Have you ever felt really bad about something, and promised yourself that it will never happen again?
We often feel guilty about things, even when the circumstances leading to the fact are out of our sphere of control, or others – because of their own scales of judgment – accuse us of having done something wrong.
Guilt is often used to control others' behavior. At its core guilt is a natural instinctive guidance system to help us discern right from wrong, but this has been manipulated and corrupted throughout time, with the intention of controlling others usually for selfish reasons.
Misplaced guilt can gradually spread into all aspects of our lives, like weeds overtaking a lawn, resulting in destructive choices.
It is helpful to distinguish the difference between guilt and remorse. Guilt is what one feels if they have done something intentionally "wrong"; again, this is a very subjective matter, as some acts can be legitimately wrong or simply erroneously perceived, by ourselves and others.
Regardless, guilt is the emotional response to having done—or thought— something about which we are ashamed.
Remorse is quite different. Remorse is triggered when we are genuinely sorry for an inadvertent action or when we have neglected someone or something. There was no intent to harm, and we feel genuinely sorry for what has occurred.
Chances are we feel guilty when instead remorse is a more appropriate response.
Guilt is a trap which keeps us focused on the past, reliving what we did wrong.
Remorse is a much healthier, productive emotional response: acknowledge what occurred, take responsibility if appropriate, and then work toward not repeating the same incident. It is proactive and allows us to move forward whereas guilt produces stagnation.
By avoiding mixing the two, we can more easily process the triggers hidden within the shadows of our subconscious, and take, for the first time maybe, a good look at the blocks that prevent us from moving forward in our lives.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The Friends We Haven't Met Yet
It is strange how people walk in our lives, sometimes.
When I met my friend Connie, two years ago, I was rushing through errands and had stopped by to see my husband at work. As I waited for him to deal with the customers in the store, I sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area and picked up a magazine, while Morgan, my daughter, was playing with a toy another kid had left behind.
I nonchalantly turned to look when I heard the door chime, and saw a young lady walking in with a little girl in tow. She waited patiently in line and, when her turn came, she asked for directions. She was new in town, having just moved here from Kansas, and was miserably lost.
Meanwhile, her daughter and mine had already connected, and were chasing each other around the chips rack, giggling.
When I heard that my husband was not familiar with the road the young lady was inquiring about, I intervened and started talking to her. I gave her directions, she thanked me and was ready to go, but her little girl had different plans. She and Morgan – after a whole five minutes – acted as lifetime friends, and neither of us had the heart to separate them that fast.
Since the crowd of customers had, by then, considerably thinned, we sat in the waiting area talking, hoping to give the girls a few extra moments. It was obvious that they enjoyed playing together, so we exchanged phone numbers, and agreed that we should meet again at a park.The rest is history. Morgan and Brooklyn are now inseparable, and so are Connie and I. We are so in tune, that sometimes we finish each other’s sentences. There is nothing in the world we feel we can’t share. Since I don’t stop by my husband’s business very often, it seemed like a gift from destiny that I would be there the same day that she had gotten lost.
Whenever we get out in the world, we never know what doors we’ll be walking through that day. Some are challenging, while some others are blessings that will stay with us for life.
Yesterday, my daughter was watching a Barbie movie, and I heard one of the characters say that strangers are the friends we haven’t met yet. Although it was one of those clichés you often hear in children’s movies, it really made me think.
Every person we meet has the potential to become very important in our lives; we just have to remain open to the possibilities and the blessings each encounter might bring.
In my case, I guess I was very lucky, as the stranger I met that day turned out to be my very best friend.
When I met my friend Connie, two years ago, I was rushing through errands and had stopped by to see my husband at work. As I waited for him to deal with the customers in the store, I sat in one of the chairs in the waiting area and picked up a magazine, while Morgan, my daughter, was playing with a toy another kid had left behind.
I nonchalantly turned to look when I heard the door chime, and saw a young lady walking in with a little girl in tow. She waited patiently in line and, when her turn came, she asked for directions. She was new in town, having just moved here from Kansas, and was miserably lost.
Meanwhile, her daughter and mine had already connected, and were chasing each other around the chips rack, giggling.
