“I feel kinda guilty about it…” I concluded as I finished scrubbing the last pot. Dishwashing is a lot more fun when I chat with my sister-in-law. Besides, I would rather wash dishes in her kitchen than in mine—in my own house, I always have something to do, and dishes are not a priority; in her house, dishes are a welcome distraction from my social awkwardness and an escape from inactivity.

Frankly, I do not even remember what I felt guilty about, but Axita’s words stick in my head: “Yes, you keep saying that. What is that all about? You are not even Catholic!” We both chuckle: I have been the member of this Puerto Rican family several years now, and I know exactly what she means. Then I ponder: I often do feel guilty. Guilt is such a familiar emotion that I cannot imagine describing myself without the acknowledgment of its weight and presence in my life and character.

Guilt

The literature is teeming with articles on the subject of guilt. Guilt has been observed, interrogated, documented, analyzed, compared, conceptualized and extensively studied–both quantitatively and qualitatively–in every context and direction, or so it seems. It is complex. It is rich. It is deleterious and yet, unavoidable (Borelli et al., 2017; Heimowitz, 2013; Tangney & Dearing, 2002), or, as Findler, Jacoby, and Gabis put it, “paralyzing and overwhelming” (2014, p. 47).

Paradoxically, guilt is bound to empathy through their social roots. According to Tangney and Fischer (1995), the more empathetic the individual, the more intensely she or he experiences guilt. Thus, guilt is not an entirely negative emotion as it plays a role in regulating pro-social behaviors.  Roberts, Strayer, and Denham suggest it is best presented as “adaptive-maladaptive continuum” (2014, p. 465) rather than a dichotomy with a clear boundary that separates the two polarities–the “destructive” and the “constructive.”

I typically know when I feel guilty, although the exact location of each situation on the “guilt” continuum, is not immediately clear.  Overall, I am cognizant of how guilt undermines my confidence and turns my mental self-portraits into undignified auto-caricatures. I also recognize how it gives power to some of my accomplishments, adventures, and positive self-appraisals, and therefore, helps redraw my caricatures into decent sketches. “Ego reus, ergo sum.”

Guilt vs. Shame

In its “adaptive” role, my sense of guilt is the magic of magnetism that keeps my moral compass in working condition and my flip-flops on the ground. Still, my “guilt trips” rarely look like a straight line because guilt is messy. In literature, the efforts to detangle the complexities of guilt appear to lead to an explanation of differences between  “guilt” and “shame.” For example, in APA’s Dictionary of Psychology, guilt is “a self-conscious emotion characterized by a painful appraisal of having done (or thought) something that is wrong and often by a readiness to take action designed to undo or mitigate this wrong. It is distinct from shame, in which there is the additional strong fear of one’s deeds being publicly exposed to judgment or ridicule” (2014, p. 476). It follows, then, that shame carries a heavier negative load than guilt through the added pressure of public judgment. However,  Tangney and Dearing (2002) argue that contrary to this well-accepted assumption, the distinction between shame and guilt does not occur in the public-private dimension, but in the “self vs. behavior” dimension. In other words, “Shame involves fairly global negative evaluations of the self (i.e., “Who I am”). Guilt involves a more articulated condemnation of a specific behavior (i.e., “What I did“) (2002,  p. 24).

Trading Shame for Guilt

As Liss et al. (2013) point out, mothers who report “feeling guilty” most likely experience shame, not guilt, although the literature’s presentation of boundaries around each concept continues to be muddy. I find the observation is true at least for me, the mother of three. I much prefer bringing up guilt, not shame, because when I say “I feel guilty,” I admit my vulnerability, and seek support or forgiveness from others. More often than not, I get rewarded. When I say “I am ashamed of myself,” I feel I invite the judgment of others because when people “shame” someone, they take a moral stand; when people try to make someone “feel guilty,” they are being less assertive, if not manipulative. Therefore, if Tangney and Dearing’s (2002) distinction between shame and guilt is accurate, and if mothers who feel like they do not measure up to their own or to an externally imposed model of what a good mother is (Liss et al, 2013), they may, in fact, be experiencing shame, but asking for support by saying they feel guilty. This hypothesis comes with implications for mothers of children with developmental disabilities (and by extension, for their children).

The Price of Guilt and Shame

In her study with intellectually disabled young adults, Grimmet mentions how the mother of one of the young men was “preoccupied by guilt she placed upon herself for his disability and struggled with the additional responsibilities that come with having a child with a disability” (2018, p. 84). The mother did her son’s homework, took care of every little detail of his life, and eventually, assumed permanent guardianship over him. The mother also felt guilty because care for her intellectually disabled son took away from her other children. However, Grimmet (2018) observed that at work, the young man received praise from his supervisor for excellent work ethic and positive attitude; therefore, she proposed that perhaps, the mother did her son a disservice by not letting him try to become more independent. I learned from this study because I relate to the participant’s mother. Guilt and shame (as conceptualized by Tangney and Dearing (2002)) turned the first few years of my motherhood into a perpetual trial.

