As well as being a full time worry wart I also manage to carry around a massive amount of guilt with me. At any given time there are numerous things gnawing at my conscience.
I worry I’m not a good enough wife to a really awesome hubby. He tells me I am a wonderful wife which makes me feel worse because I’m certain I’m not. Guilt is such a vicious circle.
I feel bad for not spending much time with family but in my defence my parents treat me like rubbish and make it tricky at the best of times.
I agonize for ages over saying no at work. I’ve been there for nearly nine years and still choke on the word.
Declining dinner invitations with friends. I feel terrible, even though I know it doesn’t suit hubby or I on a certain day, I’ll go through the motions of trying to re-shuffle things to put others first. Then I complain about feeling bullied into saying yes which leads to resentment.
I lug around the guilt all the time and it sucks. It drains me of energy and doesn’t serve to do anything other than make me feel negative.
At 32 I know I cannot blame my parents forever for being like they are. I’ll have to eventually say “crap happens, they were bloody awful to me, I’m moving on”. I feel like alot my guilt stems from growing up with a mother who made me feel guilty for EVERYTHING.
My mother didn’t work. So instead of bringing in an income, she left it all to my dad while she ‘lovingly’ cared for us at home. I knew the cost of everything because she would tell me this over and over. I was made to feel guilty for not finishing my food – I was told repeatedly my waste was financially damaging (dishing up smaller portions didn’t seem to be an option for my mother who is a feeder of note). I never had name brand clothing growing up and my mother would make me feel guilty for getting just about anything while rubbing in my face how she never got new clothes. Like it was my fault she chose to give up work and look after my sister and I. I’m not pretending motherhood is easy but my mother made it look like the hardest form of work imaginable.
When I started working, I worked far from public transport and my mother drove and fetched me. I gave money to cover the petrol and she would rub in my face that it barely covered anything. She told me loads of times that when she started working she gave my gran 100% of her salary. When I got a job close to a train station I took the train and increased my board and only my Dad ever acknowledged it.
If I wrote down everything that my mother guilted me into, I’d be here for years. It sounds barmy now – decades later. But the comments, insults, jibes and accusations have travelled with me for years. I don’t know how to unpack it. It isn’t like a suitcase that I can open up after a holiday and sort the contents. I don’t know where to put ‘never feeling good enough’ – there isn’t a drawer or cupboard it will fit into.
I know my grandmother didn’t treat my mother the way she should have. I just don’t see why I have to pay the price by being made to feel guilty for everything.