Fuckism: They may have fucked you up—but it’s your job to unfuck yourself.
Yeah, your childhood was a shitshow.
Dad was absent.
Mom was controlling.
Or maybe they both meant well and still screwed it all up anyway.
Guess what?
That’s called being human.
And yeah, it leaves scars.
But if you’re still blaming them in your 30s,
Still letting their dysfunction write your story—
That’s not trauma.
That’s you refusing to take the pen.
Your pain is valid.
But so is your responsibility to stop passing it around like a goddamn family heirloom.
At some point, the mirror matters more than the memories.
At some point, you stop pointing fingers and start pulling weeds.
At some point, it’s not about what they did.
It’s about what you’re still doing.
You’re grown now.
You get to choose:
Repeat the cycle
—or—
Break the motherfucker.
Max Ren truth?
Blame is a pacifier.
Comfortable. Soothing.
But real adults spit that shit out and speak for themselves.
So grow the fuck up.
Your mess isn’t your fault.
But cleaning it sure as hell is.
