“Babe” from Red
At Swift Steps, we use lyrics and songs to reflect on our own experiences with addiction, mental health, and recovery—both mine and our members.
This week's song struck a chord with many of us, leading to some amazing discussions and insights. I want to assure you that I will never share what our members discuss because of our confidentiality promises.
However, I do gather my own thoughts before the meetings, and I’m excited to share them with you each week!
“I want to assure you that I will never share what our members discuss because of our confidentiality promises.“
This week’s song is "Babe" from RED.
If you wanna take a listen:
This song for me is about losing the trust of the one person I swore I’d protect, my younger self. The version of me who fought tooth and nail to escape chaos, only to watch me willingly run back into it. This is a letter to her, to the promises I made, and to the reality of what it means to break them.
Taylor Swift’s Babe is a song soaked in heartbreak, regret, and the sting of betrayal. But for me, it’s not about a partner’s infidelity. It’s about something even more devastating—self-betrayal. The song is like
I spent my entire life clawing my way out.
Out of my childhood. The chaos. The instability. The pain.
Out of addiction. Running straight into the fire, getting burned, then crawling out of that too.
Out of survival mode. Fighting tooth and nail to build something steady, something real.
And I did it.
I got everything we ever wanted. The man who would never cheat. The dream house. The safety. The kind of life that people like me don’t get—especially after having so many comebacks already.
And then?
I left.
And now, my inner child is looking at me, horrified.
She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get why safety wasn’t enough. She doesn’t get why I ran back into the fire. And she sure as hell doesn’t forgive me for it.
Intro
“What about your promises, promises?”
Her voice shakes.
Not just with anger—with heartbreak.
"You said we’d never live like that."
"You said we wouldn’t settle for men like that."
"You said when we finally had everything, we’d hold onto it."
And she’s right. I did say that.
And then, after all the fighting, after all the running, after all the climbing out of the holes we were thrown into—
I ran straight back into one.
But this time? I dug it myself.
Verse 1
“What a shame / Didn’t want to be the one that got away”
"You got out." That’s what she can’t understand.
"You had everything we ever wanted. You had the house. The man. The safety. The life that people like us don’t get. And you left?"
“Big mistake, you broke the sweetest promise that you never should have made”
This wasn’t just any mistake.
This was breaking the one promise that kept us alive.
That when we finally got out, we’d never go back.
That we wouldn’t chase validation over security.
That we wouldn’t trade everything for a feeling that never lasts.
That we wouldn’t become the kind of people who ruin their own happy endings.
But we did.
I did.
"You had everything we ever wanted. You had the house. The man. The safety. The life that people like us don’t get. And you left?"
And my younger self? She can’t forgive me for that.
Because I didn’t just blow up my marriage.
I did it for the exact kind of man we swore we’d never love.
A junkie. Fresh out of jail. Someone with nothing going for him.
And that?
That is the betrayal.
Not that I left Jack.
But that I left for someone who was just like the version of me I swore we’d never be again.
Pre-Chorus
“I’m here on the kitchen floor / You call, but I won’t hear it”
She’s sitting across from me, arms wrapped around her knees, staring.
Not crying. Not yelling.
Just shaking her head.
"Why?"
And the worst part?
I don’t know how to answer her.
Because what do you say to the part of you that only ever wanted to feel safe?
How do you explain that safety wasn’t enough?
That being loved isn’t the same as being safe?
That security isn’t the same as feeling loved?
That I was so starved for something real that I let the wrong person feed me—just to feel full for a moment?
That’s survival mode. That’s what happens when deprivation makes you settle for anything that resembles sustenance, even if it’s poisoned.
But I can’t say that to her.
Because to her, it’s not a good enough reason.
And honestly?
It’s not a good enough reason for me either.
Chorus
“You really blew this, babe / We ain’t getting through this one, babe”
Her voice is quiet now.
Not softer—just more final.
"I don’t think I can ever forgive you for this."
And that? That hurts worse than anything.
Because she’s all I ever wanted to protect.
And now, she’s looking at me like I’m the monster.
“I don’t think I can ever forgive you for this.”
“Since you admitted it, I keep picturing her lips on your neck”
It’s not her lips on his neck that haunts me.
It’s the way I can’t unsee myself doing this.
The way I can’t unsee the version of me that ran straight into the arms of the kind of man who destroyed us.
The way I can’t unsee the moment I let the cycle win.
And my younger self?
She can’t unsee it either.
“I hate that because of you, I can’t love you, babe”
And this?
This is the part that shatters me.
Because I know she loves me.
I know she wants to forgive me.
But she can’t.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Because how do you love the person who broke you?
“This is the last time I’ll ever call you, babe”
But here’s what I have to believe:
One day, she will understand.
One day, she’ll see that even though I did this in the worst way possible, I still found my way to the person we were always meant to be.
That even though I destroyed everything we thought we wanted, I still built something worth having.
That even though I betrayed her trust, I can still earn it back.
Because I won’t let this be the end of our story.
And maybe, just maybe, one day she’ll believe in me again.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that our younger selves don’t always understand the choices we make to survive. And sometimes, we don’t understand them either.
I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if my inner child will ever fully forgive me for the way I burned it all down.
But I do know this—I can’t stay frozen in regret.
I can’t spend my life trying to go back to a version of me that no longer exists.
What I can do is make sure that everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve built since, means something.
So, whether you’re carrying guilt for a past mistake, whether you’re struggling to reconcile who you were with who you are now—know this:
Healing isn’t about erasing the past.
It’s about choosing, every day, to be someone your past self and your future self can be proud of.
And maybe, just maybe, one day, she’ll believe in me again.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that self-forgiveness isn’t a single moment—it’s a choice we have to make over and over again. I don’t know if my younger self will ever fully forgive me for the way I burned it all down. But I do know that I can’t stay frozen in regret.
We don’t heal by erasing the past—we heal by learning from it. By choosing, every day, to be someone our past and future selves can be proud of.
So if you’re struggling with guilt, if you’re carrying the weight of your own choices, know this: You are not beyond redemption. You are not the sum of your worst mistakes. And you are still worthy of rebuilding something beautiful.
“So, whether you’re carrying guilt for a past mistake, whether you’re struggling to reconcile who you were with who you are now—know this: Healing isn’t about erasing the past.
It’s about choosing, every day, to be someone your past self and your future self can be proud of.”
Feeling connected to this reflection? Join us for our next Swift Steps meeting where we explore the emotional challenges of growth, love, and recovery. Our community is here to support you.
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