Using our guilt for good
Privilege has some perks
I’m embarrassed to admit how much I still think about it. I was about seven, living on a farm in southeastern Ohio. We rarely had other kids over. We lived an hour from school. My social life mostly orbited my younger brother, my record collection and my dolls. So when The Boys came for the weekend, I was overexcited in that awkward sort of way, kind of like when you see a celebrity and can’t think of something interesting to say so you become Captain Obvious. Nice weather, eh? Or, Wow, you’re tall.
My mom had ordered pizza, maybe not yet realizing how much older boys ate, and so, when within minutes we ended up with one piece left and The Boy closer to my age asked if anyone wanted the last piece, I flashed my braces and said, “Yeah, sure” and chomped on that last slice, only noticing his look of despair and longing after the grease ran down my chin.
The guilt I still feel today about his look of hunger was just the starting point for a life of shame. My guilt clenches my stomach when I pass the lady sleeping on the street, her limbs too weathered to be healthy; or when I see pictures of refugees holding up their babies in the Afghani airport; or watching the anguish of people’s homes burning in California. Guilt for what I have, for my inheritance, for my lack of melanin and my passport, for what I don’t do, for what I do, have become a layer of skin I cannot shed.
For decades, I’ve attempted to pack it up and leave it on distant shores. But the truth is that without it, I’ve come to rely on my guilt.
Can we use guilt for good?
Sartre wrote, “Life begins on the other side of despair.”
And unchecked guilt breeds despair.
Take for example the guilt I have over bringing children into what scientists say will become an uninhabitable planet in their lifetimes. Each morning I wake up and doom-scroll. Most often other people’s circumstances bathe me in terror, my future glaring from the screen, all the while my kids wake up expecting that I will feed them, protect them, drive them to soccer. It might be a smoky day, or super hot, like it is today, and always the self-reproach roars—you did this; you participated, you did nothing to stop it.
But when I think of the kind of humans I want my sons to be, I don’t want them wracked with guilt to the point of paralysis like I’ve been for so long. So, some days I have to say to myself, Bitch, get over yourself. Pointing the blame only at ourselves can’t be healthy, right? It’s surely not productive. If I’m here obsessing over bringing two more meat-eating mouths to feed onto this planet, and for our emissions (which we do offset though it doesn’t really assuage my guilt), and our stupidly privileged American lifestyle, what good am I doing for anybody? If we sit here hiding behind our guilt over what our species is doing to our planet, we’re going to be constantly reliving our version of taking that last slice of pizza.
Guilt proves we’re human. It proves we’re feeling and that we give a shit. So, how can we actually use it for good?
I started trying to welcome guilt to the party in 2017 when my eco-anxiety grew so intense I even bummed my kids out. The world seemed bleak and I felt so guilt-ridden, I had no idea how to engage in any meaningful way.
I’d look at a person holding a sign begging for cash on the side of the road and feel bad about my air conditioned car, or the paddleboard strapped on the roof, or the half-eaten bags of chips my kids left to go stale in the backseat, or the butt of bread I threw away that morning. But then, one day, we were stopped at a light near a guy holding a sign and I noticed an energy bar in the center consul that had been there for weeks uneaten and, when I handed it over, the narcissism that always had me seeing myself as the center of the universe started to lift. Their circumstance wasn’t my fault. But I could help, even a little, right?
Nurturing the guilt with action
These days, it’s the guilt that makes me try to be better every day. It’s waking up thinking that if I don’t do something to try and help my kids’ planet be more inhabitable, then I’ve essentially given up on their future. And that’s worse than the guilt. You guys, the 2021 IPCC report states that if we don’t lessen emissions ASAP, our kids are screwed. See how I’m trying to guilt you into action.
But, it also points very clearly to the fact that there’s hope. The goals set by the Paris Agreement are still possible. But we can’t just sit back and think all the smart people are on the task.
Friends, the guilt can propel us to force the people in power to stop taking all the pizza for themselves. Take it from me, it sucks feeling bad about all the pizza you have.
This week’s action
This week, do something about your damn guilt. Figure out how to get over yourself and start doing something to make things better. Do some therapy. Read a self-help book. Talk it out. In fact, I’m thinking about starting another free Parenting in the Anthropocene group (anyone interested—send me an email michelebigleywriter@gmail.com).
Do what you can to help use guilt for good. I promise, it helps.
A humble thanks
I want to offer a big thanks to all of you new subscribers who answered my plea. And a big batch of appreciation to those of you who shared my posts with your community. In your honor, as a community, we’re planting a forest. See, we can guilt our way to be better together.
What I’m reading
I’ve immersed myself in books before the start of my UCSC term. And I’ve found some titles I adore. Michael Christie’s Greenwood blew my mind with his circular storytelling and page-turning narrative. A bit late to the game, I’m also tearing through Matt Haig’s Midnight Library. And I’ve just ordered Devi Lockwood’s 1001 Voices on Climate Change. What are you reading?
The campaign to fundraise for my Hidden Compass story is still going through early October. It’s long, I know. But it’s especially worth reading now if you could use some inspiration about how indigenous communities are teaching us to live with fire. This publication fundraises to pay writers instead of relying on ads. Drop em a few bucks, if you can.
Sending you a lot of love and light this week.
~Michele