the blame game
I always used to bristle when people suggested that my single state was all my fault, but the truth is, I have a tendency to frame my situation in those exact terms. I often ruminate over past men I rejected or broke it off with and wonder if I should have made a different decision somewhere. Was it really a big deal that we were on completely different pages when it came to something like religion? Or that we were ill-matched physically, or that I didn’t like his scent? Or that he had a personality disorder or bored me or frequently made remarks I found offensive? Or he came from a completely different cultural background? Or there was a significant age gap? Or he had a drinking problem or did not have a college degree and resented my group of college friends as a result?
The human brain seems to want to find fault somewhere, even if it’s with ourselves. We want to believe that if things had been handled differently everything would have worked out fine. We have a strong desire to feel in control of our fate.
It’s difficult for me to sit with the idea that things just never lined up for me. That, perhaps, I never really had good choices to make.