I Don't Go To Visit Guilt, She Lives Here

A poem for the Exhale Blog Hop 💛

Hey friend,

I don’t go to visit Guilt, she lives here.

I don’t know how she got in, 

but she likes to call out the dust on my blinds, the dishes in my sink, the tone in my voice.

I tick something off the list. Guilt slips her arm over my shoulder, whispers in my ear about the three other things I didn’t do. 

When I get something done, she slips into bed next to me, touches my face and says, “but honey, you didn't do it very well.”

Guilt brings her friends over. Pride laughs, “you don’t need help, you just need to work harder.” 

Guilt says, “don’t tell your friends, you’re wasting their time. It’s not that bad.” 

Impatience drums her fingers on the dresser and sighs, “you should have it together by now.” 

Guilt says, “you’ve done it wrong,”

but Shame sneers, “you are wrong.”

I am heavy, my limbs are calling, crying to commune with the floor, the effort to remain vertical is becoming more and more.

I tell my husband about my guest. He says her name is Guilt. He says she doesn’t stay with him. 

It’s like learning the sky isn’t blue. 

He says she has another name. He calls her the Accuser. 

He reminds me of a better Name. The one who paid my debt. The one who doesn’t scorn. 

The one who says, “my grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect in weakness.”

When Guilt comes to the door, I boast gladly of my flaws, then I go inside the house. 

Christ says, “that’s enough,” 

and slams the door in her face. 

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale - an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Enough”.