Blaming and Excusing

My resentment list was easy to write. Too easy. Every entry pointed at someone else — what they did, what they said, how they failed me. It felt honest. It felt righteous. It was also a wall I'd built to keep from looking at myself.

Blaming the alcoholic came naturally. My anxiety? Their drinking. My need to control? Their chaos. I had an airtight case for why every difficulty in my life belonged to someone else. And as long as that case held, I never had to examine my own part.

That's what blame really is — an excuse disguised as an explanation. It feels like clarity, but it's avoidance. As long as everything is their fault, I have nothing to change. And if I have nothing to change, I stay exactly where I am.

Step Four asked me to turn the page over and write my part. Not to absorb blame that isn't mine — but to find the places where I still have a choice.

Throughout the day, I can notice when I'm telling a story where someone else is the problem and I'm the blameless party. That's the pattern. I can ask myself: am I seeing clearly, or am I using their behavior as a reason not to look at mine?