The blame game

Here's a game I've yet to win: the blame game. By now, you're all probably convinced I'm just a whiney old, white guy. That may be true, but some of my complaints come from a very real place and exist without the aid of hyperbole. 

A while ago, I mentioned the incident when I was in the third or fourth grade when the kid tackled me and beat me up on the playground. I wasn't fighting, but I got detention anyway (which was later reversed). How was I supposed to get away? I don't know. The whole thing was insane. But it wasn't the first time something like that happened, and it wasn't the last. 

This isn't an in-depth post about blame and self-blame. It's just a few examples from my life so you get the idea of what I've dealt with. I was sitting around one day, thinking about stuff, and started to connect some dots. It was a moment of clarity in my otherwise clouded thought life. 

One January day my junior year in high school, my mom and I took off and drove to Indiana to a men's leadership conference. There was a church out there we went to workshops three times a year. The men's leadership conference was something I had yet to go to (it was the fourth meeting per year). I heard it was a special thing, and because I was 17 now, thought I was old enough. Well, I was as sick as a dog. As the miles piled up, it seemed the road got bumpier. I felt every twitch in the Suburban's suspension as we sailed along I-80 East. My whole body started to ache. There was a stop in Omaha, Neb., where we met my dad and one of my brothers. I wasn't sure why. I wasn't very clear on a lot of stuff. 

I sat in the shower for like an hour with the steam. And here's where it gets weird. Here I was, sick as a dog, and my mom comes in the bathroom and accuses me of smoking marijuana. That's why I was sick, she thought. I had never smoked marijuana or any other substance my whole life. I was trying to live my life for God and didn't want any substances. Normally, when someone is sick, their mother is the first person to feel sorry for them and take care of them. Not my mom, apparently. By the time we got to my oldest brother's apartment in Indiana, I had full-blown pneumonia. I couldn't walk. I couldn't eat. I could barely breathe. I thought I was going to die. They put me in a car, and I vaguely remember going to a doctor, who prescribed something. It must have helped. I eventually got better. But, that was the sickest I have ever been in my life. I thought I was going to die, and I'm not kidding about that. And then I was afraid I was going to get better because death seemed like a better idea than to keep suffering. I was in the middle of basketball season when we left Nebraska. When we got back, I never got back on the court. I never played sports again after I got pneumonia. My lungs haven't been the same since. 

I'm not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me. But why was I blamed for having pneumonia? This is a theme that has existed my whole life. Again, and this must have been the year before, I was at a track meet and wasn't feeling well. I was out in the sun and didn't feel right, so went back to the bus and sat there in the coolness. When it was time for my event (which was probably like a 3200 or something ridiculous I didn't want to run anyway), I ran, felt sick, threw up in the grass, and walked away. I got back on the bus and the bus driver, with whom I had strange run-ins with before, ridiculed me for being "out with the boys last night." I had never had a drop of alcohol in my life. This shithead blamed my not feeling well on me. And maybe I was to blame, but not because I had been out drinking. He could have said, "Oh, you threw up and didn't finish your race. You must feel awful. No wonder you've been sitting in here all day. But good for you for trying anyway." Is it any wonder that to this day, I hate being misrepresented or having my motives questioned? 

It's not that I'm never blameless. Sometimes I deserve all the badmouthing and spankings I get. But somehow I got stuck in this blame game and can't get out. No matter what I do, I'm wrong. I'm an asshole no matter what. It's a paralyzing feeling to know that no matter what you do, you are going to take the blame. So do what you want then, right? And that's probably how I ended up with a girl who broke my heart a million times over 20 years. It was a complete "fuck it" decision. Yes, she has wonderful qualities (like the fact that I can talk to her about literally anything, big or small), but those were thrust through by an onslaught of evil deeds. I think the fact that I could talk to her about anything was always the glue. That's what I lacked growing up. I was always silenced, put in a corner, downgraded, slighted, told to shut up. Here was someone who wanted to hear what I had to say, was actually interested, who seemed to care. Only her actions said she didn't really care at all. Fooled ya, sucka. Oh, you thought she had your back because you felt she understood you? No, she will drag your heart through the dirt for 20 years. And this is a theme that has existed my whole life. I choose people who are untrustworthy. 

