An Intro to Inescapable Guilt
- 5 hours ago
- 4 min read
When no one understands, do it anyway.
By Taylor Barbadora
As my “going away” party began to wind down, I started to say my goodbyes to my extended family members – it was the last time I’d see most of them before I moved across the country. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of bleach blonde hair dart down the first floor hallway away from the company. I know watching me say goodbye to my cousins, aunts and uncles wasn’t easy for my mom.
I chose to keep my attention on my extended family because I knew my mom was trying not to become emotional during the party, and I knew if I went to console her I’d probably start crying too.
After a few minutes, I noticed one of my aunts and my now ex-boyfriend had disappeared. I listened in closely to the muffled voices I heard down the hallway. My aunt and my ex were consoling my mother who was devastated I was about to move far away for the foreseeable future.
The familiar pit in my stomach formed, and all I could think about was how guilty I felt for making a decision that would cause my mother this much pain.
I didn’t have a job lined up. I barely knew anyone who lived in the state of California. And I was leaving her for that? For a dream with no direction?
“She probably thinks I hate her and is doubting herself as a mother,” I thought. “Am I a bad person for this?”
What I didn’t realize was that I was taking care of someone else’s emotions at the expense of my own, which was becoming the story of my life. That night, I needed someone to be there for me and all of the emotions I was feeling as I was about to make a drastic life change. Instead, I defaulted to an exhausting instinct.
Guilt was behind every step of planning to move out on my own, and the harsh reality was that it began with myself. Excluding my therapist, my parents were the first people I told that I wanted to move to San Diego. I was telling myself I was an ungrateful daughter before I ever brought it up.
Then, I felt guilty for wanting to plan out my move alone. I needed to do it on my own to feel as though the new life I was creating for myself was entirely mine, but I sensed this was hurting my parents.
“I am already leaving them, and now I don’t want them to help me?” I asked myself. I felt borderline evil.
This led to boundaries that I didn’t know I needed being crossed. I started accepting help with things that I didn’t need or want assistance with in order to satisfy others. Resentment brewed, as it usually does when one is people-pleasing, and I turned it inward.
It didn’t help that I had external reinforcements of my guilt.
Not long after I told my parents my plan to move to San Diego, I drove an hour and a half north to visit my grandmother for an afternoon. The two of us sat for lunch at a local golf club when she asked me what was new in my life.
“Well, I’m not sure if my dad told you or not but I think I’m going to move to San Diego,” I said shyly.
She scoffed in my face and asked, “Are you really doing that?”
I explained to her that I had planned to take a solo trip to San Diego a few months later to officially confirm my decision, but I really wanted to make it happen. Shortly after, we changed the subject but my mind never left that conversation. I knew her intent was not to make me feel guilty. Yet, that familiar feeling consumed me and I left the lunch doubting myself.
I didn’t understand that her reaction came from a lack of understanding of my desire. She lived in the same area by the New Jersey/Pennsylvania border her entire life. Hearing that her young-adult, female granddaughter wanted to move across the country, alone, was shocking and completely foreign to her. But, that didn’t mean that I was wrong for wanting my life to look different.
After this, I discovered that my grandmother wasn’t the only family member who didn’t understand what I wanted. Continual subtle and overt comments validated the doubts I had on this journey.
Both the external and internal guilt I was feeling significantly impacted my mental state as I prepared to move. Rather than focusing on my own feelings, I was consumed by trying to take care of others’ feelings about my move.
Though not many seemed to wonder how I was feeling. I felt isolated, and all I wanted was someone to ask me where my head was at.
Feeling misunderstood during this time period taught me a valuable lesson the hard way: never take things personally. People’s actions and reactions are always a reflection of them and their lived experiences. In my grandmother’s case, she values closeness and stability. As a single, adventurous 24-year-old, I value a life that challenges and excites me – something I wasn’t getting in my suburban hometown. Yet, neither life path is wrong.
Occasionally, I think back to the night of my going-away party. I went to sleep that night feeling guilty and frustrated. My attention had been consumed by my mother’s emotions when I was struggling to process my own. My brain was so overwhelmed that I didn’t have the energy to try to console her.
But by not chasing after my mom, I prioritized my emotions. I didn’t try to push my feelings down to process later. I didn’t abandon myself in order to take care of someone else. I was finally allowing myself to experience my own emotions instead of immediately taking responsibility for someone else’s.
Sometimes putting yourself first makes other people uncomfortable, but it’s not their life. It’s yours. At the end of the day, we always have ourselves by our side.
So when no one understands, do it anyway.
