Why does my dad blame me for everything?

If none of that is where you are, keep reading. What follows is about a father who hands out fault, and what happens to the person who keeps taking it.

Fault moves one way in the house. Whatever breaks, whoever broke it, the sentence ends at you. Often it is calm. "This is what happens when you don't listen."

The charge does not need evidence. It needs somewhere to land. Sometimes it lands on you. Sometimes, if you are watching rather than standing in it, it lands on your mother.

And you answer it. Sorry. You should have known. You will do better. By now you apologize for things that happened in rooms you were not in.

That is the finding. The sorry does not clear the charge. If it did, the house would be quiet by now.

A fault that is held feels like weight. A fault that is handed to somebody else weighs nothing. A person who cannot hold a fault learns to hand it to whoever is nearest and least able to hand it back.

A child is nearest and least able. That is why it is you, and it is not because of anything you are. It is because of where you stand in the house.

Why he cannot hold a fault is not something you can see from your room, and this page cannot either. It may be older than you. It may be older than him. This page will not guess.

You are not the cause. You are the nearest place for the fault to land.

It is not about what you did. Some of the things on the list you did. Most you did not. A charge that lands on everything is not reading the list.

It is not about whether he loves you. A person can love a child and still hand them every fault in the house. The two run on different tracks, and the second one is the one this page is about.

And it is not yours to fix. The sentence that makes it your fault forms in a body you are not in, a few seconds after something tightens there. No sorry of yours reaches those seconds.

Notice what happens in you when his tone changes. Many people describe a drop in the stomach. Then going very still. Then the sorry, already out before the charge is finished.

Say less. Not nothing, and not a speech. One flat sentence, and then quiet. "I didn't do that." You do not have to win. You only have to not agree.

Keep your sorry for the things that are yours. When you do break something, own it, once, plainly. A sorry spent on everything is worth nothing in that house. One kept for real things is worth something.

Write it down, if you are grown. The date, the charge, who was in the room. Not for a fight. So that the next "you always" has a record beside it that is yours.

Find one adult outside the house who hears you plainly, if you are not grown. A teacher, an aunt, a coach, a friend's parent. Not to report anything. To have one room where the fault is not yours by default.

And one thing is not in your control: whether he ever holds a fault himself. That is his work, and nothing you take on will do it for him.

Check what has changed. Whether you say sorry at school, at work, with friends, for things nobody raised. Whether you go still when anyone's tone changes. Whether you assume a fault is yours before you know what it is.

That first one is a pattern with a name and a file, and it is the one on this page you can reach. The drop in the stomach is its body signal, and it can be caught.

Because a fault that is handed to somebody else weighs nothing, and a child is the nearest person least able to hand it back. It is not about what you did, and it is not about what you are. It is about where you stand in the house. Why he cannot hold a fault is not readable from your room, and this page will not guess. What you can do is stop agreeing: one flat sentence, no sorry in it, and then quiet. If the blame comes with hitting or fear, the box at the top of this page comes first.

The same move, aimed at the other nearest person. A fault that cannot be held gets handed to whoever is closest, and a partner is close. Watching it is its own weight, and you cannot carry it for her or argue it away for him. What you can do is refuse to join: do not agree with the charge, and do not take it on yourself to spare her. And one line outranks the rest: if the blame she carries comes with fear, with hitting, or with being kept from people, the box at the top of this page is written for her as much as for you. You can call it about someone else.

Some people read this page for a father and recognize the sorry from the inside. The file on The Apology Loop, the pattern where sorry is handed over as a toll before anybody asks, is written about the reader. You may have learned it in this house.

Did you say sorry today for something that was not yours? Then that file may be yours, and it is the one pattern in this house you can work on directly.