The Quiet Weight of Guilt

Guilt — a bad feeling about oneself after believing one has done something wrong.

There are countless ways to do something wrong: we can be short with someone, forgetful, or simply wake up in a bad mood. From the moment we open our eyes, we can already begin accumulating guilt. Anyone human, I’m sure, can agree. Many people can work through the resulting guilt with uncomplicated ease. For the highly sensitive/empathic group of people—me included—guilt can harbor and build, making us feel worse about ourselves as the day goes on. Oftentimes this happens even with the simplest situations. 

On one day last week, I felt my guilt harbor. There is something about the early morning––the liminal space between asleep and awake that is supposed to be sacred.  I was in this sacred space at 6:45 a.m. The guilt that ensued began when I was rudely awakened by Figaro, my cat, knocking over the cup of water on my nightstand. First, I glared at the clock as if the hour itself has betrayed me, before scolding my cat. Why did this happen? I wondered. I keep water by my bed every night, and he has never disturbed it before.

Still, I remember seeing his sly tuxedo paw tapping at the rim, the tip of his foot dipping into the surface tension and flicking droplets in excitement. Even though my eyes were slits and I was struggling to keep my dream alive, I knew he was going to do it. Figaro was thirsty—and perhaps a little curious. The cup, which is a rather large plastic Wicked cup I got at the movie theater, tumbled over, dousing the floor and electrical cords. It was frustrating, and not the way I like to wake up, having to run into the bathroom to grab a towel, but did I really have to scold him? Thankfully, I apologized after soaking up the mess, and I ran a reassuring hand over his silky black back.

My guilt doubled at my son’s doctor appointment. The doctor arrived late due to traffic, and irritation rose in me—my son could have been in school right now. This irritation, I’m sure, probably spoke volumes through my body language. In retrospect, I realized that the annoyance wasn’t about the delay at all. It was the accumulated stress of the last two weeks, which have been particularly challenging as a mother. 

Those weeks where you feel constantly on alert but too bone-tired to respond. 

This was just another small thing that felt bigger than it should have. However, at that moment, enlightenment had not yet come to me. But broiling emotions did, as I remembered my body language and annoyance while my son was having his appointment. What if he tells the doctor how annoyed I was? This fear intensified and had me squirming alone in my seat for forty-five minutes.

The deepest guilt arrived when I received a message that my sister was in the hospital, and I immediately tensed with confusion. My first instinct wasn’t compassion but disbelief. My heart burned when I noticed this. The road for my sister hasn’t been easy for her or for the family. Loving someone whose suffering is tough and tangled leaves you doubting your own responses long after you wish you’d stopped. Stabbing guilt and self-hatred rushed in before I could even catch my breath.

It is hard to live a single day without at least a little guilt. It is a loud emotion, but it slips in quietly through the door of your subconscious, shocking you with its unfiltered commentary on your behavior. I often wish that guilt didn’t exist, though to live without it, guilt would have to become something tangible only to dissolve like particles in air. You would have to move like a monk through the chaotic space of family and daily duties. Is guiltlessness attainable for an everyday person in today’s world? Or is it wrong to feel guilt at all?

Perhaps if we begin to treat guilt as a signal—a gentle summons from our moral compass—it becomes a word with the promise of healing. When we allow ourselves to feel it, we might remember that guilt arises not only because we have erred, but because we’re being shown a place to grow.

For example: I now know to take my cat’s thirst seriously. If he intends to get water, he will find a way, and I shall not make this mistake again. Hopefully, I will also learn not to scold. That, too, is a place to grow.

On the drive back from the doctor, I realized I was caught in the same traffic the doctor was likely navigating earlier. Rain fell—the kind that makes everyone drive worse despite living in a place where rain is practically a season unto itself. This small karmic loop reminded me to be considerate of others’ journeys. Nobody I know ever plans to be in traffic. And sometimes it tends to pop up from nowhere, sudden and unavoidable. 

Lastly, when I finally processed the message about my sister, I felt grief. The guilt had been covering it, reshaping it into something easier to hold. I didn’t want to feel this grief; it was too much. But once uncovered, it must be dealt with. There is no other way. Like the children’s book Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen reminds us: 

“We can’t go over it.

We can’t go under it.

Oh, no!

WE’VE GOT TO GO THROUGH IT!”

Processing and moving through difficult emotions help us grow. And as we grow, we heal. Today, I’m trying to use my guilt to heal and change its definition.

Guilt — perhaps a small compass, showing where to grow next.