The Story of Blame

 


Blame was the shield. As I pointed my finger, I didn’t have to face what was really inside me. If I was the victim now, I could be the hero later. Blame gave me distance and deflection.

Career was the mask. I wanted to say: “I’m responsible now. I’m all grown up. Can’t you see? Don’t the numbers prove it?” A title. A way to pretend. To act as if external success meant internal transformation. It was order on the outside without order on the inside.

And then we ask: why do we blame? Why is it so difficult to say, “That was my choice”? We love to own it when it’s in public and things are working in our favor. We love to let everyone know: “I decided that. I was the reason for that success.”

But when it comes to failure, I can’t tell you how many fingers I’ve pointed. I can’t even begin to explain the logic I built up—the constructs inside myself—so that I could always find a platform of hope. Because if it didn’t matter what I had done, it was always because of what someone else did first.

And here’s the humorous thing about blame: Who are you really blaming? The first sin? The second sin? Your mother? Her mother? Her mother before that? And the one before her? And so on, and so on—stretching back through time.

I don’t think blame is a language that God even uses. I can’t tell you all the steps it took to sit here. And the depth of sorrow feels like my feet are wading in water—water that is the accumulation of all the tears I have spilled. This blame did not shield me. It did not deflect what mattered. And it certainly did not distance me from my pain. In fact, it took. It took. It took—until what mattered most had left. Had left me.

I don’t know where it starts for some people. I don’t know where it begins in their decision-making, when something happens and their reaction is simply: “I blame you.” For every person, it could be a plethora of reasons.

I hope that today, when you step into your life, your sequence of events, your relationships that you carry, that those things around you are set free from the possibility of blame.

Our reasons for carrying blame is not an opportunity to hold yourself captive to more blame, If anything, it is a chance to do something different like EMBRACE yourself , “Hey, what’s happening for you?” Maybe address yourself with curiosity before you start addressing those around you.

Because sorry will never be good enough. Sorry will never resolve the fracture or undo the loss. But maybe—just maybe—love will.

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