap between what the mind holds and what the heart has quietly accepted.

The heart moves on. The mind doesn’t.
And the mind gets attached to the pain. There’s a strange comfort in it. A kind of identity. This happened. I wasn’t supported. I deserved better. The grudge starts feeling like proof of something.

Then arrogance enters. Softly. Tells you — keeping this open is justified. Letting go means they win.

So the loop stays.

I am emotionally sensitive. Thoughts linger in me. The same feeling visits again and again.

But the drishta — the observer — when it shows up, it doesn’t judge any of this. It just watches. And slowly I’ve learned to listen to it.

I started writing. Handwritten. Private. Not for anyone. Just for myself.

Not to forgive. Not to conclude anything.

Just to say it fully — the grudge, what’s underneath it, and what the mind has been doing with it quietly all this time.

Something changed after that. Not the grudge. But how often it came back. The frequency reduced. Like a song you’ve heard so many times it doesn’t need to play loud anymore.

Writing made it visible. And once you can see a pattern, the observer in you can call it out.

I’m still in this. Haven’t fully come out of it. But that’s the journey.

And I think most people are carrying something like this. With someone. A parent, a sibling, an old friend, a version of themselves.

We look fine from the outside. We show up. We function. But somewhere in the background, the loop is running.

The mind has a memory for these things. It holds the pattern, returns to it, keeps it alive.

What has helped me — and I say this without prescribing anything — is sitting with it privately. Writing it down. Saying it completely, without editing yourself.

And then telling your mind — I know what you’re doing. I’m not falling for it.
That one line. It doesn’t solve anything. But something settles.

Because the mind, when observed consistently, starts to loosen its grip.

One day in a quiet moment — in whatever contemplation looks like for you — something becomes clear. Not as an answer. Just as a settling.

The loop doesn’t disappear. It just stops running your day.

That’s thehrav. Not the absence of the unfinished thing. The ability to carry it without it carrying you.