THE ENTITLEMENT OF THE VICTIM IDENTITY
“You’re welcome.”
I caught myself thinking it, but didn't say it.
Not just because he hadn't said "Thank you," but because it didn't quite feel like a pure "You're welcome" on my part.
It was a sarcastic crack. A little cynical. The kind of thought that sneaks in after you’ve given generously, and you find your ego mentally preparing for a big acknowledgment. But ... it just didn't feel right.
Here’s the scene:
I was at lunch with a friend. He’s in a tender place—figuring out career, money, direction—and of course I showed up fully. I offered him the hard-won wisdom that’s carried me through my toughest times. We got to talking about journaling and the power of noticing the underlying beliefs that quietly design our lives. He wanted to write them down, so I bought him a notebook. I even imagined it becoming a keepsake for him—something he could look back on as a symbol of change. We shared one of those conversations that feels real and alive.
But at the end of it, a thought rose in me:
“You’re welcome. Oh man, this guidance is priceless! It’s the kind of support I wish I’d had, but never did. I had to stumble my way through life alone. And here I am, laying it all out for you. Maybe one day, when you’re successful, you’ll remember me.”
I didn’t voice it. I just noticed it.
And in noticing, I realized—this was patterned.
It carried the subtle energy of entitlement—rooted in an old story of victimhood.
The energy didn't have words, but if it did, it would've whispered:
“I’ve suffered. I’ve struggled. I’ve picked myself up again and again. Life owes me.”
As I chose not to engage with that thought, I paused long enough to wonder: Where did that come from? I got curious.
A few days later, I came across these words in Stephanie Harrison's newsletter (author of the phenomenal book, New Happy) which stopped me in my tracks:
“Moral entitlement is the belief that, because you have suffered, you have the right to do whatever is necessary to protect yourself—even if it causes harm to others.”
When I read that, something about it hit close to home. Although there was nothing in me that set out to cause any sort of harm to others, the idea that suffering can cause a moral sense of entitlement ... was exactly what I had brushed against. The quiet deal my psyche had made with life: Because I’ve suffered, I’m owed.
The victimhood story isn’t only mine—it runs through my maternal line.
Women who suffered.
Women who needed to find a way to feel justified in their pain ... and maybe, as an extension, learned to hope for something back. Not because they were needy or greedy, but because they were that hurt.
The problem is this:
When we fuse with our identity in victimhood, we confuse that suffering with our sense of worth. We insidiously begin to believe: Because I hurt, I matter.
But pain was never the measure of our worthiness.
Our worth was never on trial.
We, every single one of us, were always already enough.
Our suffering doesn’t need to be exalted—it just needs to be seen. Held. Healed.
The shift came for me at that lunch table.
When I noticed the idea—I wish you'd recognize me and give me something in return—but didn’t choose it.
In an instant, as if to fill the vacuum that my non-choosing had created, something new emerged in me:
The knowing that it is my honor to give.
That it's my gift to sit with someone’s heart and be trusted that way.
The fact that I’m not depleted when I give. I’m resourced.
And then I realized—
I’m not owed. I’m overflowing.
Victimhood says: I’ve suffered, so I deserve.
Entitlement says: I gave, so you owe me.
Freedom says: I’m full, I give.
Entitlement and victimhood are uncomfortable to look at.
But when we can sit in the awareness of these "senses" as they arise—and not speak or live from them—we align with the truth:
We are already free.
And from that freedom, we overflow.
Prefer to listen? Listen to the podcast version here.