The Unseen Guilt of Letting Go

Lately, I’ve been overeating more than usual. And it’s not really about food. It’s about something deeper. Something heavier. I think it might be guilt — not for anything I’ve done wrong, but for setting boundaries with my mother. For choosing distance. For finally walking away from something that always left me depleted.

And maybe what I’m feeling is that strange, murky emotion that comes when you stop abandoning yourself, but still feel like you’re betraying someone else. Even if that someone never really showed up for you.

There’s a part of me — the inner child, I think — that feels disloyal living a good life without her. Like enjoying things, thriving, even just feeling peaceful… all feels somehow wrong. As if choosing joy after severing a painful bond is too much. As if I need to stay small out of respect for someone who never really met me.

It doesn’t make conscious sense. But it’s there. That quiet guilt that whispers, “Don’t enjoy too much. Don’t move on too freely.” Almost like there’s a superstition in my body — that freedom costs something.

But the truth is, I haven’t abandoned her. She abandoned me — emotionally, energetically, relationally. She’s never truly seen me, not then, not now. And when I tried to explain, to share, to invite a healthier connection… she turned away. She refused to do the work. And that refusal is a kind of abandonment — a choice to let the relationship die rather than grow.

And yet still, I struggle. Because part of me doesn’t want to chase new connection. Maybe it feels like too much of a betrayal. Maybe, unconsciously, I’ve held back from forming deep bonds out of misplaced loyalty — or out of fear that being happy without her confirms she wasn’t needed.

But I was always needed. Just not by her.

I need me now.

So I cook for myself. I nourish myself. I listen to my body, and I let it rest when it’s tired. I’m starting to trust my own rhythm — even if I don’t always get the balance right. I don’t force myself anymore. I parent myself. And sometimes that parenting looks like skipping the gym and just letting my nervous system soften.

That’s love. That’s mothering. And it’s finally coming from within.

Still, there’s loneliness. There’s the ache of isolation. The tendency to pursue people who feel just out of reach. I see that now. It’s like I’ve been trying to win love from the emotionally unavailable — to replicate the original wound and somehow rewrite the ending. If I can get them to choose me, then maybe I finally earn what I never received.

But that never works. It just keeps me stuck.

What I really want is mutuality. Support. People I can count on — and who can count on me. And maybe, just maybe, that’s possible now. With the changes I’ve made in my parenting arrangement, I have more space. More breath. More life. I can feel it starting to stir in me — the desire to live, not hide.

Maybe I’ve been under a rock. But I’m beginning to believe in sunlight again.

And I think that’s enough for now.

Hope lives here, quietly, but surely.