We LOVE to blame others for our pain, amirite?
That coworker is so annoying.
Your kids are exhausting.
The traffic made you late.
Your mother-in-law drives you nuts.
Blame is something we are taught as a child, and then we hone the skill as adults.
Blame feels gratifying, vindicating even.
I was a big fan of blame. Blame, and I were hella close. I wielded blame like a weapon.
It was my job’s fault I was miserable, stressed, and fat.
It was my husband’s fault I was exhausted because he didn’t help with the dishes, laundry, or the house.
And it was the stress of blending a family that made me look so forward to that glass of wine at night.
Why did I blame everyone and everything? Because it was easier.
If I blamed someone or something else, then I didn’t have to look at me and my actions.
Stepping back and taking responsibility would be hard. It would be uncomfortable.
Our brains don’t like us to get uncomfortable.
Blame keeps us comfortable in the familiar discomfort of being the victim.
Blame keeps us powerless and at the emotional mercy of everyone and thing around us.
Placing blame was easy, but it wasn’t fucking fixing anything.
I was gained weight because I was overeating and not working out.
My job stressed me out because I didn’t draw boundaries and maintain them.
My husband didn’t help around the house because I didn’t let him.
I was afraid he wouldn’t “do it right.”
I drank wine so I wouldn’t have to feel stressed, tense, and restless.
I was the only person to blame. I was the problem.
The beauty of this was that it meant I was also the solution.
I didn’t have to change jobs.
I didn’t have to change my husband.
I didn’t have to drink wine.
I just had to work on me.
I had to work on my brain.
Yes, it was uncomfortable.
No, it wasn’t easy.
But it was 100% empowering, and I’ll take the blame for that, any day.