Someone to Blame

When my 13-year-old misses out on an after-camp swim session with his buddies, he blames me. It's my fault that I don't accept last minute plans requiring me to take the word of a 12-year-old. It's my fault that I picked him up on time, not allowing for plans to be made. It's my fault I have no interest in being friends with the moms from his football team, that I don't need to rely on anyone to transport my kid to and from camp. It's easier to blame me than to deal with his social awkwardness at this stage of his development.

When my 15-year-old lost texting for the third time in a school year, she knew better at this point than to blame me, so she blamed her French teacher for the C. It's easier to blame him than to figure out how to be a more effective student at this point.

When I lost my teaching position last year, I wanted explanation, I wanted to understand. And I wanted someone to blame. I went with my principal because it felt fair and it made me feel better having somewhere to direct my anger. It was honestly the only way I knew to maintain some sanity in an politically insane situation.

Blame is easy. It feels like action in situations that leave us feeling out of control. It's not, but it feels like it in the moment. It's understanding that we really need. We need to understand why something is happening, what we're supposed to do with it all, what to do with all the hurt and frustration. Sometimes we find those answers, and sometimes we just move on and are able to forget with time. Sometimes we call that acceptance.

I want someone to blame. I want someone to blame for her Lupus. I want someone or something to direct my anger at. I want someone to pay. I'm tired of watching her pain and feeling helpless in it. I am tired of watching her find what seems like relief to have the pain only come washing back over her too soon again. I'm tired of hearing her say she's fine when she's not. It's her way of coping, a way to keep moving so that she doesn't just stop. That word means nothing to me anymore.

Blame would feel like action. It would feel like I was doing something. I wouldn't be, and I am aware enough to understand that, but I'd be okay with fooling myself for awhile.