Guilt is a Hole in my Pocket

“Either a Nun or a nurse.” That was my response to my first grade teacher’s casual inquiry as I daydreamed about my grown-up aspirations. Although her puzzled expression was undeniable, I knew my 6-year-old response required no validation; in either role, I knew I would be able to ‘cure’ my mother’s mental illness. I knew this because my wildest dreams told me I could.

My egocentric thinking as a little girl with an infinite imagination created a perfect breeding ground for Guilt’s sneaky presence. Even as a small child, Guilt flirted with my unrealistic expectations in my ability to ‘make things better.’ Guilt knew I would most certainly fail myself, and It couldn’t wait to show me just how much. As Guilt patiently lurked and waited in the shadows to swallow me unexpectedly and with force, at the same time, it seeped into my awareness, slowly and steadily, knowing it would eventually win the battle against my imagined ‘healing touch.’ Guilt’s pace and power is brilliant that way.

Time and time again I felt like a failure. It didn’t matter how good my grades were, how well I played basketball, or how well-liked I was. It didn’t matter how many times I played the perfect piano, or how many times I was ‘the good girl who never got in trouble.’ Nothing I did ‘cured’ my Mom. By the time I was a young adult, in my mind and heart, I felt like a complete disappointment. After my Mother’s tragic suicide, I found myself in the welcoming arms of Guilt, the sly byproduct of a lifetime of childhood ‘wants’ and ‘dreams’, paralyzed by Guilt’s entanglement with an incomprehensible and agonizing Grief.

As I walk along life’s journey, I’ve realized that with every step, with each movement, I have the opportunity to pick up a piece of my fragmented and tormented self. In the many years of trying to heal the pain of growing up in a home with a mentally ill parent, I look back to see that much of my efforts were derailed by Guilt’s cunning grasp. Guilt is a hole in my pocket that has allowed many of my carefully-found fragments to be redropped during my journey towards healing and wholeness. Guilt’s irrational power is like a persistent itch; it can’t be satisfied by a simple effort. You see, I understood logically that my Mother’s death was not my fault; however, the translation of this fact got lost somewhere between my head and my heart. Each time I looked in the mirror, I could see Guilt’s pointed finger, It’s constant reminder of my perceived weaknesses and blatant failures.

It has taken a long, long time, but I now know that the thread that can eventually mend Guilt’s irrational gaping hole is Forgiveness. And, the real awakening came the moment I ultimately understood that the person I truly needed to Forgive was myself.

A watercolor painting, "Walking." Sometimes the path is painful, but if we look up as we walk, we might catch something beautiful along the way.