The Blame Game

So…Written Exposure Therapy (WET) (read more here) has been incredibly difficult lately. Each writing session feels like it tears open old wounds. Right now, it has only reinforced a belief that has haunted me for years: that I carry much of the blame for what happened. I know that trauma can distort the way we see ourselves, but I still can't seem to get that thought out of my head. It hurts more than I can put into words.

It is painful enough that the abuse happened. What hurts just as much is the feeling that I somehow participated in it. That belief fills me with shame, even though I am working hard in therapy to challenge it.

My latest WET assignment was to write about how the abuse has affected my life. As I sat there thinking, I couldn't identify a single part of my life that hadn't been touched by it. My relationships, my home life, my time at school, my mental health, and the way I see myself have all been shaped by that trauma. It cast a shadow over so much of my life, and I am angry about that.

What makes me even angrier is that I am the one doing all of this difficult work while the person who abused me has gone on with life as though nothing ever happened. That doesn't feel fair.

People sometimes ask why I didn't tell anyone. The answer is simple, even if it isn't easy. Shame and guilt kept me silent. I was terrified that people would judge me, blame me, or think differently of me. I carried that secret for more than thirty years before I finally told someone. Sadly, some of the reactions I received confirmed exactly what I had feared all those years.

Tomorrow, I'll write again.

That may not sound like much, but right now, simply showing up is an act of courage. Each session is one more step toward laying down a burden I have carried for far too long. I don't know how long the journey will take, but I do know this: I want to put this weight behind me and begin living again.