Guilt by Yeva Balabekia

Guilt was the first emotion I learned.

From a very young age, it wrapped itself around me like an invisible shroud, both comforting and suffocating. My parents, scarred by their childhoods of neglect and struggle, vowed to give me everything they lacked. And they did – they showered me with toys, extravagant birthday parties, and endless treats. The house brimmed with gifts, candy, and the constant flicker of cartoons on the TV.

Yet beneath this surface of abundance lay a different reality. Despite the material comforts, I often felt the sting of harsh words. "You're an egoist," they would say, reminding me how they sacrificed their needs to fulfil mine. The more they gave, the more I felt I owed, a debt that could never be repaid. Every toy, every trip, every piece of candy became a token of their unspoken demand for gratitude and perfect behaviour.

I started to believe there were two versions of myself. On the outside, I was the cheerful, likeable girl, the one my friends adored and praised for her kindness and understanding. But deep inside, there was another me – a dark, rotten core that was selfish, cruel, and undeserving of the love and care I received. This internal division grew sharper with every reprimand, every accusation of being ungrateful or hysterical.

For years, I lived in the shadow of this guilt. It dictated my actions, my choices, my very identity. I stayed in the dance club for a decade, despite hating it after sixth grade because I felt obligated to continue. I chose my university course not based on my interests, but on what my parents wanted for me. Each decision was an attempt to assuage the guilt, to prove that I was worthy of their sacrifices.

The weight of this guilt became unbearable at times. There were moments when I wished I could disappear, believing that my absence would somehow make my parents' lives easier. The idea of ceasing to exist seemed like a release, a way to finally repay the debt I felt I owed just for being alive.

It took the unwavering support of my best friend to start unravelling these deeply ingrained beliefs. He reassured me that the cruel words weren't true, that the narrative of me being inherently selfish and rotten was a distortion. Slowly, I began to understand that the guilt was not a reflection of my true self, but a burden placed upon me by my parents' own unresolved pain.

Even now, the guilt lingers. It whispers in the back of my mind, questioning my worth and motives. But I am learning to silence it, to recognize the generous and kind person I truly am. It's a long, difficult journey, but I am determined to reclaim my sense of self, free from the chains of guilt that have bound me for so long.