It’s easy to get caught up in the maelstrom of our upbringing. For a long time, I blamed my father for how difficult things were in my life. He left my mom, he didn’t pay child support, and he didn’t take the time to be a positive role model for me.

But that’s not entirely true. At least for the first five years of my life, he did work and paid for the house, clothes, and food that we ate. And he wasn’t always a bad person. No one ever is. I remember being sick as a little kid, and my father took me in his arms. He held me up and said, “Just let your stuffed up nose go into me. I’ll take your sickness from you.”

There were other people around, and the thought that my father wanted to help me sent a positive ripple through me. He did care.

As I got older, I reflected back on my childhood, I always thought back to the bad stuff. The fights, the yelling, and his not being there. He checked out, moved on, and remarried (and had more kids).

My brother and me became the afterthought. We didn’t matter any more.

I held that anger and disappointment in me like a weapon.

It was his fault that my mom, brother, and I suffered as much as we did.

It’s easy to see someone as the bad guy. What’s more difficult is to see the complexities of a situation and the larger context of what happened to my father. He went to Vietnam and fought in the war, was wounded, and I expect he dealt with PTSD. But no one really ever talked about any of that back in the early ‘70s.

My father’s story and how we reacted to it set into motion his life and affected all of our lives. This is true.

However, when I became older and went to college, I learned about how the trauma that my mom went through had affected my brother and me. At that point, I had a choice: I could continue to blame my father for my problems, or I could work to find healing and learn better behaviors.

I learned what I experienced. I allowed the effects of alcoholism and the dysfunction to set me on a course that had me constantly fearing abandonment, authority, and true connection. I acted out of fear, anger, and shame. By pointing a finger at my father, I didn’t accept responsibility for myself and my own actions.

When I changed that and worked toward bettering myself, the world shifted.

I couldn’t use my father as a scapegoat any longer. I had to grow up and face the facts: If I wanted to change, then I needed to mature.

I have made (and will continue to make) lots of mistakes in my life.

But there’s a difference now—I own up to making the mistake and work each day toward becoming a better person.

When I hurt someone, I don’t blame my father for how I acted. No, I admit my mistake and work on fixing the problem.

I am responsible.

The shift in power is eye-opening.

What do you think will happen if you stop blaming others or making excuses for where you are?

I do not mean berating yourself. That is not my point. But if you want to get from a place of hurt to one of freedom and wholeness, only you have the power to do that.

Exhilarating and frightening all at the same time.

Today I choose to stop blaming and own up to my faults. If I can do this, so can you.

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