I used to wrap up my life and the way I was living in a story kind of similar to the following:

“I am the way I am because my dad was a drunk.”

Or

“I am the way I am because my mom was a very frightened woman who raised me to be dependent on her and poured her fear into me.”

And I was good with that. I knew the way my world worked. I knew why I was the way I was, and that was it.

And that’s the thing about blame. It’s a very easy handle to grab onto. It gives you some security, when you think you’ve got your life all wired out.

You understand the way things are.

And you can move into that story, and you can feel safe there — even if it’s turbulent…