There’s a game people play which I call “passing the ball of hurt.”
Sometimes you hurt someone you deeply care for. Maybe it was through carelessness or thoughtlessness, or just an accident, or maybe you really were being a dick. Doesn’t matter, the other person is hurt regardless. They live with that hurt for a while, until eventually they confide in you that they were hurt by what you did and explain why.
You don’t want to contradict them or argue the details when this happens. That’ll only lead to them being more hurt—they are explaining what they experienced and why it sucked, not looking to litigate things. You absorb, accept, and (hopefully) update. If you agree you did something bad/wrong/negligent you also apologize.
Your friend/partner feels better. But now you have a seed of hurt inside you. Maybe you feel guilty for what you did. Maybe you feel misunderstood and maligned by assertions that you internally disagree with but couldn’t voice. If nothing else, being upbraided that way is certainly unpleasant even when it’s deserved.
Later on your friend/partner does something that hurts you a bit, and while normally you would have shrugged it off, now it catches on that seed of hurt that’s inside. It’s snagged on discontent and stays buried in your chest, eating at you slowly. You realize this is bad, and you reach out to the friend/partner about this. You let them know about the thing they did that hurt you, they say “Oh dang, I’m sorry, that was not my intention.” You feel much better. This hurt has been discharged, and you can go about your life with relief and joy again.
Step #4 is just step #3 for your partner. You feel better, yes. But now they have a seed of hurt due to this interaction. They’ll try to crush it for a bit, until they have their own step #4, which puts you back to step #3. The hurt never fully dissipates, it just changes which person it resides in.
This is easiest to visualize as a ball being passed back and forth between two players. When you don’t have the ball you don’t realize it exists. When you do have the ball, everything is kinda awful and on edge and hurtful. It is the Ball of Hurt.
It’s a pretty crappy game.
I think "passing the ball" is a bad metaphor for this, because there's always the same number of balls and they always stay the same size. In real life, the good effects of telling someone that they hurt you can outweigh the bad effects. If they listen and learn, they'll hurt you (and others) less in the future. Also, if they have some self-discipline, then even if they do "pass on the ball of hurt", they will be able to pass on a smaller ball than they were given.
So I would recast it like this:
You and your friends all stand in a ring. A few of you each have a ball of size 5 when you begin.
On each round, each person without a ball has probability B of spontaneously generating a ball of size 5. Each ball has probability P of spawning a new ball of equal size, which will be passed to (at random) either the person on their left, or the person on their right, after which the original ball shrinks to half the size it just was. Finally, each ball has probability G of growing 1 size bigger (unless it's already size 9), and probability 1-G of shrinking 1 size smaller (and we say they have no ball if it shrinks to size 0).
So this is a subclass of 2D cellular automaton whose edges wrap around and in which the cells take integers from 0 to 9. B sets the base rate at which your friends hurt each other; P the rate at which they "pass the ball"; G whether they over-retaliate or under-retaliate.
If you and your friends have a low enough average (or possibly a different but similar metric) values of B, P, and G, then playing the game will usually reduce the total mass of balls, though new ones keep being made. Otherwise, playing the game will increase the total mass of balls until everybody has their hands full of heavy balls.
The game itself isn't good or bad. The people who play it make it good or bad.
I like to think that a big part of my personality/values are built around solving this cycle. Telling the truth, emotional intelligence, and invitation to joy.