The decision

Everything so far comes down to one rule.

Whoever's fault it was, I ask what my next move is, and I make it.

The rule doesn't say the fault was yours. It doesn't tell you not to feel wronged, because you can't choose that, and the feeling is often correct. It doesn't tell you to leave the other person alone. It says that your life doesn't wait on them. I'd suggest you decide now, and once, that this is how you'll deal with grievances. If you don't, you'll find yourself deciding it afresh each time, in the heat of a new one.

The method has seven parts. Take them in order for your first grievance. After that you'll mostly need the second and the fourth.

Write the wrong down once. Say what happened, when, and what it cost you, in plain facts and with a date. This is your record, and you should keep it. Its job is to hold the truth of the matter so that you don't have to keep rehearsing it.

Ask the two questions separately. Whose fault was it? Whose move is it? Write the answers on different lines. If you notice the first answer leaking into the second, as in "theirs, so they should", start the second line again.

Sort it into three piles. There's what you can't change, what you can influence, and what you can simply do. Be strict about the first pile. It holds the past, other people's characters and decisions that are final. Be generous with the other two.

Pick the smallest move and make it within a day. A small move takes under half an hour and doesn't depend on anyone's reply. You could open the envelope, look up the complaints procedure, draft the email to your manager or ring the friend. If a big move is needed, find its first small piece, because the point is to start.

Give every complaint an address. Before you tell the story, ask yourself who you're telling and what you want from them. If what you want is sympathy, that's allowed. Say so, and have it once. Otherwise take the complaint to someone who can act on it, and bring a request.

Put a date on any waiting. Waiting is fine when you've chosen it. "I'll give them until the 14th, and then I'll write to the director" is a plan. If a wait has no date, it's the old habit again.

Decide what you'd do if the apology never comes. Then begin doing it. If the apology turns up later, you'll be in a better state to receive it.

Here's how it might go for the person who was passed over on Monday. The record is three lines, giving the job, the date and the cost, which is a pay rise and a good deal of pride. The fault is the department's, for deciding without a word to them, and perhaps for deciding wrongly. The move is theirs.

The decision itself goes in the first pile, because it's final. The second pile holds asking the manager for the reasons, asking what they'd need to show next time, and asking for a project that would show it. The third holds updating the CV and finding out what similar jobs pay elsewhere. The smallest move is a two-line email asking for half an hour.

The complaint's address is the manager. The sister gets a shorter version, once. The wait gets a date, so if there's been no meeting in two weeks they'll ask again in person. Nobody apologises for a promotion decision, and they know that, so they can drop the wait for one and carry on with the plan.

If you have a long list of grievances, don't begin with the biggest. Begin with the one where a move is still open and cheap. One completed move will teach you more than a month of thinking about your childhood.

Some old grievances have no move left that involves the other person. They've died, or they're unreachable, or contact wouldn't be safe. The moves are then all on your side. You can make the record, and you can grieve. You can deal with the practical leftovers, such as the debt, the qualification you never got, or the friendships that lapsed during those years. A therapist may help with this, and chapter 12 says when I'd go to one.

Plans work better when they're tied to a moment. There's good evidence for putting them in the form "when X happens, then I'll do Y", decided in advance. Here are three I'd start with.

• When I catch myself starting the story with someone who's heard it, then I'll tell them what I'm going to do about it, or I'll change the subject.
• When I think "they should", then I'll ask what I could do.
• When something unclear stings, then I'll write down two other explanations before I respond.

One caution. If the move you have in mind is confronting someone who has been violent or threatening towards you, don't do it alone, and take advice first. A domestic abuse service or a solicitor can tell you how to do it safely, or whether to do it at all. The rule is about not waiting. It doesn't ask you to take risks with your safety.

Here's what I'd expect in the first weeks. The early moves will feel wrong. Opening the envelope will feel like letting him off. Ringing first will feel like losing. That's the old principle from chapter 3 objecting, the one that says whoever broke it should mend it. Let it object, and make the move anyway.

Some moves won't work, and the next chapter is about that. Some sadness may turn up, as chapter 10 warned. You'll still feel wronged from time to time, sometimes sharply. The rule is about what you do, so a bad feeling on a Tuesday isn't a breach of it.

I can't promise that people will start treating you better. What I'd expect is that you'll spend less of your time waiting on them.