“Other People Do It”—Why That Sentence Nearly Broke Me

I was 30 years old when the abuse began. 

In college full-time. A single mom of seven.

Working part-time. Cleaning houses full-time.

Trying to keep our world from falling apart—while mine already was.

Behind closed doors, I was being abused. Strangled. Beaten. Abused in many other ways.  Controlled. But I kept showing up.

Because I had to.

At 33, child welfare stepped in—not because I hurt my kids, but because I was being hurt. I thought they would help protect us. Instead, they punished me.

They took my children away.

For five months, I lived without them. Every room too quiet. Every moment aching.

And then I gave birth to my youngest son.

He was only two days old when they took him from the hospital— even though I had already completed everything they asked of me.

Later, they called it a mistake. But it didn’t feel like one. It felt like my heart had been ripped out and locked away.

When I finally got him back, he was a month old. But the damage didn’t end there. Three of my children were placed with their father— not the abuser in the case, but someone who had abused me in the past.

That triggered a years-long battle, outside the courts, to keep my children safe again.

Everything I Was Carrying

I was autistic, but I didn’t know it yet.

I had complex PTSD that no one had diagnosed since my teen years and when it was diagnosed as a teen, they called it “dissociative disorder”. Years of more trauma added to it. 

I was living with a traumatic brain injury from strangulation and physical blows to my head.

I was trying to survive with memory loss, sensory overload, and constant shutdowns— thinking all of that was just personal failure.

I had no support. No village. No room to breathe.

Just survival.

Then Came the Words That Cut Me

Five years later—when I was 38 and still navigating the lifelong aftermath of trauma—

someone looked at me and said:

“Other single moms do it.”

Maybe they meant it to be encouraging.

But to me, it felt like a punch in the gut.

Because I wasn’t just a tired mom.

I was a woman still healing from abuse.

Still dealing with a nervous system in survival mode.

Still recovering from trauma that had rewired my brain.

What they said didn’t help me.

It erased me.

Why Comparison Is Harmful

When people say, “Other people do it,” they’re not offering support. They’re adding shame.

They’re saying:

“You should be better by now.”

“Your pain isn’t valid unless you hide it well.”

“Your trauma only counts if it doesn’t inconvenience anyone.”

But healing doesn’t work like that.

It’s not a timeline. It’s not a contest.

It’s sacred. Personal. Messy.

What They Didn’t See

They didn’t see the panic attacks at red lights.

The brain fog so thick I couldn’t remember my own schedule. The fear that stayed in my body even when I was “safe.”

They didn’t see how much it took just to function.

I wasn’t lazy.

I wasn’t weak.

I wasn’t ungrateful.

I was still healing from something that nearly destroyed me.

I’m Not “Other People”

I’m autistic.

I have complex PTSD.

I’m a survivor of domestic violence, raising children while managing invisible wounds.

So no—I’m not “like other moms.”

And no one else is like me either.

We each carry our own story.

Our own weight.

Our own reasons for why some days are harder than others.

What I Needed Instead

What I needed wasn’t comparison.

It was compassion.

If someone had said:

• “You’ve survived more than most people will ever understand.”
• “It makes sense that you’re tired.”
• “You’re not failing—you’re healing.”
• “You don’t have to keep proving yourself. You already made it through.”

If someone had seen me instead of measuring me,

I might’ve found peace a little sooner.

To Anyone Who’s Heard Those Words

If someone ever told you,

“Other people do it”—

and it made you feel ashamed, erased, or unseen—

Please hear me now:

You are not other people.

You are you.

And what you’ve been through matters.

How long it takes you to heal is not a sign of weakness—

It’s a sign of how deep the wound was.

You don’t have to match anyone else’s journey.

You don’t have to minimize your pain to make others comfortable.

You don’t have to hide your healing.

You are enough.

Right now.

Exactly as you are.

And your healing deserves space.

💜

#YouAreNotAlone #ComplexPTSD #AutisticSurvivor #TraumaRecovery #DomesticViolenceSurvivor #StopTheComparison #HealingIsNotLinear #YourStoryMatters #YouAreEnough

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.