I Was Always The Problem, Until I Wasn’t

Breaking Free from the Scapegoat Role in a Dysfunctional Family

For as long as I can remember, I was “the problem.”

If someone was angry, it was because I “provoked” them.

If there was tension, somehow it was my fault.

Even when I tried to be quiet, helpful, or invisible—I still got blamed.

They called me dramatic.

Too sensitive.

Always making things harder than they needed to be.

But the truth? I wasn’t creating the chaos—I was reacting to it. And in a family that refused to name its pain, the one who speaks up always becomes the target.

👣 The Role of the Scapegoat

In toxic or dysfunctional families, there’s often one person who becomes the scapegoat—the person blamed for problems that are actually caused by the system itself.

That scapegoated child is usually the one who’s more emotionally aware.

More honest.

More sensitive to dysfunction.

And because they can’t play along with denial, they become the one everyone turns against.

🧠 Verbal Abuse Isn’t Always Loud

Verbal abuse doesn’t have to be shouting or name-calling.

It can be:

• Constant blame

• Sarcasm that cuts too deep

• Being ignored or excluded

• Gaslighting when you express feelings

These patterns make you doubt your perception of reality. You start to wonder if you’re actually the problem, if maybe you are too much, too needy, too emotional.

But you’re not.

You were just human in a space that didn’t allow it.

⚠️ Why Scapegoating Happens

Many families with unhealed trauma or dysfunction rely on keeping things stable—even if that “stability” is toxic.

When one person starts asking questions, setting boundaries, or expressing emotions, it feels like a threat. So the system unconsciously unites against that person. That’s how the scapegoat is formed.

They’re not the broken one—they’re the mirror. And mirrors make people uncomfortable when they’re not ready to see themselves clearly.

💡 What Changed for Me

My healing started when I stopped trying to make everyone else happy and started trying to make myself whole.

I gave myself permission to feel, to grieve, and to question the messages I’d been taught.

I learned that I was never meant to carry the emotional burden of an entire family.

I wasn’t “too much”—I was just surrounded by people who couldn’t handle emotions.

And I wasn’t bad—I was just different. Honest. Awake.

❤️ A Word to Fellow Scapegoats

If this is hitting close to home, I want you to know:

You are not the problem.

You are not broken.

You are not too much.

You’re just someone who has felt too deeply in a world that told you to stay silent.

You’ve been blamed for what others refused to face.

But you get to stop carrying what never belonged to you.

You can heal.

You can set boundaries.

And you can even love your family—from a safe distance—without losing yourself.

🌱 Healing Isn’t Betrayal

Choosing peace isn’t selfish.

Choosing boundaries isn’t cruelty.

Choosing healing isn’t a betrayal of your family—it’s a commitment to yourself.

Let this be the season where you stop apologizing for existing, and start reclaiming your story.

You are not who they said you were.

You are who you are becoming—and that is more than enough

⸻

📚 Sources & Further Reading:

• Forward, S. (1997). Emotional Blackmail: When the People in Your Life Use Fear, Obligation, and Guilt to Manipulate You. HarperCollins.

• Gibson, L. C. (2015). Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents. New Harbinger.

• Herman, J. L. (1992). Trauma and Recovery. Basic Books.

• Engler, L. (2020). It Wasn’t Your Fault: Freeing Yourself from the Shame of Childhood Abuse with the Power of Self-Compassion. New Harbinger.

The Inheritance We Don’t Choose

 “Some wounds are not visible on skin, but etched in memory,

passed like heirlooms in the marrow of our bones.”

We are all born into stories already in motion.

Before we take our first breath, before we speak our first word, we are shaped by the emotional weather systems of our families—storms we didn’t start, seasons we didn’t set. Some of us inherit laughter, lullabies, and strong names. Others receive silence, shame, and survival maps drawn in shadows.

This is the quiet power of generational trauma: a legacy of pain passed down through body, behavior, and belief. We often don’t know we’re carrying it—only that we struggle to feel safe, worthy, or whole. Trauma doesn’t always arrive with obvious scars. Sometimes, it’s a child learning not to cry. A teenager who trusts no one. An adult who never stops running. The echo of pain stretches beyond memory—rooted in the unsaid, the undone, the unresolved.

But by naming it, we can unearth it. And in unearthing it, we begin to heal.

What Is Generational Trauma?

Generational trauma (also called intergenerational or ancestral trauma) is the transmission of distress, pain, and dysfunction from one generation to the next. This isn’t just a metaphor—it’s measurable. Studies in epigenetics show how the emotional experiences of one generation can alter gene expression in the next. Trauma doesn’t just break hearts—it reshapes bodies and brains.

This kind of trauma often arises from:

• Violence or abuse (physical, emotional, or sexual)

• Addiction and mental illness

• Neglect or abandonment

• Racism, colonialism, and systemic oppression

• War, forced migration, or poverty

• Religious or cultural repression

• Secrets and unspoken grief

But it isn’t only the big, visible traumas. It’s also the quiet absence of what we needed most: safety, connection, attunement, and unconditional love.