Posted by: Rael Kalley | October 23, 2010

64. It’s not my fault, damnit

He sat across the table from me and venomously spewed out all the reasons why he had separated from his wife.

I hadn’t asked, but somehow he felt I needed to know.

It seemed important to him that I (and, I’m sure, everyone else he had recently interacted with) clearly understood the unendurable suffering he had been subjected to in all the years of his marriage and how the termination of the marriage was caused entirely by his wife’s errant behaviour.

It was all her fault. He was blameless.

And there was nothing he could do.



She swallowed a mouthful of tuna as she explained that her present boss was the worst boss she had ever had.

I hadn’t asked, but somehow she felt I needed to know.

He was disorganized, scattered, incompetent, a terrible communicator who made her life a living hell. She thought her previous bosses had been bad but this one raised the bad bar to a previously unimaginable level of terrible.

He was the worst of the worst.

She hated her job.

It was all his fault. She was blameless.

And there was nothing she could do.



His parents, he explained as we were sipping on iced tea on the rooftop deck of the restaurant, were the worst. It’s easy to understand why his life has been so challenging.

I hadn’t asked, but somehow he felt I needed to know.

His upbringing was, and is, the cause of every failure in his life. His parents had done a terrible job. They had scarred him indelibly by their poor parenting practices and even now, well into his forties, he was still paying the price for his own poor selection of Mom and Dad.

It was all their fault. He was blameless.

And there was nothing he could do.



She deserved the promotion, she whispered to me in a hushed tone as she increased the volume of the radio on her desk to ensure that our conversation remained private. She had worked for it and it should have been given to her.

But they gave it to him. And he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

I hadn’t asked, but somehow she felt I needed to know.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor was it surprising.

Her whole life had been like that. What should have been rightfully hers was always delivered to someone else.


It was everywhere.

Which explained why she didn’t make the hockey team in school, why Todd took that princess Michelle to the prom and why this was the fourth time she had been passed over for a promotion she deserved.

It was all their fault. She was blameless.

And there was nothing she could do.



It’s not surprising he couldn’t lose weight, he whined as he dunked his forkful of French fries in the gravy boat. His boss had long ago developed the habit of picking up a dozen donuts on his way into the office each morning.

How could he not eat one – or four? They smelled so good and the sugar rush was exactly what he needed to get focussed on his job.

Plus, his boss had bought them so it would be rude not to eat/devour them.

I hadn’t asked, but somehow he felt I needed to know.

He had asked his boss to stop buying them.

But he didn’t listen.

Didn’t care.

What a jerk.

And his friends always chose pizza for their Friday evening outings and he had no choice but to eat it.

But they didn’t listen.

Didn’t care.

What a bunch of jerks.

It was all their fault. He was blameless.

And there was nothing he could do.




They’re everywhere.

God help ‘em.

Because we can’t.

That’s right. We can’t help them.

And if we try we simply become part of the long litany of reasons that explain the sorry state of their lives.

It all started at birth. They had lousy parents (probably lousy grandparents too), lousy teachers, lousy coaches, lousy friends, lousy relatives, lousy pastors/imams/rabbis, lousy spouse(s), lousy children, lousy neighbours, lousy employers.

I think you get the gist of this.

And if we try to help we become another one of the lousies.

Nothing is every of their doing.

It’s never their fault.

The universe has conspired to make every day of their lives as miserable as possible.

Everything is being done to them.

It’s never their fault.

They are blameless.

And there’s nothing they can do.

We all know at least one person like that.

And if you only know one, I sure hope it’s not you.

Having said that, there is great value in being a victim.

It’s an easy life.

You’re not responsible for anything.

Your finger always points away from you.

Nothing is ever your fault.

You can’t help it.

It’s being done to you.

Somebody should do something.

Poor things.

No matter what happens, no matter how bad it gets, someone else did it.

Someone else is responsible.

Someone else should make it right.

So for those of us who believe:

  • That our destinies are carved by our own hands.
  • That we own the affect life has on us.
  • That we are responsible for results in our lives.
  • That believing in victimhood is akin to sentencing oneself to believe in the inevitability of defeat.
  • They we can accomplish anything if we:

a) believe we can,

b)  make it important enough and,

c) do what is  necessary to get there and, despite, setbacks, criticism, snide comments and impossible odds, keep doing it UNTIL we                                                       get there.

Run as fast and as far away as you can from those victims.

Their disease may be contagious.

Till we read again.

P.S. If I sell just 6 more books (for a grand total of 10) my book Life Sinks or Soars – the choice is yours will become a Canadian Bestseller and I will be presented with a $9.00 A&W gift certificate.

Please help me reach this milestone. Click here to order my book.


  1. Ah, yes. The easy/painful life of a victim.

    A trap. A dellusion. A dead end.

    A choice.

    Anyone and everyone who believes they are a victim of circumstances should read biographies of people like Helen Keller, Christophre Reeves, and Maya Angelou, among others.

  2. I think we are all a little guilty of this…. at least once in a while. But it need’s to be said. We seem to be in constant need of reminding ourselves that WE are in control of our own destiny.

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