Threads, and Hanging on

There is a lot to feel guilty about. There is a lot that we are not doing. There is a lot falling to the wayside. There is a lot slipping through the cracks.

Guilt itself is slippery. So much a part of us, that we forget it’s optional.

Do you know guilt like I do? So intimately it feels like a second skin, so easy to slip into?

If you know guilt like I do, you know its words are liquid and almost formless, so easily absorbed,

Guilt says I should be doing this, but I am doing that.

Guilt says I should spend every waking moment with my children or at work.

Guilt steals joy from us and replaces it with a compulsive numbing; it steals a daily walk and replaces it with scrolling social media; it steals a dinner with friends and replaces it with frantic last-minute projects.

I’ve been thinking a lot about guilt. I’ve been sensing its borders, and noticing how it is separate from me. I can ascertain its edges, rough and soft at the same time.

I’ve been asking myself— what is the enemy of guilt?