I Don’t Think Scrooge Was the Problem: A Trauma Reframe of A Christmas Carol

Note: Exploring what shaped someone, whether a villain, a protagonist, or a person from real life, isn’t about excusing harm. It’s about naming patterns. When we understand what shaped them, we start to understand what shaped us. That’s where compassion meets clarity, and healing begins. Not the kind that fixes everyone, but the kind that helps us recognize capacity, set boundaries, and choose differently.

Let’s get something out of the way.

I feel sorry for Scrooge.

I always have.

Even when I was a kid, something about the way people talked about him felt... off. Like they were skipping over something important.

He’s not abusive. He’s not cruel. He’s not exploitative. He’s just withdrawn and guarded.

And alone.

And... let’s be honest... deeply traumatized.

We meet Scrooge after years of self-protection and emotional calcification, but if you zoom out, his entire story makes sense through a trauma lens:

Abandoned at boarding school during holidays

Conditioned to believe that love = loss

Lost the one person he trusted (his sister)

Threw himself into work to stay safe

Became emotionally frugal the same way some trauma survivors become physically rigid: as protection.

What we call “miserly” was, for him, just safety-math. Keep your circle small. Don’t owe anyone anything. Don’t feel.

But then the ghosts show up.

And what do they do?

They don’t sit with him.

They don’t ask what happened.

They don’t co-regulate or offer repair.

They terrify him.

Drag him through the wreckage of his past,

Then shame him with a child’s death, then threaten him with hell.

All under the banner of “redemption.”

That’s not transformation. That’s emotional waterboarding.

It’s not growth. It’s coercion with a bow on top.

And when Scrooge finally breaks, not because he feels safe, but because he’s shattered.

We all cheer.

He’s generous now!

He’s cured!

He’s part of the system again!

But what if Scrooge wasn’t the villain?

What if the true injury was that no one ever created a world safe enough for him to soften?

What if the ghosts, like so many well-meaning interventions, were more invested in his performance of warmth than the reason for his frost?

Because I think a lot of us know what it’s like to be Scrooge.

To withhold not out of malice, but out of damage.

To be told we’re “too cold” without anyone asking why.

To finally thaw, but only when someone scares us into submission and calls it a breakthrough.

This isn’t a plea to make Scrooge a saint. It’s just a refusal to keep calling him a monster.

Sometimes the most generous thing a person can do is survive the winter alone. And sometimes, staying guarded is the most honest way to honor what you’ve lost.

When have you been called cold, harsh, or distant, when in reality you were just protecting yourself? What did that moment need instead of pressure to “come around”?

Thank you for reading. If this stirred something in you and you’d like to spend more time with this work, you can explore The Humble Pie 12 Steps and learn more about how I support people as a trauma recovery coach.