I feel guilty for not writing any blog posts for ages. There are reasons, mostly that in the last year and a half, much of my emotional energy was tied up in my son-in-law’s health and his death, and trying with all my might to be there in the ways that he needed, and in the ways my daughter and grandkids needed. And guilty for being there too much. And not enough. For not being there when he died. For not getting to my daughter’s side within 24 hours…
Maybe the death of someone close in your family always causes guilt. I guess it has for me, every single time. Mom, Dad, grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts, son-in-law (And at my age, there have been plenty of deaths within my family, let me tell you, and I probably experienced guilt every single time). I think I never do enough. I’m never there enough.
So back to guilt for not blogging. Writing takes huge emotional energy, and I gave myself the grace not to write while we were going through the last year and a half, trying to balance grief with moving forward. But still. I feel guilty about neglecting my writing.
I experience guilt about way too many things. Maybe it’s my deeply ingrained Lutheran upbringing that can’t escape through my skin and never will. Maybe I screw up so many things that I deserve to feel guilty, but I really don’t think that’s the case. I simply carry a low-grade guilt complex all the time: I either screwed something up or I’m about to and live apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Ya know what? that’s all bullshit! I know that it’s bullshit, but knowing in my head and living it are two different things. I’m trying to leave it behind. In many ways, I’ve been liberated from crippling guilt. People who have met me in the last 30-40 years are amazed that I used to be a pastor’s wife. Now there was a guilt-ridden existence. So I have left that behind. I’m living in a different way that I did when guilt swallowed me whole. But still. It simmers underneath the surface. Guilt and feelings of inadequacy. Imposter syndrome goes hand-in-hand with guilt. As in “I don’t deserve this, and it will probably never happen again ’cause it was just a fluke. They’ll all figure out that I really don’t know what I’m doing…”
Escaping guilt: I love to ride my bike. I used to run (long story; I wrote it here before, so no going there right now). But SWEATING. It’s like being out there, flying along in the wind on a road or trail, with sweat oozing out my pores–maybe that’s the old guilt escaping. If there’s a way to rid oneself of guilt and stress, hard physical exercise that’s fun is it. And maybe, my addiction to cycling might have something to do with being free of those old, tired, unproductive feelings. Side note: probably 20 years ago, Nicole Helget once asked me what I used on my face. I guess at age almost 50, I wasn’t as worn-out looking as I might have been. My answer: “Sweat.”
So cycling: There’s almost no activity that I enjoy as much. Okay, maybe petting dogs and horses are close or at least close seconds. Okay: guilt! Why didn’t I say this first? This: I love hanging out with my grandkids and my kids most of all. That beats anything and everything, even riding my bike. So why didn’t I say that first? I give up any number of days on my bike to get to be with grandkids and my kids. So I backed into that paragraph efficiently. Imposter-like.
But the truth is that as far as activity goes, cycling is my favorite. True confession, if I only have time in the day for one activity, and I have to choose between riding and writing, guess which one goes by the wayside? Yup, writing. Maybe if that weren’t true, I would have published twice as many books in the last twenty year. I’ll never know, and I’ll not stop riding to find out. But does it make me feel a bit guilty? Maybe, when I think of it that way.
This entire little diatribe is navel-gazing. I hate it when writers navel-gaze about what they’re feeling and thinking if I really don’t care to hear about it. And here I am, ruminating about my interior life and nobody, NOBODY wants to hear about it! So now I feel guilty that I wasted good writing time putting this drivel into my blog. Dear god. Dear God. (Long-left-over guilt for not capitalizing God). So NOW, so I waste no more of your time if you happen to read this far, I’m done!
And now, I’m opening the file for the novel I’m working on. I do have lots more to say in upcoming days. I think I needed to unburden my guilt before I dig into other blog posts. Ha.
Addendum: This stained-glass window! Can you imagine being told as a young unmarried virgin that you’re gonna have a baby, like it or not, getting impregnated by the Holy Spirit (Note the dove descending to her head; that’s how it happens, I guess). Yeah, she was overshadowed and “protected,” but you think her mom and dad were ecstatic at first!!?? She had to feel some guilt, some questioning if she was crazy, right?
And on another note, I googled images of guilt, and everything I found made me feel pretty darn healthy after all.
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