Writing therapy may now commence.
Guilt has always puzzled me.
I mean, I understand it, in context of my conscience keeping check on my morals. Lying, cheating, stealing, or maliciously hurting another human being, would all be appropriate triggers for guilt.
So why then, do some of us feel guilty for being happy? What the hell is that all about? Am I so cynical, that I believe that my happiness will always come at the expense of another? Or have I simply bought into the statement I am often telling my children, that “someone always, always has it worse than you do…”?
Today I’m a little sad and frustrated. I’m also feeling guilty. Guilty that I’m not able to do everything my kids want or need me to do. Guilty that I’m tucked into bed on a snowy Saturday morning, listening to music and being cozy, when I should be cleaning house. Or baking Christmas cookies. Or any one of the other hundreds of productive things that are always hanging over me. Most days I’m content to know that as a single mother, my kids have a place to live, plenty of video games, and they shower when they should. Yes, sometimes they eat cold cereal for dinner, but they don’t ever have to go to bed hungry.
But today I feel small and inadequate.
I try to be mindful and present in my relationship with Special Man, but I can’t help but feel sometimes, like my happiness is at the expense of another. If he’s with me, he’s NOT with her. Am I taking that away from her? I want to be happy wearing the necklace he gave me for my birthday, but then I am self-conscious that it will make her feel bad. I feel guilty for my happiness.
And I hate that.