on guilt and the illusion of control
On Monday, my therapist and I talked about all of the guilt that I have been harboring lately and how I weaponize it against myself.
I'll use my cat's health journey as an example. Last week, I took my cat to a specialty consultation for an ongoing respiratory oddity. What they discovered is that she has signs of laryngeal paralysis - a condition I had never heard about before - and after reading more about it, and working out a care plan, I could physically sense the guilt building up inside of me. Why didn't I notice this before? Why didn't I take her to the consultation sooner?
As my therapist talked to me through these feelings, I realized that at the root of these thoughts was the illusion that if I had done something different, that I could have controlled the situation. But that's not possible. Whether I noticed some of her odd symptoms months or years sooner, that wouldn't have stopped her from being sick. And, thankfully, her condition seems to be relatively mild and caught early enough to do more preventative care from further deterioration. Now I know what symptoms to look for that might indicate the condition has worsened and that surgery might be on the table. For now, she's a relatively healthy cat with a breathing abnormality that hopefully can be managed with medication and lots of love and attention.
This has been a common pattern for me throughout my life though. I will sit and stare at the ceiling or the wall of my shower rewriting conversations and actions inventing scenarios where maybe things turned out different. It's an exercise in attempting to control myself and others around me in the way that a writer or director might. Obviously, I know that's not the way the world works and these inner ruminations rarely go anywhere productive aside from instilling in me a deep sense of shame and regret.
Knowing this about myself hasn't made it easier to stop the habit, but I am trying to acknowledge it when I notice it happening. To be present with the feelings as it bubbles up in intensity within my chest. To try and steer my focus toward what I can, and have been attempting to, control rather than what is outside of my control.
Realistically, I know this is going to be a long-term practice for me in learning to be mindful and kinder to myself. It's uncomfortable and frustrating, but I doubt that I am the only person with this struggle. And if I can be there for my cat as she fights a battle to breathe more easily then I should be there for myself through my mental struggles. Someone has to keep sneaking medication into her Churu Bites, give her cuddles, and tell her she's such a pretty princess.