How did all of this come about? I don't know. Ask me about what happened yesterday and I have the same answer. I do recall many things from my childhood that fit this same mold, like the time one of my brothers and I were outside, playing in the yard. He threw a huge rock in the air just to see if he could do it, and looked as the rock fell ... right on my back. At least I was bent over and it didn't hit me on the head. I splayed out, probably couldn't breathe, probably was in shock. And he probably said, "What were you doing under the rock?" He told me not to tell anyone. I never did. I have this hypervigilance because this has always been my life. I never know when something bad is going to happen. Nothing makes sense except bad things are going to happen to me and there is nothing I can do about it. And if I push back, I will be blamed. That was my childhood. That was my adulthood. That is my now. The worst part is now I self-blame when no one else blames me, which is the final, awful result of my various childhood traumas. Self-blame and protect your abusers. Check, check.

Yes, even now, this theme plays out. I took the blame for my divorce, and maybe rightly so. I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore. Chalk it up to the last time I covered for a woman who seemingly wanted nothing more than to hurt me in extravagant ways. Chalk it up to me protecting her one last time from the consequences of her actions. If that's the price of freedom, then okay. Rip my heart out one last time. 

One thing Cindy said to me last summer stayed with me. It will stay with me the rest of my life. When I was trying to break things off with her for good so she could go back to what she wanted (which is laughable now because there was nothing to break off, a point she tried to make but couldn't because I was busy making an ass of myself), she asked me, "Why do you always have to make everything so hard?" Ouch. I know what she was saying, but it was instantly applied to my entire life. And rightly so. And the answer is: "Well, Cindy, because my life has been hard." It will always be hard. It was the script I was given. I was given many great gifts in my life but was also gifted a virulent disease. What was drilled into me in my childhood will always exist unless God does something to change that. Some people get a great script; some people get a shitty script. I got a shitty script. I'm glad she got a good one. She's had a wonderful life. I have not. I did, however, get to see what my life could have been like had I made better choices, had I stayed closer to God. Seeing what my life could have been like had I been with her, for example, was a wonderful gift of clarity. And that was just one decision. But I just followed the script. 

I don't want to be a victim. I think that attitude is what kept me afloat all those years when I didn't see this dynamic playing out. I refused to be a victim. And I still refuse. If there is anything I can do, I will change this dynamic. I refuse to play the blame game anymore. I will fess up when I'm wrong. I may still take the blame for things that aren't my fault but only because I want peace. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Sometimes all that matters is there is no more fighting. That way, I get to move on. These things won't control me.

There are times when I have to step in, however. My son will hurt someone (sometimes me) and blame that person. In this way, he's like his mother. When it happens, I instantly become irate. I will not allow this awful trend to continue, not under my watch. I make him apologize, and I point out we do not get to hurt someone and then blame them for being hurt. We don't decide if we hurt someone else or not, too. There's no saying, "Oh, you're fine." I won't let him do that. That was done to me my whole life. What he does when he grows up is up to him, but it won't happen under my roof. 

My childhood gifted me not only with hypervigilance but also with an overdeveloped sense of justice. But I serve a just God. He's also a merciful God. When I forgive someone for what they've done to me, I'm not just letting them off the hook, I'm letting myself off the hook. Unforgiveness only hurts me. In fact, that person may not even know they hurt me. They may not even remember. If I want God's mercy, then I must also be merciful and forgive. I didn't deserve many bad things that happened to me in my life. I also didn't deserve many of the good things. That's God's mercy and grace at play. Have you noticed I come back to God in just about every post? I don't plan that. But if I'm looking for silver linings, as I often am when looking back at my life, that's all I see. I see Him and His provisions for me. 

It's impossible to be angry or resentful or unforgiving when He has done so much. And that's where I'd like to end this post. It's also where I'd like to end this whole discussion every time it comes up in my mind. Because that is a wonderful place to end. Part of what has allowed me to grow and change in a good way through all I've been through is recognizing the silver linings. I could be angry and bitter (and sometimes I am), but seeing the good that came from something bad is a gift. More good stuff is coming. I'm on the right track. Thank God for that.

Thank you for reading. And God bless.