Becoming the Villain in Someone’s Story — and How We Reframe Others, Too

This week, the word “villain” has come up around me personally and professionally. It started over drinks with a friend who told me, mid-heart-to-heart, “we’re all going to be the villain in someone’s story. We can’t escape life without that.”

For my people-pleasing heart, that’s a hard reality to face. But there’s so much truth to it. We aren’t perfect beings, and when we take steps in the direction of living authentically, other things often fall by the wayside. That can be a relationship of any kind, a responsibility we no longer have the bandwidth for, or forms of communication and consistency that are difficult and unhealthy to uphold.

From a therapeutic lens, this is the sacred work of differentiation — the process of stepping into who you truly are, even when it disrupts old patterns. It's the moment you say, "I matter too," and not everyone claps for that declaration.

When we shed things, we can appear villainous to those who are not growing in the same direction.

How many times have you left a relationship that was no longer beneficial for you, only to be met with disdain? Or maybe, you’ve set a boundary that, to the other party, violates the relationship’s purpose?

Maybe you just harbor deep emotions, regrets, traumas, or thoughts that contribute to how you see the world.

Therapy teaches us that the stories we carry shape the roles we’re cast in, sometimes without our consent or self-definition. And when your healing threatens the stability of someone else’s narrative, it’s easier for them to label you the villain than to confront their own discomfort. But their story doesn't define your worth.

We have to hold ourselves accountable, too. If we’re all the villain in someone’s story, we’re probably also the narrator of a few tales where someone else plays that role. Ask yourself: have you ever cast someone as the villain not because they harmed you, but because they changed in a way you didn’t like? 

Maybe they set a boundary that disrupted your comfort. Maybe they became less available, less accommodating, less easy to rely on, and instead of honoring their evolution, you felt abandoned or rejected. That sting can trick us into assigning blame, building stories around betrayal, when in truth, they were simply choosing themselves in a way we hadn’t yet learned to.

It’s a harsh truth. Someone else’s boundary isn't always an attack, just as ours isn’t. Sometimes, what we experience as loss or rejection is just the natural fallout of another person stepping into their own alignment. And when that happens, we can either cling to resentment, or we can soften into understanding. There’s a middle ground, too. We can loosen our grip and move forward in our own life, without relying on total forgiveness, or a stronghold grudge, to define how we view someone else. 

Even the best of us has the potential to be labeled as a villain. In the words of my friend, “if you’re going to be a villain, be the best one you can be.” That’s a reminder that no amount of attention to perfection, to detail, or other people’s well-being can keep us at a 100% approval rating. Be the best villain you can be by setting boundaries, walking away when you sense something unhealthy, and holding yourself to high standards and levels of self-respect.

Sometimes being the “villain” means you were the one brave enough to say, “This isn’t working for me anymore.” It’s courageous to protect your peace when it’s misunderstood. 

There are things that this declaration is not. Getting comfortable with being the villain isn’t an excuse to walk through life with disrespect, malice, or a lack of care for others. A good villain leaves things in their wake when they know they can no longer uphold the routines that such a thing requires.

A true villain operates with selfish intention, an air of meaninglessness, and no care for who they harm. This isn’t the kind of villain we’re talking about.

This is not a free pass to carelessly cause harm. It’s a go-ahead to make informed decisions that benefit your health and wellness, even if that means someone else may not view you quite the same.

You are not bad for choosing yourself. You are not broken for needing rest, space, or peace. If self-care is misunderstood as betrayal, let it be misunderstood. Let your growth echo louder than someone else’s discomfort with your boundaries. Let your healing matter — even if it casts you as the villain in a story you were never meant to stay in.