Steven LaChance Blog

Life isn’t supposed to be a series of “gotcha” moments. You know the kind—those little traps people set in conversations, waiting for someone to slip up just so they can say, “Aha! I caught you.” In healthy relationships, that kind of behavior doesn’t belong. But in dysfunctional families, it can become the norm.

I lived with this sort of mentality between me and my brothers. Living within my family felt like constantly trying to navigate a minefield. Every conversation had the potential to blow up. You had to watch your words, your tone, even your expressions, because at any moment, someone might twist what you said into ammunition. We weren’t communicating to understand each other—we were listening for mistakes, ready to pounce.

When things are constantly blowing up, there’s no room for rebuilding—or healing, for that matter. And it was even harder for me in some ways because I was so completely different from the others. That difference made me a perfect target. They used their attacks to prop themselves up, to distract from the chaos and disaster of the lives they were living. Lives they took turns setting up like loaded traps—always ready for the next bomb to drop.

It created a cycle of defensiveness and distrust. Instead of building closeness, we built walls. Instead of growing together, we guarded ourselves. That “gotcha” mentality didn’t just affect how we talked—it shaped how we saw each other. It made us competitors instead of companions.

It took a lifetime for me to understand just how deeply that environment had shaped me. And in the end, I had to back away from the proverbial battlefield to save my own sanity. Walking away wasn’t easy—it felt like giving up on something that was supposed to matter. But sometimes, stepping back is the only way to stop the bleeding and begin to heal.

Since stepping away, I’ve learned that healing doesn’t always look like reconciliation. Sometimes, it means creating space to find your own voice—one that was drowned out by conflict for far too long. It means learning to feel safe in your own mind and body again. It means building relationships that don’t revolve around tension, but around trust.

I still carry the scars, but I also carry the clarity. Life isn’t about keeping score. It’s about choosing peace when chaos is familiar, and choosing wholeness when brokenness has been the norm. For me, healing started the moment I walked away—not to run, but to finally breathe.