When I heard that my husband was not familiar with the road the young lady was inquiring about, I intervened and started talking to her. I gave her directions, she thanked me and was ready to go, but her little girl had different plans. She and Morgan – after a whole five minutes – acted as lifetime friends, and neither of us had the heart to separate them that fast.
Since the crowd of customers had, by then, considerably thinned, we sat in the waiting area talking, hoping to give the girls a few extra moments. It was obvious that they enjoyed playing together, so we exchanged phone numbers, and agreed that we should meet again at a park.The rest is history. Morgan and Brooklyn are now inseparable, and so are Connie and I. We are so in tune, that sometimes we finish each other’s sentences. There is nothing in the world we feel we can’t share. Since I don’t stop by my husband’s business very often, it seemed like a gift from destiny that I would be there the same day that she had gotten lost.
Whenever we get out in the world, we never know what doors we’ll be walking through that day. Some are challenging, while some others are blessings that will stay with us for life.
Yesterday, my daughter was watching a Barbie movie, and I heard one of the characters say that strangers are the friends we haven’t met yet. Although it was one of those clichés you often hear in children’s movies, it really made me think.
Every person we meet has the potential to become very important in our lives; we just have to remain open to the possibilities and the blessings each encounter might bring.
In my case, I guess I was very lucky, as the stranger I met that day turned out to be my very best friend.
The Masks We Wear
Masks are one of the most remarkable manmade creations used in rituals throughout recorded history, used by our ancestors to form a bridge between themselves and the Divine.
Though in modern times the mask has a negative connotation of disguise with the intent to deceive, the ancient world perceived masks as tools of revelation, a connection to invisible powers.
“Identity masks” are often worn to hide the vulnerable parts of ourselves, and most of them are molded in response to societal demands, parental suggestions and peer pressure.
Most of us wear some sort of mask to introduce ourselves to the world. It is not done to deceive anybody; rather, it is an effort we make to ensure that we are accepted and loved by others. Many feel that they could not be accepted for who they truly are, so they slip the mask on. Sometimes they become so used to doing it, that they are unable themselves to differentiate who they truly are from who they believe people want them to be.
We constantly blame the world for not accepting us for who we are, yet we don’t fully accept ourselves. We would rather go on and be who we are not, rather than recognize that the standards we measure ourselves against are manmade and often based on others’ perceptions of good and bad.
The person who lives inside of us may be scared, bruised, shy, but it is rarely bad.
The need to hide behind a mask is self-imposed, and as such it can be eliminated.
If we take a glimpse of our true selves, who are we, really? Are we truly the person we are portraying? Or is that person someone our caregivers and societies wanted it to be? Do we really believe what we claim to believe? Do we really despise what we assert to despise? Or have we grown to believe we do just because it would make someone else happy and proud?
What about you? Who is the true self hidden behind your mask?
Though in modern times the mask has a negative connotation of disguise with the intent to deceive, the ancient world perceived masks as tools of revelation, a connection to invisible powers.
“Identity masks” are often worn to hide the vulnerable parts of ourselves, and most of them are molded in response to societal demands, parental suggestions and peer pressure.
Most of us wear some sort of mask to introduce ourselves to the world. It is not done to deceive anybody; rather, it is an effort we make to ensure that we are accepted and loved by others. Many feel that they could not be accepted for who they truly are, so they slip the mask on. Sometimes they become so used to doing it, that they are unable themselves to differentiate who they truly are from who they believe people want them to be.
We constantly blame the world for not accepting us for who we are, yet we don’t fully accept ourselves. We would rather go on and be who we are not, rather than recognize that the standards we measure ourselves against are manmade and often based on others’ perceptions of good and bad.
The person who lives inside of us may be scared, bruised, shy, but it is rarely bad.
The need to hide behind a mask is self-imposed, and as such it can be eliminated.
If we take a glimpse of our true selves, who are we, really? Are we truly the person we are portraying? Or is that person someone our caregivers and societies wanted it to be? Do we really believe what we claim to believe? Do we really despise what we assert to despise? Or have we grown to believe we do just because it would make someone else happy and proud?
What about you? Who is the true self hidden behind your mask?
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