There are no victims...

Unique Perspectives: There are no victims...

By Kim Stevens

There are no victims… only volunteers.

I remember the first time I heard it.

I was surrounded by people who had lived through things that were messy, painful, confusing, and unfair, when someone shared that sentence that landed like a thud in my chest.

My immediate reaction was internal—and defensive. You have no idea about my situation. I bristled and judged the statement as harsh and insensitive.  But here’s the thing. The statement didn’t leave me alone. It stayed with me. It bothered me. And like most things that bother me, it eventually taught me something.

If I was a victim, then none of this was my fault. And if none of this was my fault, then there was nothing I could do.

That’s where the trap is. Because helplessness doesn’t just describe a situation. It creates one.

There’s actually a psychological term for this—learned helplessness—and it’s common in people who grew up in alcoholic or chaotic or dysfunctional homes. When you learn early on that nothing you do changes the outcome, you stop trying. You stop believing you have agency. You stop trusting yourself. And eventually, helplessness starts to feel like the truth.

But it isn’t.

I may be powerless over someone else’s behavior. I may be powerless over their choices, their addiction, their denial, their chaos. But I am not helpless when it comes to my own life. I still have choices. I still have boundaries. I still have the ability to respond differently, think differently, and act differently.

And that’s where the idea of “volunteer” starts to make sense. I was participating in a pattern I hadn’t yet learned how to interrupt.  That didn’t  make me weak. It made me human. And more importantly—it meant that I could choose differently.

When we see ourselves only as victims, life feels like something that happens to us.

When we recognize our participation—even gently, even imperfectly—life becomes something we can respond to.

Responsibility isn’t blame. Responsibility is freedom.

The moment I stop asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and start asking, “What am I being invited to see or change?” Everything shifts. And while I cannot control others, I am never without options.

That’s the quiet miracle of it. I don’t have to fix anyone. I don’t have to wait for someone else to change before I can have peace.  This idea isn’t harsh—it’s honest. And honesty, when we’re ready for it, can be incredibly freeing.

I don’t deny the pain I’ve lived through. I don’t minimize what was hard or unfair. But I no longer confuse powerlessness with helplessness.

Because what I know for sure today, is that there is always a place—sometimes small, sometimes quiet—where my power lives. Not over anyone else… but over myself. And I just really love that.