The Night I Didn’t Become the Bad Guy: Breaking the Blame Pattern
He came at me again last night.
Not with fists.
With words, sharpened by the ache of something unnamed inside him.
I recognized the pattern before he even finished the first sentence.
The way his voice started winding up, circling some invisible wound, searching for a villain to blame it on.
That villain, more often than not, is me.
It’s familiar.
Too familiar.
The ancient family playbook passed down through bloodlines—when something hurts, find the bad guy.
Make it clean.
Make it simple.
Make it someone else.
But last night, something was different.
Not in him—
In me.
I didn’t leave my body.
I didn’t lean forward, or recoil, or lace up for battle.
I didn’t match the tempo of his spiral.
I didn’t offer myself up as the usual suspect.
I didn’t fix, or defend, or fracture.
Instead, I stayed.
I stayed with the quiet hum of breath inside my ribs.
I stayed with the soft animal of my body, curled not in fear but in trust.
I heard every word.
Some of them still stung.
But I didn’t let them name me.
He ranted until there was nothing left to say.
And then, with a final swing, he muttered,
“We should get a divorce.”
It wasn’t the first time.
Each time he says it, I think he hopes the threat will wake something up.
Shake the snow globe.
Make the feelings go away.
But the truth is, what’s trying to leave isn’t the marriage.
It’s the story.
The story that pain needs a culprit.
That one of us must be right and the other wrong.
That conflict means collapse, not transformation.
When the house finally went still, I didn’t collapse into tears or rage.
I curled back into myself like a wild thing returning to the den.
Not hiding.
Resting.
Reclaiming.
I fell asleep like that—whole.
And in the morning, I woke up… not untouched, but unhooked.
There was a quiet curiosity, even a spaciousness.
Was there anything I should’ve done differently?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But I did the most important thing I could:
I stayed with myself.
I didn’t become the bad guy.
I didn’t make him one either.
And maybe that’s what’s dying.
This need we inherited—to name a villain every time something hurts.
To cast blame instead of naming what aches.
To control instead of feel.
Today, I hold no blame in my hands.
Only tenderness.
And a quiet vow that sounds like this:
“Last night, I stayed. I did not flee, I did not fight. I stayed with the soft animal of my body. I heard the words, I felt the sting, and I remained.”
That is my altar now.
That is The Wild Embrace.
Try This: Staying with the Soft Animal
When blame or tension starts to swirl—yours or someone else’s—pause.
Even for just a moment. Let the moment be.
Then try this:
Let your feet land on the floor. Really feel them.
Notice the contact—heel, sole, toes. Let gravity do its work.
Feel the back of your body. The weight it carries. The way it’s held.
Let your attention drop from your mind into your belly. Even one inch is enough.
Feel your breath without altering it. Notice how it’s always here, quietly supporting you.
If you notice sensation—heat, tightness, tingling, stillness—just let it be there.
If you don’t feel anything yet, that’s okay too. Stay with your breath, the support beneath you, and your willingness to feel.
Say silently:
“I am here. I am held. I notice what I feel.”
That’s all.
Not to fix. Not to figure it out.
Just to notice what’s true in your body, at this moment.
Each time you choose this, the old pattern begins to loosen.
A Closing Invitation
If you've ever found yourself cast as the “bad guy,”
or caught yourself pointing blame to avoid what aches within—
I wonder what might shift if you paused, breathed, and simply noticed what you felt.
Not to get it right.
Not to change anything.
Just to notice.
You don’t have to fight or flee.
You just have to feel what’s here.
Stay Connected
If this spoke to you and you’re navigating something tender in your own life,
I offer 1:1 sessions, courses, and spaces to explore this kind of presence and pattern-breaking with care.
You can learn more at thewildcraftedmysteryschool.com or jacquiedonahue.com.
Or come sit with me each week on the Wildcrafted Wednesdays podcast—
real conversations with real people waking up to the mystery of their lives.
In the wild embrace of this moment,
Jacquie
