You've got something on your shoulder

There’s the classic universal caregiver guilt. Guilt when I sit down. Guilt when I breathe too deeply and "relax." Guilt when I forget something small because my brain is juggling twelve appointments and a mental tally of what’s clean and/or edible.

And when I do "steal" time to myself - or hell lean on my husband who is also their parent - I spend the entire time feeling guilty for not using those "me time" minutes to do something “productive.” Like meal prep. Or laundry. Or therapy. Or planning for their futures.

Caregiver guilt doesn’t stop at just one aspect of caregiving. NOPE. It branches out like a toxic little tree, growing guilt-laced fruit for every decision I’ve ever made and those others try to make for me. It sits on my shoulder judging every minute.

Homeschool? Guilt.

Public school? Guilt.

Private school? Guilt plus a monthly tuition that makes me physically ill.

Let them use screens so I can cook dinner? Guilt.

Forget the screens and cook dinner while they scream at me because they hate what I made? Guilt again.

Working Mom? Guilt for not being present.

Staying home? Guilt for not contributing financially or adequately socializing my kids.

Take a break and scroll my phone to escape? Guilt and presumed addiction.

Post photos? Guilt and not safe.

Don't post? "Extended family misses out."

Leaning on another caregiver or going out with a friend? Guilt for "abandoning" my children.

Raise my voice because I’ve been pushed past my limit for the sixth time? Immediate, soul-crushing guilt.

Gentle parenting? Guilt for letting my kids "walk all over me."

Parenting guilt. Marriage guilt. Friendship guilt. Even self-care guilt, because apparently taking care of myself is "selfish" now.

And then there’s the guilt spiral: feeling guilty about feeling guilty. A fun little brain loop where I shame myself for not being more emotionally resilient. Because I’m supposed to handle all this with a peaceful smile and a "#blessed" attitude while I (publicly) lose my mind.

Meanwhile, people love to remind me how “strong” I am. And remind me "I have my hands full." Which is nice, I guess. But strength doesn’t make the guilt go away. (And yes thank you -my hands ARE full and I need eight more.)

So here’s the truth: I am tired. I am trying. And I am constantly negotiating with an imaginary version of myself who somehow does all of this better, faster, more lovingly, and with less caffeine and less stuff. (She's an annoying little minimalist and she drives me crazy.)

But I also know this: Guilt is a liar. A loud, relentless, judgmental liar who doesn’t know the full story. It doesn’t see the thousand micro-decisions I make each day out of love and fear and a little bit of false intuition. It doesn’t feel the weight I carry. It just critiques relentlessly.

So I’ve started talking back to it. I am not ruining my kid because they watched an hour of educational cartoons while I showered and cried and steam mopped the bathroom.

I’m not a bad mom because I raised my voice - I’m an overstimulated human being who reached her limit, and then apologized and took accountability afterward. I’m not failing because I chose mac'N'cheese for dinner again. That was a strategic morale move and I stand by it.

Guilt might still ride along, but it doesn’t get to grab the wheel.

Because I am doing enough. You are doing enough. And the next time guilt starts whispering from your shoulder, remember: unless it’s showing up with snacks, clean clothes, cash, or a childcare voucher, it can kindly shut the hell up.

xoxo

Madi