How to Stop Playing the Victim

I love life. Even when it sets me on fire and dares me to dance in the ashes.

There’s something about breaking down that forces you to rebuild with truth.

In life, we often cast ourselves as either the victim or the hero — but almost never the villain. It’s easier to believe that others have done us wrong, that we’re the ones carrying the emotional bruises, that we’re simply reacting to what the world has thrown at us.

But I’ve come to realize that in some of these cases, I’ve played every role. I’ve hurt people. I’ve made choices that left others confused or wounded, too. Sometimes maybe with intention. Sometimes out of ignorance.

The most dangerous villain I’ve ever encountered? The one who’s done me the most damage? The one who told me to stay when I should’ve left, to trust when I knew better, to ignore what was screaming for my attention?

That villain has been me.

I’ve been too soft with the wrong people and too hard on myself.I’ve told myself stories that made betrayal feel like love, manipulation feel like care, and silence feel like peace—because there was always someone telling me those things were true, even when my discerning spirit screamed otherwise.

It’s freeing to believe the best in people. Until it’s not.

In recent years, there were moments I felt like my whole life was on fire—and not in a poetic, Instagram-quote kind of way. I mean burned to ash. Dreams gone. Relationships scorched. Confidence evaporated.

One word comes to mind: Destruction.

The kind of destruction that makes you question if you’ll even make it out.

The hardest part of those moments wasn’t just the loss. It was watching people I trusted, loved, and thought were in it for the long haul… evaporate. And those who stayed? Some made me feel like a burden. Like an inconvenience.

See, rebuilding your life brick by brick is possible. But rebuilding broken loyalty? That’s the part that rips something deep inside. Trying to unsee people’s mistreatment of you? That’s nearly impossible. That’s the part that breaks my heart.

And yet — in the wreckage, there’s an opportunity for clarity. As gut-wrenching as those moments were, they gave me something real. Because in the contrast between deep grief and unexpected joy, we finally begin to see life without the illusion. We begin to see ourselves.

Truth has become my obsession. Not just the kind you post about. Not the kind you confess to others. I’m talking about the kind of truth you tell yourself—when nobody’s watching, when others are walking away, when it costs you everything.

And that truth? It’s the hardest thing to face. Because we carry this wild resistance—this instinct to protect ourselves from it. Even when the evidence is staring us down. Even when the words someone says don’t match the way they treat us.

Even when your gut is practically screaming, “No,” and your soul is nodding along, but you still ask God for one more sign.

We lie to ourselves.We lie because the truth would shatter the fantasy.We lie because admitting it feels heavier than enduring it.And sometimes, we do it together—us and them.

They mistreat us while swearing they love us.We let them, while pretending we don’t notice.

You know that one friend who’s secretly competitive?The partner who low-key dims your light?The relative who only loves you conditionally?

We feel it. We know it. But instead of believing ourselves, we wait.We wait for proof.We wait for them to admit it.We wait until the damage is so loud we can’t ignore it.

These past few years taught me to stop waiting.I had to become my own advocate.And yes—my own enemy.

You know that one person who isn’t afraid to tell you the truth, even when it hurts? The one who holds up a mirror and says, “This is what it is. No sugar. No spin.”Be her. Be her for yourself.Tell yourself the truth—not to hurt you, but to wake you.

I decided I was done being a victim.I no longer want to be a co-conspirator in the lies people tell me.I don’t want to lie to myself to keep the peace, save a connection, or stay in a role I’ve outgrown.

If someone wants to deceive themselves—fine.But I will not be part of the performance.I won’t hold the curtain open for a play that ends in my betrayal.

Because I know when I’m being lied to.And worse—I know when I’m the one doing the lying.

I’m done helping anyone lie to me, including me.

And you know what? That’s power.

Because I can’t control how others show up.I can’t make them honest.I can’t make them kind.I can’t make them real.

But I can control how I show up for myself.

When I tell myself the truth—even when it guts me—I make better choices.When I stop living in the fantasy, I stop repeating the cycle.

That kind of honesty?That’s the highest form of love.

It’s the most intimate relationship you’ll ever have—the one with your own knowing.

And when you believe yourself—when you finally believe yourself over the noise, the lies, the gaslighting, the hope that keeps breaking your heart—You’ll never be a victim again.

You’ll be free.