Letting Go Without Losing the Truth

A Personal Reflection on Blame and Healing

For the longest time, I couldn’t bring myself to blame the person who hurt me. It felt too dangerous, too final. Blame, in my mind, meant conflict. And conflict felt like chaos I didn’t think I could survive. So instead, I turned it inward. I asked myself what I could’ve done differently. I searched endlessly for ways I might have caused it. That felt safer—because it gave me a sense of control.

But deep down, I always knew: it wasn’t my fault.

This reflection is about the long and winding journey I took with that question: Is it healthy not to blame the abuser? And what I learned when I finally stopped carrying what wasn’t mine.

The Truth About Responsibility

At first, the idea of blaming someone felt like I was being unfair or vindictive. I thought healing meant rising above it all, forgiving silently, and moving forward without looking back. But therapy taught me something that changed everything:

Naming the harm is not being cruel—it’s being clear.

For too long, I believed staying quiet made me strong. But in reality, it kept me stuck. Acknowledging what happened—and who made it happen—was the first step to releasing myself from a story I didn’t ask to be in.

Blame, when rooted in truth, is not about vengeance. It’s about validation. It’s about recognising what is and what is not yours to carry.

When Blame is a Bridge

Blame isn’t the final destination, but it can be a vital part of the journey. For me, it was a bridge between silence and self-respect. It helped me move from confusion to clarity, from shame to understanding.

There was anger. There was grief. And yes, there was guilt—because I had internalised so much that wasn’t mine. But in allowing myself to say, “That was wrong,” I began to come home to myself.

Eventually, I didn’t want to hold onto the blame. Not because they deserved forgiveness, but because I deserve peace. My healing didn’t need their remorse—it needed my truth.

The Pressure to Stay Quiet

There were so many times I wanted to tell someone what had happened, but I stopped myself. I didn’t want to cause drama. I didn’t want to be disbelieved. I didn’t want to see the look of discomfort on someone else’s face.

So I swallowed the story and smiled instead.

But healing can’t happen in silence. And pretending didn’t protect me—it only prolonged the pain. Here’s what I’ve learned isn’t healthy:

• Taking on blame that doesn’t belong to you
• Defending the person who hurt you
• Silencing your pain to keep the peace

Those aren’t signs of strength. They’re signs of survival. And you deserve more than survival. You deserve to thrive.

Where I Am Now

I don’t ask myself whether I should blame them anymore. I ask:

• Am I living in alignment with the truth?
• Am I honouring the version of me who lived through it?
• Am I choosing peace because I’m ready—not because I’m scared?

“You don’t have to carry anger forever—but you do need to place responsibility where it belongs.”

That line stays with me. Because placing responsibility is not about holding on—it’s about letting go of what never belonged to me in the first place.

To Anyone Asking the Same Question

If you’re grappling with whether to blame the person who hurt you, please hear this:

You don’t have to decide today. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Your healing is not a performance—it’s a process.

Letting go of blame doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened. It means choosing yourself, again and again, until the story you carry feels like one you wrote—with power, with peace, and with full permission to heal.

You can let go without erasing the truth.
You can rise without minimizing what you endured.
You can move forward while honouring every step that brought you here.

You are not alone. And your story deserves to be held with care.