The Tightrope of Guilt and Love

By Myself

I’ve been noticing something in Victor lately. A quiet sadness. A sense that when I tell him off — even gently — he doesn’t just hear correction. He hears shame.

Like he’s thinking:
“Why am I like this?”
“Why can’t I be better for Dad?”

And that breaks my heart.
Because I’ve tried not to place expectations on him.
But he’s a child. And children absorb everything.
He senses when my energy is low, when I’m stretched thin, and like so many kids — he thinks it must be his fault.

It’s not. It never is.
I keep reminding him of that. Out loud.
But I can feel how hard he’s trying. Trying to be easier. Trying to be “better.”
Trying to keep the peace with a parent who’s doing his best — but running on fumes.

There’s guilt in me. Some shame, too.
Because I know he’s not as happy in himself at the moment. And I know some of that is because I haven’t been able to show up fully.

But I also know this:
I’m doing my best not to pass that down.
And that means something. It matters.

I can’t be everything all the time.
But I can take care of myself before I burn out — because when I burn out, I’m no good to anyone.
Not to him. Not to me.

It’s a difficult tightrope to walk — guilt on one side, love on the other.
But I’m walking it as best I can.
And I’m grateful I have some support. I’m not completely alone.
Even if it still feels heavy sometimes.

This is the work.
This is love.