The Blaming game: A story they couldn’t see

How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?

If you couldn’t see me,
I’d tell you I once lived in echoes—
echoes of blame,
where every misstep had a name,
and that name wasn’t mine.

I wore guilt like a second skin,
blaming others, blaming fate,
blaming myself for being too late.
I pointed fingers in the dark,
but the shadows just grew thicker.

What did it get me?
A drowning silence.
My own hell—crafted not with fire,
but with stories I told myself,
looping over and over like a broken chant.

Then, one day, something whispered within,
a glimmer in the murk.
It said, “There’s a way out.”
Not outside me—but inward.
A light that asked me to listen,
to sit with every aching truth
without turning away.

So I stopped running.
I stood still in the storm.
And instead of asking “who’s to blame?”
I began asking “what is this teaching me?”

That’s when I found the clue:
Not in the blame,
but in the responsibility
to find what resonates with me.

Through resilience, through quiet,
through practices that asked me to show up
not for anyone else—but for my own soul,
I began kriyas.
Not just movements—but clearings.
Cleansing breath by breath
the stories that held me hostage.

With every inhale—I forgave.
With every exhale—I released.
And slowly, the blaming game grew faint,
like a voice fading behind a closing door.

If you can’t see me,
know this:
I am someone who once got it all wrong,
then chose to make it right
by going within.

I’m not perfect.
I still have stories.
But I’ve learned to write them
with truth, not blame.

I am not what happened to me—
I am what I choose to do next.
And today, I choose peace