Scapegoat I am: My story begins here


I, scapegoat. For years I could not understand how or why I was seemingly able to escaped the kind of permanent damage this type of abuse causes. I was lucky enough to have a loving, caring Nanny that essentially raised me. A consistent, compassionate caregiver able and willing to respond to both the physical and emotional needs of a child. Someone who was able offer what my parents were incapable of. I didn’t realize this piece of important information until I sat down one day to watch the “The Help”. The opening scene when the house maid has that little blonde girl on her lap telling her…”you is kind, you is smart, you is important”. I had to pause the film and broke down into a puddle of tears as the memories came flooding forward, along with the answers to the questions that had been haunting me. “How come I didn’t turn out like my siblings”. In that single moment was the answer and the realization that I was the family scapegoat.

My guardian angel. She saw the abuse and did all she could to let me know I was none of things my family wished me to believe. I was called, stupid, a dork, no good, dumb, evil, irresponsible, and a myriad of other devaluing adjectives. My feelings dismissed, trivialized, minimized on a regular basis. I was told that I was too dramatic, too sensitive.

At 3 years old my father nearly beat me to death. She, my guardian angel, was brave enough to step in, at the risk of losing her job. I was beaten because the golden child (Holly) had cut off one of her ponytails and blamed me. My father refused to believe my denials. Maybe he did believe me but it didn’t matter. After all, isn’t that the function of the scapegoat? This is my first memory of being assigned the role of the family scapegoat. After the beating, he recorded an “interview” with this three year old little girl with blond curls, bullying and berating me until he forced a false confession from me for something I did not do. Although I did not truly confess, one can only hear resignation in this little girl’s voice as she was simply beaten down.

Why the recording? Who can understand the mind of a Psychopathic Narcissistic and possible Borderline Personality. My Nanny, She gave me the emotional and psychological fortitude I needed to fight back in a way their hurtful words did not stick.

As the article in the link below states, till this day I am still the family scapegoat. They project their self loathing, denial, and illness on the scapegoat, then cast them out, hoping all their inner rage and disdain will be cast out with them. Sadly, for them, they find this doesn’t work and must choose another scapegoat. For the victim, you are finally set free from the family drama and negativity.

To my Nanny, a woman I only know as “Rella”, saved my life and I don’t even know her last name. To her, I say thank you and God bless you. To me, her’s is the face of my guardian angle, my protector, my empathizer. I have not spoken to my family in nearly ten years. Have not spoken to my “Dad” in 12 years. I am thankful for having escaped.

I am thankful Rella showed me what kindness, love, caring and empathy felt like, and why it’s so important. I just needed to learn, not everyone deserves to have it and it won’t save everyone in the way it saved me. Don’t waste your gift of empathy on those who seek to destroy it. On those who have not earned it.

I only found out years later, at the age of 18 that my sister had lied, only then did she finaly confess. I never knew why I was blamed or beaten, not at the time and not for the 15 years that followed. I was not present when she did it. When she finally confessed, no apologies were made, but the rest of family seem to find it humorous. I didn’t, once again, “Oh Boots, stop being so sensitive”. One Christmas when my daughter was only 11 months old, we were home for Christmas. On Christmas Eve my “father” decided to play this sad recording for the family. I sat in pain while the rest family laughed. I remember looking down at my sleeping daughter as I held her and thinking…”my God, what is wrong with these people? They are parents themselves, would they tolerate their husband’s treating their young children the way my father had treated me, their sister, a mere three old? Would they laugh at it, find it funny in the least? Where was their empathy? Why was I surprised that they showed none?  This was no different than what they shown me my entire life. I wanted to leave the room but knew this would only leave to more bullying, name calling and devaluing. So I stayed, stewing in anger and confusion. My husband sat there, said nothing, did nothing. No indication at all that he found this sad, toxic, dysfunctional, or cruel. In a room full of  those who are “supposed” to love you, defend you, support you, pointing fingers and laughing at your abuse and the pain you feel from it.


Read more about the different roles within the toxic family at the link below.  Were you the outcast, scapegoat, golden child, black sheep? Were you groomed by your childhood environment? Do you seem to attract or be attracted to disordered individuals. The more you learn about Narcissist, sociopaths, and psychopaths, the more you learn about yourself and your past.


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