You know what’s easier than solving a problem?
Blaming someone else for it.
It’s quick, it’s effortless, it burns zero calories — and honestly, kind of satisfying… for about 3.5 seconds.

The milk’s spilled? Who kept it at the edge of the table?
Missed a deadline? Well, no one reminded me!
Plant died? The nursery guy gave me the wrong soil.
Tripped over my own shoe? Why was the floor like that??

Blaming is the fast food of emotions — instantly gratifying, temporarily filling, and absolutely not nourishing.

And I say this not from some spiritual high horse, but from personal experience. I have played this game. And oh, I’ve played it well.

Like that one time when I snapped at a family member and then blamed it on “having too many tabs open in my brain.” (Which, to be fair, was kind of true — but also, not their fault.) Or when I didn’t work on a creative project for months and told myself it was because “life’s just been too hectic,” conveniently ignoring the fact that I had watched an entire season of a K-Drama called “I can’t even remember the name!!”

The problem with the blame game is that it’s so easy to start, and so hard to stop. It’s like dominoes. You push one, and before you know it, your accountability has packed its bags and gone on vacation.

But here’s the thing: the moment I pause and ask, “Okay, but what was my part in this?” — things start to shift.

And that shift? That’s power.

Suddenly, I’m not just reacting, I’m reflecting. I’m not just dodging blame, I’m owning space. And funnily enough, when I own my part in the mess, I feel less messy.

Turns out, responsibility isn’t a punishment. It’s freedom in a grown-up disguise.

And when you get into the habit of dropping the blame — even just occasionally — you’ll notice something strange and beautiful:
You start fixing things. You become solution-oriented. You learn. You grow. You outgrow.

Because let’s be honest — the only thing quicker than blaming someone is the regret that follows when you realize the problem… was you all along.

So here’s to taking the longer route. The slightly uncomfortable, ego-bruising, deeply liberating route of owning our stuff.

It may not be as easy as the blame game. But it’s definitely more rewarding.

It started small, a harmless pass,
A “Wasn’t me!” that seemed to last.
But every time I dodged the dart,
I felt a hollow in my heart.

Till one fine day, I took the fall,
Said, “Yep, that one was mine, after all.”
And strangely, I did not feel shame—
Just freedom from the old blame game.