Blame Game

I am not blame-worthy. I am worthy. 

Meditation bred the perfect kind of wisdom today. Not all sessions warrant such clear, monumental goodness. Sometimes it’s just the most mundane, OK-I-sat-for-20-minutes-good-for-me feeling.

But, with 47 seconds left on the timer, my eyes suddenly flew open and I stopped the clock because it hit me: I accept blame because that’s what I was taught–at church and in society.

I grew up hearing over and over again how at-fault we all were. How at-fault I was. For decades it never even occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t at-fault or innately flawed. I just took on that persona because that’s what I was supposed to do. I was suppose to wallow in my guilt. Guilt was like the ticket to worth. But not self-worth–it was church worth.

From the beginning, women (especially) have been blamed. Adam blamed Eve the second he realized his own worthiness was in jeopardy. Eve then blamed the serpent. We’ve all been conditioned to rely on blame to justify and explain our actions. And it’s all so we don’t miss out on feeling worthy. 

But that worth is so conditional on feeling like crap all the time. I’d basically have to live my life shrouded in ashes–like a fucking overly toasted marshmallow. That’s what I remember so clearly from church days. It seemed like we were constantly told to put on our sackcloth and ashes–be lowly because you screwed up.

The world is a mess because of me, because of our human actions and reactions. We’re having floods, and earthquakes, and hurricanes because we screwed up. Our gayness, our murder, our lying, our greed is being punished. That’s what I believed. That’s what I was told.

If something terrible befalls me, it’s because I’m guilty.

And so the equation goes in marriage. If something bad happens, or I’m being blamed over and over again, it’s because of me. It’s pretty narcissistic really, to think that so much of a relationship hinged on my blame-game. But I knew nothing else. I knew no other option but to believe that lowliness was holiness. That self-blame and shame were the ticket to salvation. That constant repentance was a sign of true piety. 

Until now–my little moment of meditative fortitude that woke me up and said, “I don’t need to be blamed anymore.” 

In that moment, I felt a physical release around my chest. I had felt a tightness there for the first half hour. I wrapped my hands over my heart and breathed, as that usually softens things enough to feel the fullness of my breath, but it still felt locked up.

The moment I whispered those words out loud– “I will not be blamed anymore”– it felt like my heart melted. It literally felt like there was something oozing out of my chest, like a proverbial water breaking–all the pressure and fluid was released in preparation for a re-birth. 

I could breathe again. I could see and sense and feel clearly. I felt powerful because I knew that it wasn’t my fault.

Blame is a mechanism for power and control. It’s a way of scapegoating one’s own guilt and faultiness. It’s the ultimate victim mentality. And it does nothing but enslave everyone in its web.

For whatever reason, some of us are more comfortable as blamers, and some as blame-ees. Both roles do nothing to foster kindness, goodness, forgiveness, grace, or self-worth. In fact, both are perpetual states of unworthiness. One gets their druthers from passing off blame, and one gets it from receiving blame. What a terrible cycle.

As for me, I’m done with that cycle. I’m done believing that I have to be buried in ashes to be acceptable. I’m done running from seeing myself and feeling responsible for the blame that others put on me. I’m done equating my guilt with my worth.  

The Bible says so much about living a blameless life. It perpetuates unattainable perfectionism, at least in the way we have come to know it. But I’m not so sure we’ve had it right. I’m not so sure that the Bible is saying to be perfect. 

Rather, perhaps a blameless life is an honest life–one where we own our stuff rather than pass it off on others. One where we don’t hide. One where no fig leaves, or head scarves, or sackcloth are required. One where curtains and walls aren’t needed to protect the holy places because the holy places have always existed within ourselves. 

That is The Blameless Life. That’s the one I want. That’s the one I am worthy of living.