The origins of guilt

I had to call to cancel an appointment today. Cue the anxiety. 

Making phone calls is anxiety provoking enough, but on this call I had to explain myself. I had to tell the person on the other end: I won’t be attending this appointment because my kids are both sick. I know that sounds simple enough, but I also know that if you’re reading this, you’re highly sensitive like I am. And when you’re highly sensitive, these simple things can often feel far from simple. As I picked up the phone, can you guess which feeling dominated my body and mind? 

Guilt. Guilt! For calling to cancel an appointment that my kids would otherwise infest with germs. I felt like a naughty kid who was about to get in trouble. I really didn’t want to make the call. But apparently I’m the responsible adult in this story, so I picked up the phone and dialled. A lovely woman picked up and responded kindly when I told her about our predicament. Still, there was a thought in my head that maybe I should bring the phone closer to the kid that was coughing. If he coughed while we were on the phone, she’d get it; she’d know I was telling the truth. That thought stopped me in my tracks. Why on earth would she assume I was lying?! Would she really be sitting there thinking ‘Typical, just trying to get out of this appointment. Bet she’s lying!’ Um, no! They wouldn’t be thinking that, I’m certain of it. And yet … that was still what my mind and body assumed. Why?

I pondered this while I loaded the washing machine, turning socks round the right way and filling the soap dispenser. Then it hit me. How often as a child, teenager and adult have I been told that what I was feeling was wrong, simply because it was invisible?

All. The. Time. 

“I don’t feel well” was a common refrain of mine – headaches, tummy aches, anxiety, exhaustion; they felt like predictable companions from the time I was a young kid. The adults would peer at me and say “well you look fine to me.” I’d go look in the mirror to check for myself. Sure enough, they were often right. I did look fine. I looked … normal. Nothing to set off any alarm bells. But inside? I felt awful. I couldn’t focus, I felt utterly depleted. As I got older I had so many tests – blood tests, CT scans, the lot. But apparently I was still fine. So as a kid and an adult, I’d do one of two things: push through like nothing was wrong (because I must be fine) or do whatever I had to do to convince the adults (and myself) that I really wasn’t ok (this was typically harder). In any case, I learned something clearly: it’s not enough to say what you’re feeling and be believed. People are looking for evidence and your word is not evidence enough. 

And, look, I get it. As a parent I’ve probably said the exact same words to my own kids; wondering if they’re simply vying for a day in front of the TV or if they’re accurately reading their inner signals that say rest, pause, stop. Unfortunately, though, this consistent messaging took a toll. It lead me to becoming an adult woman who has a tendency to doubt herself and to push, then pay the price. 

I know I’m not alone in this. The highly sensitive people I work with are evidence of that. But you know what I’m totally not here for anymore? Letting that voice run the show. Letting the internalised messaging have its way so that I consistently and constantly doubt myself and push past my own inner guidance. I now know something I didn’t know as a kid. I’m a highly sensitive and neurodivergent woman. These things don’t have a look, but they do have a feeling. 

Guilt is such a common experience for the highly sensitive person. And, often, it’s a signal of something that’s worth paying attention to. These days, my strategy for navigating guilt is to talk to myself with kindness, compassion and patience. I talk to myself in the ways I would have found safe, comforting and supportive as a kid. I talk to myself like I love the person that I am (because I do). I talk to myself like I’m believed; as though I’m a trustworthy reporter of my experiences. It makes a big difference. 

I don’t like picking up the phone. I don’t like cancelling things. I don’t like feeling guilty. But more than anything, I refuse to betray myself anymore. And for that, I am grateful. 

– Erica.