I’m the problem it’s me…
A key survival behavior is culpability. Typically, it is damaging or difficult to run from accountability; however, it is equally harmful when we take on the blame for situations we are not responsible for. At our core, survival depends on having a support system that feels safe and secure. We see this first in children who become the “scapegoat” to hold their parents together. Through attachment theory, when the expression of emotional needs leads to instability or rejection, the child learns to internalize and take on blame to avoid conflict or abandonment—believing this will “ensure the safety” of the relationship, even at their own expense. This same response often shows up in trauma, where a person takes on blame as a way to make sense of the abuse they have endured. These are rarely conscious choices, but learned patterns the subconscious engages in for self-preservation. It can look like avoiding an argument with a partner or friend, staying quiet when hurt or offended, or neglecting boundaries that are vital to mental and even physical health. At its core, it is rooted in the belief: “I can be better, it’s me, I’m the problem.”
Whenever we try to make sense of the world, we begin by telling ourselves a story. Most of the time, we are unaware this process is even happening it is an automatic response to circumstances as we attempt to understand them. In essence, we latch onto a story that makes sense, and then we privilege the moments in time that prove it true, giving them greater weight. For example, if I struggle with math, I may tell myself, “I’m just not good at math.” From there, I recall every instance that validates this belief poor grades, struggles with assignments, moments of frustration and I resign myself to this as truth. At the same time, experiences that contradict this story times I succeeded or made progress are dismissed because they don’t fit. It affects my motivation or interest for math class and I disconnect as I am confronted each time I enter class or attempt an assignment within inadequacy I perceive. Recognizing that we are telling ourselves a story and choosing to engage with it is a vital process in moving away from false narratives.
The rationale we use to explain others’ negative behaviors often sounds like: “I must have done something wrong to deserve this.” We move toward negative self-regard because maintaining our support system feels paramount, or because we feel we are failing in one of our valued roles. The alternative that “someone valued me so little they would treat me this way” is much harder to face. That thought stirs shame, pushes us toward secrecy and silence, and forces us into self-blame, inadequacy, and isolation. The story tries to make sense of pain, but it usually deepens shame and disconnection. This is especially true when we feel we are failing at a role central to our value and identity, making the narrative even harder to disprove particularly when reinforced by contempt.
Contempt cuts deep because it attacks the core of who we are. It takes a behavior and equates it with character. “I’m lazy.” “I’m dumb.” “I can’t do anything right.” Each of these reflects a specific struggle, motivation, focus, initiative but contempt reframes them as identity. Too often, we accept these narratives and even reinforce them ourselves, privileging the evidence that validates them. In the context of close relationships, contempt’s impact intensifies, especially in abusive or toxic dynamics where our worth is tied to the very person projecting contempt. In these circumstances, our world may shrink until their narrative feels like the only one available. And yet, an essential truth remains: our behaviors are not our character. They are what we do not who we are.
Blaming ourselves in this way becomes a survival strategy to feel secure, to believe we have control, to convince ourselves, “I can change me, I can be better.” But over time, this bends us smaller, teaching us that our feelings cause conflict, and just like with math class when we enter conflict we are confronted with our inadequacy and deficiencies. So we avoid it at all costs. Meaning we have not expressed that thought or feeling, the offense, fear or vulnerable emotion we are seeking to express.
This pushes us toward negative behavioral patterns that are an attempt to soothe. If I am the problem, if my feelings are the cause, then I won’t share them. I’ll avoid conflict. Feelings don’t vanish though; the more we push them down, the louder they return. Maladaptive behaviors emerge not to change the outside world but to manage our shame about how we move within it. Eventually, these spiral into “evidence” that something is wrong with us. Addiction, affairs, dishonesty, overspending, negative relationship with food, gambling, abuse, or neglect of our most valued roles may follow. Outwardly, life may appear stable, but beneath the surface, the cost grows.
It is not sustainable to live by bending ourselves smaller for others. We all need space to be impossible not bound by others’ perceptions or the temporary validation their approval offers. Without intentional care for ourselves, resentment builds, damaging relationships and sometimes leading us to abandon the very roles we value most. Many of my clients walk with profound intention toward their roles, yet struggle to extend that same intention inward. We each need space to be impossible, where I am not bent or twisted up for anyone but am moving with purpose towards myself as that is the person I am seeking to please with my actions.
This is where the deeper work begins: discovering who we are and recognizing our value beyond our roles. If I avoid conflict, my body reacts to anything that feels like conflict. My nervous system has not learned how to regulate in the face of anxiety. For me, that often meant freezing or creating distance when I thought I had disappointed someone or caused tension.
Grounding ourselves in the true story of who we are is essential. If this conversation goes poorly what’s the worst that could happen? And what’s the best? Phil Stutz describes this in his tool “the reversal of desire.” Instead of avoiding pain, we accept it as the inevitable end of any negative outcome. Imagine a dark cloud it feels ominous, uncomfortable, and we fear what’s on the other side. So we avoid it. But to get where we want to go, we must move through it. The conversation, the confrontation, but the change we desire all lie beyond the cloud. If I can pause and visualize what the outcome will be, the end result if negative will be pain however the core of who I am will still be intact.
Phil Stutz's concept of the Reversal of Desire describes how embracing pain rather than trying to escape it builds the inner strength to willingly move toward the very things we instinctively want to avoid.
For instance, in my three most important roles; husband, father, therapist if conflict led to losing my job, my marriage, or closeness with my children, the pain would be immense. But that’s all it would be: pain. I would still be CJ. I would still be good. My grounding truths would remain. I have survived 100% of the worst things I’ve faced with pain and discomfort being the worst outcome almost every time. Pain does not define me. Failure does not define me. In fact, pain means I am moving toward what matters.
When we accept that the worst-case scenario is only pain, we find freedom. “I will be okay, because I will still be me.” With this grounding, the body regulates, the mind clears, and we can respond. From that place, we can embrace the best-case scenario.
Similarly, Mel Robbins’ tool, “What if it all works out?” interrupts the spiral of fear and doubt. Her research shows that 94% of what we fear never happens. Asking, “What’s the worst that could happen?” is natural but dwelling there paralyzes us. Shifting to “What if it works out?” grounds us in possibility and puts our subconscious to work seeking opportunities. Even asking the question interrupts the negative cycle and opens space for hope. To alter our goal around what I want to create or bring in is to ask what does it look like when I come out the other side. If I have faith in the future of what I desire to create and am able to detach from the process of creation. Asking “what if it works out” puts our subconscious on the hunt for the opportunities that will lead towards a favorable outcome. Just asking the question interrupts the process of negativity and self-doubt.
Both tools Stutz’s reversal of desire and Robbins’ what-if help regulate mood and the body’s response to anticipated threat (anxiety). They strip away the mystery and allow us to see both sides of the outcome. It’s like turning on the light in my son’s room when he’s convinced there’s a monster in the dark. Once revealed, the fear dissolves. When we are overwhelmed by the unknown, focusing on what we know helps carry us through.
The survival behaviors that once protected us eventually expire. They work until they no longer do. Something within us shifts, unwilling to accept the old narrative. We begin to privilege events that affirm our worth, ground us in identity, and remind us we can thrive, not just survive. We grow tired of tearing ourselves down and instead learn to build ourselves up through boundaries, self-awareness, and intention. Boundaries are the only way we can influence others’ behavior, but they always begin with our own. Not all behaviors are harmful, and our task is to strengthen those that bring life in, not those that push it away. Let us focus on what we want to create and not settle for the story that only makes sense in the moment.