A few days ago I published a post here on this subreddit. My post mainly was just defending Georgia’s actions and saying that everyone else around her needed to apologize. After receiving comments that were disagreeing with me, I deleted the post and reflected (I also was super embarrassed—that was the main reason actually). But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my first take was incomplete. I was watching the show almost entirely from Georgia’s perspective, wanting to believe that everything she did was justified by her trauma and survival instincts. And while I still feel for her deeply and don’t think she’s evil, I now understand that looking at the story only through her eyes kept me from fully appreciating the impact her choices had on others around her.

What Georgia did to Paul, especially the whole baby manipulation, wasn’t just wrong—it was deeply hurtful and controlling. At first, I disliked Paul for not being there when Georgia needed him during the trial and for his coldness afterward. But after stepping back and seeing his side, I understand that he was also dealing with shock and betrayal. He wasn’t just Georgia’s fiancé—he was a man with a reputation to protect, a role in the community, and suddenly he realized that the woman he loved had been keeping dark secrets, including murder. His reaction might have felt harsh, but it was also human. He wanted to believe that love could fix everything, but the truth was too much for him. I still find his behavior frustrating, but I no longer see him as the villain.

Then there’s Zion. Honestly, I was really mad at him for shutting Georgia out and refusing to listen to her side of the story. But the more I think about it, the more I realize his anger was valid. Zion wanted to be there for Georgia and for his kids. He wanted to be a family. Yet Georgia, conditioned by years of trauma and the survival mindset, pushed him away repeatedly. She believed she had to do everything herself, couldn’t trust anyone, and that asking for help meant losing control. That broke my heart because I think if Georgia had stayed and allowed Zion’s parents to step in and help take care of her and Ginny, things might have turned out very differently. Having a stable support system early on could have given her the chance to get an education, maybe finish school or even go to college. Instead, she ran. She ran from help, from trust, and ultimately put her children in unstable and dangerous situations. It wasn’t because she was selfish—it was because she was terrified and broken.

Another piece of the puzzle I can’t ignore is Georgia’s past with the biker gang. That experience shaped so much of who she is and how she views the world. Being taken in by that group when she was so young meant she learned early on to rely only on herself and to expect betrayal. That upbringing didn’t teach her how to build healthy relationships or lean on others. Instead, it built walls—walls that have kept her isolated and defensive for years. If Georgia had had a different childhood, if she hadn’t been dragged into that dangerous lifestyle, maybe she could have learned to trust and build a life with people instead of constantly protecting herself from them.

That brings me back to one of the hardest things I’ve wrestled with: Georgia’s decision to have children in the first place. I don’t say this lightly, and I say it with compassion, but I can’t help feeling frustrated. I hate when people have kids without the means or stability to care for them properly. I understand that abortion carries stigma and is a deeply personal choice, but Georgia had options—options she didn’t take, for reasons that might make sense given her past, but still. Bringing children into a world where survival mode is the default, where trauma is a constant undercurrent—that choice carries consequences. It doesn’t make her a monster, but it does make her responsible for the risks she took with her kids’ well-being.

Ultimately, I’m left holding two conflicting truths about Georgia. She is someone deeply hurt—scarred by abuse, abandonment, and betrayal. But she is also someone who has hurt others, sometimes profoundly. Watching the show has helped me understand that she’s not just a villain or a victim—she’s a complex, messy human being who’s trying to survive the best way she knows how. I still relate to her in so many ways, especially the tendency to blame others for my actions and believing that love can fix everything. But I’m learning that real healing requires both love and accountability. Georgia is both the product of her past and the architect of her present—and holding both of those truths makes her story powerful and heartbreaking.

One thing I’ve really struggled with throughout all this is the idea that hurt people can have their actions excused simply because they’re hurt. It’s true that trauma shapes behavior and makes life complicated, but it doesn’t give anyone a free pass to hurt others. Hurt people can also be horrible people. And holding that truth alongside compassion is hard. 

With that said it means holding space for both accountability and understanding, and that’s what makes Georgia’s story—and really any story about trauma and survival—so difficult but so important to talk about.


My opinion on Georgia.