Guilt
We are members of a very liberal religious denomination, the Unitarian Universalists. For us,
the ultimate dirty words are 'guilt' and 'obligation.' According to studies done by the Unitarian
Universalist Association, our denomination ranks among the top in terms of income levels of its
members and dead last in our contributions to the church. It has been suggested that we are so
avid in our donations to every other worthy and liberal cause that church pledging becomes only
one more line item in an ever-growing list of charitable enterprises. To this, I say, well, I can't
write what I say to this.
Guilt. What's wrong with a little of it? I'm not advocating guilt levels in the stratosphere, just let
the level be high enough so things get done. Often, I must make telephone calls to members of
my church to request assistance for a variety of evidently loathsome tasks. I have grown used to
hearing the sharp intake of breath and the wary, hedging tone of voice on the other end of the
line. The words I have come to dread are these: "You know Heather, I've really been doing a lot
of emotional work on this issue. I've been going to an Assertiveness Training group trying to get
over feeling really guilty about saying 'no' to things." At this point, I've been known to ask, "Do
you feel any residual guilt whatsoever, just enough to bring six or seven dozen pre-cut bagels to
church this Sunday?"
Please, I know all about guilt. I was born in 1955 when guilt was still part of a parent's arsenal
for keeping children in line. I was a neurotic, highly strung child and felt enormous responsibility
for things I never even did. Now that I am a mother of three children, I am constantly trying to
figure out ways to keep my kids on the straight and narrow without damaging their tender,
emerging psyches. For my two older daughters, a stern look and a sharp, "THAT'S ENOUGH,"
seems to work as if by magic. Unfortunately, for my six-year-old son Simon, a stern face, timid
time-outs, limp lectures, and urgent appeals to reason are simply not enough.
The following is not a pretty thing to admit, especially for a person of liberal sensibilities and one
proud to have a rational frame of mind. As if on automatic pilot one day, I heard myself saying
to my child, "Do you know, Simon, what happens to little boys who say things that aren't true?
Do you? Well, all the lies a person ever tells are written down, IN REALLY BIG LETTERS in a
BIG BOOK and if there are too many, he is thrown into a pit of fire that never burns out. He will
stay there for all eternity, writhing in agony, screaming for relief, and crying to be allowed to undo
all the wrongs he's done." Simon took this in for a second or two, then very calmly asked, "Mom,
is that really true?" What could I say? "Well, maybe not, but I certainly hope it gives you
something to think about, young man!" Weak, weak, weak!
A little bit of guilt, a pinch of obligation; maybe they're not such awful things. Without that
nagging sense of obligation I would never get out of bed in the morning. Think of all the thank
you notes, birthday, get-well, and sympathy cards we would never send if guilt evaporated like
the ozone layer. Obligatory guilt keeps us connected with one another. It keeps volunteer
organizations running, meals-on-wheels delivered, and makes us call our mothers. Finally,
never forget the sheer joy of complaining about all the things we've grudgingly committed
ourselves to doing. Martyr mileage is nothing to sneeze at and who knows, maybe our good
deeds are being noted in some book in a higher place.
Back to the Home Page