Making Sense of My Reality

When Becky was finally diagnosed with autism at 9 years old, I began to construct a new reality: what autism means to me and how it will affect our future–mine, my husband’s, our boys, and Becky’s, of course? Reflection was a significant part of this process. I peered into my memories, especially those that centered on Becky’s past behaviors and stress that resulted from these behaviors, then made note of how autism explained what had occurred:  For instance, that time at the Zoo when she was three. Eddie, Becky, and I were standing with my friend and her two little ones on a wooden bridge stretched over the African warthog’s habitat. Becky was curious about the animals, like her brother and friends. She leaned against the railing of the bridge, and somehow, her pacifier fell overboard through the openings in the protective net. There it was, her beloved pastel green binky, suddenly made bright green the by the contrast of the pond’s muddy brown waters and the muddy shore. The moment I saw that binky go down, I whispered to my friend: “You might want to step back. It will get ugly.” I was right. Another moment later, Becky’s teeth were locked in the flesh of my forearm, without as much as one word of warning. She breathed heavily, and her eyes, glistening with tears, communicated anger, and pain.  I understood the significance of her loss and of her lesson–she was dependent on her binky to keep calm, and the physics of gravity forced her to witness the impermanence of reality. Yet, the intensity and the manner of her reaction were difficult to process.

Later, I made sense of this memory in the following way: Becky’s deficits in expressive language and reliance on sameness prevented her from appropriately communicating what had happened and how she felt. I also remembered feeling put on the spot because I had to figure out how what to do in this situation. With my friend next to me, I was afraid of her judgment, of looking like a permissive parent whose (obviously!) inadequate parenting practices gave my daughter an idea that she can act this way. I do not remember how I peeled Becky off my arm, nor what I said to her or to my friend after the fact, but I remember my shame: I was convinced I am a bad mother. Stories like this are too numerous to recall. I fought and argued with Becky since she was little and felt guilty after our confrontations.

After I learned she has autism, I tried my best to learn to back off, but my frustration did not go away. I struggled to find the balance between exercising my authority as a parent and letting Becky have her autonomy. I found it difficult to demand much from my two boys as well because of how I perceived the concept of “fair:” when Becky fought for her alone time, I granted her wishes because I thought her solitude would help prevent meltdowns, even if it meant she got out of doing chores and homework. Consequently, I felt guilty about making her brothers do chores, especially when my littlest one pointed out that Becky did not put away her things, why should he? I was trapped in a cage of my own making–guilt and shame, and I lived there for years.

Looking Forward

From my conversations with other mothers, I know that my situation is not unique and that many women who are raising children with autism struggle to reconcile the discrepancies between their “ideal and actual selves” (Liss et al., 2013, p. 1113). Literature offers a slew of themes and topics within the context of maternal guilt; yet, I am having difficulty locating research that does not just investigate the origins of guilt and shame but empowers mothers to let go of these maladaptive emotions and self-appraisals. I plan to explore this opportunity further using the qualitative approach.

 

References

American Psychological Association. (2015). APA Dictionary of Psychology. 2nd Ed. in VandenBos, G. R. (Ed.) Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.

Borelli, J. L., Nelson-Coffey, S. K., River, L. M., Birken, S. A., & Moss-Racusin, C. (2017). Bringing work home: Gender and parenting correlates of
work-family guilt among parents of toddlers. Journal of Child and Families Studies, 26(6). 1734-1745. DOI10.1007/s10826-017-0693-9

Findler, L., Jacoby, A.K., & Gabis, L. (2016). Subjective happiness among mothers of children with disabilities: The role of stress, attachment, guilt and social support. Research in Developmental Disabilities 55, 44-54. doi:10.1016/j.ridd.2016.03.006

Grimmet, K. (2018). Using photo-elicitation to break the silence. In M. L. Boucher (Ed). Participant empowerment through photo-elicitation in ethnographic education research: New perspectives and approaches. Springer

Guendouzi, J. (2006). “The guilt thing”: Balancing domestic and professional roles. Journal of Marriage and Family, 68(4), 901-909.

Roberts, W., Strayer, J., & Denham, S. (2014). Empathy, anger, guilt: Emotions and prosocial behaviour. Canadian Journal of Behavioural Science, 46(4). 465-474. DOI:10.1037/a0035057

Tangney, J.P., & Dearing, R.L. (2002). Shame and guilt. NewYork, NY: GuilfordPress.

Tangney, J. P., & Fischer, K. W. (1995). Self-conscious emotions: The psychology of shame, guilt, embarrassment, and pride. New York: Guilford Press.

Tani, F., & Ponti, L. (2018). How different guilt feelings can affect social competence development in childhood. The Journal of Genetic Psychology: Research and Theory on Human Development, 179(3), 132-142. doi:10.1080/00221325.2018.1453473