I’ve been thinking a lot about all this guilt that I’ve recently noticed. Why do I feel guilty about….everything? Where did this come from?

It’s a brand new concept so forgive me if I sound as if I’m babbling (I’ll feel guilty about that too, no doubt) but I’m going to give it a shot here anyway. It usually helps.

I was thinking that my anxiety level increases whenever I feel guilty and that I feel guilty about many things. When these things are held up to the cold light of reality there is no logical reason for my feelings of guilt. I’m going to use my year of unemployment as the example. I felt guilty the entire time I was off of work. I felt guilty for not bringing home enough money. I felt guilty for not being a productive member of society. I felt guilty whenever I did anything remotely enjoyable while hubby was at work. But here are the facts:

• I maintained full-time employment from the ages of 19-37
• My resume indicates a steady increase in responsibilities and promotions
• I was successful in my industry by anyone’s standards
• The job market was horrible, particularly for mortgage professionals and the state I live in had one of highest unemployment rates in the country
• During my year of unemployment I spent the vast majority of every day looking for work

When I look at these facts I realize that I had absolutely nothing at all to feel guilty about. Nothing. I had no history of extended periods of unemployment. I had no history of a poor work ethic. I had no control over the mortgage crisis or the company I worked for closing. I did everything within my power to find a job.

Still with me? If my “facts” sound flawed to you please let me know in the comments. If not…

So why did I feel guilty? Where did that guilt come from? It wasn’t hubby. He was extremely supportive. It was coming from me. But why? Why did I ignore the facts and my husband’s unwavering confidence that I was doing all that I could and would eventually find something?

The answers I have come up with so far from speaking with a couple of people are perfectionism and manipulation. Growing up I was expected to be perfect. Anything short of perfect was absolute failure. There was no middle ground. There was never pride in having tried my hardest. Results mattered. Perfect results.

There are many examples but the first one that comes to mind is when I received my very first report card in 1st grade. My mother demanded to know why I got a “B” in one class. I was shocked and pointed out that all the others were “A’s” and isn’t a “B” really good anyway? She did acknowledge that the “A’s” were good but that she expected me to pull that “B” up to an “A” by the next report card. I was crushed. I felt horrible. I felt as I had done something wrong but I didn’t understand what I had done. I felt as if I had tried my hardest and that was not recognized. I felt terrified that I might get a “B” on my next report card. I felt completely helpless and  powerless.

The reason that perfection was expected had nothing at all to do with me personally. My parents required perfection because I was a reflection of them. If I was less than perfect then they were too. With narcissists the idea that they could be less than perfect is not acceptable. Therefore, their mirror (me) must reflect their perfect image at all times.

In order to get me to comply they used manipulation and abuse. The admonishment about the “B” was a form of manipulation. The unknown consequences of failing to bring it up to an “A” were terrifying. It worked well.

I bring all this up to finally make the point that I’ve started to explore. It was not the guilt that caused my anxiety. It was the other way around. The anxiety I felt was the fear, the sheer terror, of feeling powerless. I could try my hardest and still get a “B”. I had no control over what would happen if I wasn’t perfect. Usually I was punished. Severely. The anticipation of the rage and abuse that would be unleashed on me whenever I failed to project the perfect image was too much for me to bear. So, I turned it into guilt. Shame really. It was much less stressful for me to feel bad about myself for being a disappointment than it was to think about how helpless I was against the inevitable consequences of my failure to meet unreasonable expectations.

As always when considering my childhood, the point is not to blame my current guilt and anxiety on my parents. The purpose is to figure out why I think the way I do so that I can change it. That six year old learned to avoid the fear of being powerless by turning it into guilt. It was a coping mechanism that worked. Guilt didn’t feel great but it felt a hell of a lot better than panic.

Back to my unemployment. Using this outdated coping mechanism I decided to feel guilty as opposed to feeling powerless. The truth was that I was in fact powerless to a large extent. After years of conditioning I equated powerlessness with extreme pain and abuse. Guilt was is my way of feeling as if I have some control or power in situations where I do not. Guilt allows me to alleviate the anxiety I feel when I feel helpless or weak. I don’t do helpless and weak. I do guilt.

I don’t know if this makes any sense at all to anyone but me. I don’t know that I’ve communicated it well. As I said it’s a new concept that I’m exploring but so far it rings true. The good news is that if I am onto something I may be able to eliminate much of the anxiety that I bring on myself. Time will tell.

Thanks for stopping by!

In my last post I mentioned an intense conversation that I was involved in last week during which I had some disturbing revelations.  It was a deep conversation.  I was being probed and challenged.  I was sort of free associating in order to keep up with the rapid-fire pace of the conversation.  It’s kind of a blur now.  I may remember more details as I continue to ponder that conversation.

In the meantime, I do remember one thing I said.  One sentence.  I don’t remember the questions leading up to what I said, including the exact question to which I was responding when I said, “Men are scary.”.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Men. Are. Scary.

I’ve never said that in my life.  I don’t recall ever even thinking it.  I believe this is exactly the sort of thing that Carl Jung was referring to when he said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”.

I don’t feel scared when I meet men or when I’m in the company of men.  In fact, more often than not at parties I am more likely to be debating religion or politics with the guys than discussing PTA goings-on or other mom-stuff with women.

Nonetheless, those words came straight from my brain and out of my mouth. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. I have a lot of male acquaintances through work and my kids’ activities, but no close male friends.  The last man whom I considered to be a close friend turned out to be….well, not who I thought he was.

Looking back, I’ve had very few close male friends. There was a “man” I was close to in my early twenties.  That turned into a romantic relationship. Hubby and I were not married and on one of our many breaks at the time and I dated this friend briefly. It turned out that he wasn’t who I thought he was either. The reason I bring him up is that, although we were on a break, hubby was not happy that I was dating him and asked me why. My response? “He’s nice to me.”.

That was all it took. Nice. He turned out to be not so nice but that’s not the point. The point is that my expectations of men (or expectations of how I deserved be treated) were so low that all it took was the appearance of “nice” and I was hooked, not romantically anymore of course, but still hooked into friendship. Until proven otherwise, and I mean with huge big neon signs, if a man appears to be nice then that’s pretty much all it takes for me to consider him a friend. Mostly I just keep them all at a comfortable distance. They are acquaintances, co-workers, neighbors, etc. but not close friends. Men rarely penetrate the protective wall I have unknowingly built.

Even with the most recent man who I considered to be a close friend, it took two years for me to truly open up and feel comfortable with him. I believe it’s because deep down I feel, like I said…Men. Are. Scary.

This revelation is so shocking to me because of the way I actually react when a man truly is behaving in an abusive or aggressive manner. I don’t run, hide, cry or cower. I fight back. If I even hear of a man behaving in an abusive or aggressive manner towards someone else, I secretly wish he would pull that crap on me or even in front of me so I can let him have it. That fight or flight response? I used to pick flight at first, avoiding conflict at all costs. Once I was forced into a confrontation and felt threatened, I was all fight. I still am.

Clearly this is a result of my father’s abuse and my subsequent daddy issues. I grew up with a big, loud, abusive, narcissistic, seemingly all-powerful father. It only makes sense that combined with the men who I’ve known who have not been so nice, that I would have this deep-seeded unconscious fear of the entire male gender. Sad. But true.

Hubby is different. Despite our many ups and downs, he truly is one of the good ones. I feel safe. We’ve both done and said things that caused each other pain and almost resulted in divorce. Having said that, I have to wonder now how much of that was a result of my underlying belief that men are scary and my instinct to fight.

More on this next time…

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