The Blame That Was Never Mine to Carry

For a long time, I believed the lies. Not just the ones he said out loud—but the ones he made me feel. The ones that sank into my skin like truth because he repeated them so often, and because no one else was brave enough to call them what they were: abuse.

Somewhere along the line, his rage became my fault. His manipulation became my misunderstanding. His silence became my overreaction. His cheating became my failure to keep him happy. His cruelty became my lack of grace.

And I carried it all—like a good wife, a strong woman, a peacemaker, a fixer. I twisted myself into knots trying to keep him calm, make him proud, make him love me.

And when he didn’t? I blamed myself harder. Because that’s what happens when you live with someone who needs you to be the villain so they don’t have to face who they really are.

Scapegoating is soul-stealing.

When someone else makes you responsible for their every mood, every outburst, every cruel decision, you start to think maybe they’re right. Maybe if I just stayed quieter…Maybe if I didn’t bring up the truth so often…Maybe if I showed more loyalty, more patience, more forgiveness…Maybe then he would change.

But that’s the trap.

Because scapegoating was never about accountability. It was never about growth. It was about control.

It was about keeping me small enough that he never had to look at himself. It was about weaponizing my empathy and using my guilt as a leash. And the more I tried to fix it, the more he convinced others that I was the problem.

He broke things—and handed me the pieces to clean up. He hurt us—and told me I was the one causing division. He shamed me—and then called me bitter when I stopped pretending it didn’t hurt.

It is a heavy, hollow thing to carry someone else’s shame and call it your own.

And it is a sacred, courageous thing to finally set it down.

I am not the reason he couldn’t control his anger. I am not the reason he manipulated and isolated our family. I am not the reason he chose to lie, betray, intimidate, or abandon.

His choices are not my responsibility.

And neither are his excuses.

I am not here to be his mirror, his emotional punching bag, or the container for everything he refuses to face. I am not his scapegoat. I am not to blame for the damage he did with his own hands.

And if you’ve been living with that same lie—if you’ve been crushed under the weight of someone else’s chaos—please hear me:

You were never meant to carry that.

You deserve relationships where accountability exists. You deserve peace that doesn’t depend on your silence. You deserve to heal without first proving you were harmed.

You deserve to tell the truth.

And you are allowed to set down every false burden someone else forced you to carry.

You are not what they said about you.You are not the reason they chose to harm you. You are not to blame for the weight you were never meant to hold.