I Was The Problem

How thirty-four years of being the scapegoat taught me to abandon myself, and how I finally learned to choose myself.

I spent my last day in Michigan on beautiful Lake Superior before leaving for good.

I went no contact with my family and friends just over ten years ago. It was the hardest decision I have ever made, and somehow, at the same time, the best decision I have ever made.

Those two things existed together for a long time. I knew I needed to leave, but knowing something and being able to accept it are two completely different things. My mind knew. My heart fought me every step of the way. I felt like my soul was stuck in the middle, trying to mediate peace between the two.

I left after thirty-four years of being the scapegoat.

I left because I couldn’t take one more minute of it. I left because I finally understood that there was nothing left for me to fix. There was nothing I could say or do that was going to make these people treat me differently.

Leaving wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t selfish. It was survival. And honestly, I don’t know what would have happened to me if I had stayed. I really believe I would’ve eventually taken my own life.

For years, I wondered how I kept ending up in the same position. It didn’t make sense to me. The people changed. The circumstances changed. My life changed. But somehow, I always ended up being the one everyone could blame. My parents. My friends. My exes. My employers.

Different people. Same story. It had to be me. I had to be the problem, right?

It wasn’t until I created distance between myself and that manipulative environment that I started healing and began to see what I couldn’t see before. My becoming the scapegoat wasn’t random. There was a definitive pattern and that pattern started with what I had been taught about myself as a child. I had spent my whole life being told I was difficult to control. I believed them.

Looking back, I can see that a lot of what I was told about myself was projection. But children don’t know what projection is. They don’t know they’re being handed someone else’s shame or fear or dysfunction and being convinced it’s their personality.

They believe the adults around them.

So when you’re told you’re selfish, you start looking for proof that you’re selfish. When you’re told you’re difficult, you start questioning your own reactions. When you’re constantly told you’re the problem, eventually you don’t need anyone else to accuse you. You start doing it yourself.

That’s how my inner voice was built.

I was too honest for my family’s comfort. I was always getting in trouble for airing the family’s “dirty laundry” in public. But the thing is, I didn’t quite understand what I was doing wrong. Even as an adult, my husband required silence. When we’d argue and he’d leave bruises, naturally friends and neighbors would ask me what happened. I wasn’t allowed to tell the truth. So, I’d brush off the questions instead. But somehow, they knew what was going on. One neighbor told me she could see it in my eyes. Yet, he’d still scream at me and say things like, “Stop telling the neighbors our business.”

And I hadn’t said a word.

If you are someone or know someone experiencing domestic abuse, call: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) to help plan an exit strategy.

You can also:

Text: START to 88788

Online chat: Available through The Hotline’s website

If you’re in immediate danger: Call 911.

When I was a kid, someone would ask me if my dad hit my mom, and I told the truth. Someone would ask me if I was being touched in places I shouldn’t be touched, and I told the truth. I was told to always tell the truth, but was then punished for it when I did. I didn’t know there were things I was supposed to lie about. And I was a terrible liar. I just knew the truth. What I didn’t know was how to sort out what truth’s were allowed and which ones were not.

And then I’d get home and get in trouble for telling the wrong truths.

“Our business isn’t everybody’s business.”

I heard that more than once.

“Don’t tell anybody that I touched you there. You’ll get in big trouble.”

I understand it differently now. What they needed from me wasn’t honesty. They needed silence. And I was terrible at being silent. I still am. Even when I am silent, my silence isn’t silent.

That’s one of the things I’ve come to understand about scapegoating. The scapegoat isn’t always the weakest person in the group. Sometimes it’s the person who won’t cooperate with the story everyone else is trying to maintain.

In families, workplaces, and friend groups, especially when there’s a lot of stress or dysfunction, somebody has to become the problem. It gives everyone else somewhere to put all the discomfort. And if you’re the person with the least power, you’re an easy target.

Sometimes it’s the person who says the thing nobody wants said. The person who asks the uncomfortable question. The person who notices what’s happening. The person who can’t pretend everything is fine just because everyone else has agreed to pretend.

I was that person.

I didn’t understand then why telling the truth could make me the enemy. I understand it now. When a group has built its identity around a certain story, the person who contradicts that story becomes a threat.

It’s much easier to say, “She’s the problem,” than it is to ask, “What the hell is actually happening here?” And once everybody has agreed that you’re the problem, everything you do gets filtered through that belief.

Something goes wrong?

It was probably me.

Someone is angry?

I must have done something.

There’s conflict?

Fuck. Here we go again.

After enough years of that, people don’t even need evidence anymore. The story has already been decided. And I lived inside that story for thirty-four years, until I finally said enough was enough. And in 2016, I went no contact with every living soul I knew, except for my children.

I carried other people’s anger, their dysfunction, their secrets, their discomfort, their shame. Then somehow, I was blamed for the mess that came from carrying it. I became the person people could dump everything onto and then point at when things fell apart. And I kept choosing those people moment after moment, year after year.

That’s one of the hardest things for me to admit.

I kept choosing people who wouldn’t have pissed on me if I were on fire. I was adamant it was love. That love just hurts and walking away was selfish and hateful. In some instances, I was convinced I deserved the burden of all the lies and secrets I kept. I confused loyalty with putting up with things I never should have tolerated.

I thought if I explained myself better, loved harder, worked harder, forgave more, or made myself smaller, eventually someone would see me. Someone would decide I mattered enough to protect.

They didn’t.

And at thirty-four, I finally broke. Or maybe that’s not quite right… Maybe I finally got tired of breaking. I had to admit something I had spent most of my life avoiding. That I had become really good at abandoning myself.

I called it kindness.

I called it loyalty.

I called it love.

But it wasn’t any of those fucking things.

It was self-abandonment.

And eventually I realized that nobody was coming to choose me. Something both devastating and strangely freeing.

Nobody was coming to choose me.

So I was going to have to choose myself.

And I did.

It nearly destroyed me, but it also saved my life and everything I’ve ever wanted was on the other side of the fear of losing them to choose myself.

So, ask yourself this. Today. Right now. How have you honored yourself today? And don’t stop here. Make this a question you ask yourself every day, until choosing yourself becomes something you no longer have to think twice about.

Until you finally become the person who would have protected you as a child.

The person who would have believed you.
The person who would have stood up for you.
The person who would have chosen you.

Be that person now. Because we cannot truly be there for other people until we show up for ourselves.

It all starts with YOU.

If you’re struggling right now, please don’t try to carry it alone. If you are thinking about suicide, hurting yourself, or you simply feel like you cannot keep going, there are people available to help you through the moment.

Call or text 988
The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline provides free, confidential crisis support by phone, text, and online chat.

Text HOME to 741741
Crisis Text Line provides free, confidential, 24/7 support from a trained crisis counselor.

If you are in immediate danger or have already hurt yourself, call 911 or go to the nearest emergency department.

If you’re outside the United States, you can find crisis resources available in your country through Crisis Text Line’s international resources.

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