From the vortex of grief: Breaking the shackles of guilt

Guilt has been a big part of my life for the past 1.5 years. Talking about it often brought up more guilt, and therefore I used to avoid it entirely. But eventually, living with it became harder, and I had to confront it and process it. Writing about it is one of the first things I wanted to do, and here I am.

The guilt started from the very first moment of my father's stroke. I knew he was depressed. I should have done something. I should have definitely visited more often. Or at least called more often. He must have really missed me after I got married. I was filled with these thoughts, and my guilt was so extreme that I felt partly responsible for his stroke. In one of the most empathetic emails I have ever received, a dear friend told me the guilt was not mine to bear. Although I heard and remembered her words, I could not find relief.

A few days later, as the financial crisis started to hit, I felt guilty about more things: I shouldn't have quit that job. My parents would have at least had insurance, and the bills would have been easier to manage. The dark umbrella continued to expand. I should be spending more time at the hospital. Oh, but I should be spending more time working. I am so torn between my parents and my work that I am being a terrible wife. 

I cried at every mealtime because I felt guilty about eating while my Dad was unable to eat. I felt guilty about staying at home while my Mom slept in the hospital for months on end. I felt guilty about sleeping because my Mom survived on 3 hours of sleep every day and my Dad could barely sleep because of the pain. I felt guilty about going to any social events. I felt guilty about every single thing in life. The moment I felt happy, guilt would rear its ugly head.

One day, my Mom asked me to take care of my Dad because my grandfather was admitted in the hospital and she wanted to be there for him. I refused because my Dad's cries of pain seared through my soul, and being there for a day would be extremely difficult for me. I offered to stay at the hospital instead and take care of my grandfather. She tried to coax me But it's your Dad, and it's just for a day. Can't you do it? I felt really guilty, but I knew deep down that saying yes would put me in a situation I couldn't handle.

But after this episode, I felt guilty for days on end. What kind of a daughter was I if I couldn't take care of my Dad for a day? He had always been there for me during my bad times, and look at how I was treating him. I was tormented by these thoughts, and I just couldn't get them out of my head. I brought up this episode in my therapy session, and my therapist talked me through my guilt. She helped me introspect on my decision not to care for my Dad, and made me look at it from different perspectives. I realized that there were multiple valid decisions in this case, and it varied from person to person. That day, for the first time, I looked at myself kindly, and it felt so different. 

I realized that a lot of my guilt was because of societal and cultural expectations. It was not really about what I thought I should be doing, but what others expected me to do. Gradually, I internalised this voice so much that I didn't even realise it wasn't my own. After I was able to see this, I started to feel more comfortable with my decisions. I even got to the point where I could talk about them honestly. I don't stay with my parents because I can't be productive in that environment. I don't visit them often because each visit takes a huge mental toll on me. I can't listen to my Dad's screams for more than an hour without losing my sanity. 

There were many people who judged me for these choices, and they continue to do so. But the voices in my own head have quietened down a bit, and that feels like a victory.