Notes from the Scapegoat

I watch people around me closely. It’s deep in my nervous system. I’ve rewired so much of my behavior, and keep doing the work via CBT because it works for me.

But there’s some things that stay with me. One thing I watch for is displaced anger. Like, someone is upset with person A. But instead of dealing with that person, they get let their anger out at person B. Often because person B is ‘safer’ for their anger, less likely to attack or hurt them.

If I observe this, inside I wait for that person to eventually let their anger out at me. I believe I’ll be their scapegoat.

And then I let distance develop, because it feels safe for me. My nervous system feels safe. And pattern feels safe, too, because it’s familiar.

It doesn’t matter if it’s true. One drop of ‘evidence’ is sometimes enough, and I’ll believe I’m being reasonable. I’ve grown enough that I saw this behavior, displaced anger, in myself, as recently as last year. It’s not a common behavior for me, and the times where I’ve done that, I was in a bad state mentally. I see it now, and know what do.

I think it makes my behavior of withdrawl hypocritical and unfair. I’m judging others with finality sometimes for behavior I’ve engaged in. Even though I’d find it reasonable for someone to withdraw from me if I displaced anger – especially AT them.

I also know that my background used to draw me to wounded narcissists in a hope of helping them heal. That behavior is one I’ve definitely curbed. So I know there’s sometimes when I’m withdrawing in a healthy way. And that because this conscious behavior still feels new, my nervous system equates it with ‘different’ and thus ‘unsafe.’

Which means it’s possible that my worry about withdrawing from people who displace their anger might just be another complicated defense mechanism.

So I just keep muddling along. And keep reminding myself to trust my judgement and learn.

Related talks & stories

Fred speaking on this

Growing up as the only kid who looked like him in a small, unkind town — and the unlikely place an escape route showed up.

Written for a parent worried about their own child — about a family that went quiet after a loss, and the long process of learning to speak again.

Why he stopped celebrating his birthday, and what nearly thirty years of strange, sudden loss taught him about staying alive.

A childhood nighttime visitor, a phrase he didn’t understand until years later, and a piece of his family’s history he didn’t know he was carrying.

← All writing