Guilty without a crime — Unlearning guilt: A story of loss, motherhood, and recovery

Guilt is a complicated concept. It is a noun, a verb, and an emotion, usually used to refer to having done something wrong. There is the guilt associated with having committed a crime against society, and then there is the guilt we place on ourselves for not being perfect–or in other words, for being ourselves. There are as many degrees of this type of guilt as there are people, but suffice it to say that those who struggle with eating disorders experience guilt in a unique, yet shared way. 

Learning guilt young

While attending Catholic schools in the 1960s and early 1970s, I learned to feel guilty about everything. I even managed to feel guilty about wondering if I should feel guilty about things I hadn’t even done. Once, when I was around nine years old, in preparation for going to the Sacrament of Confession, I literally kept a tally of every sin, real or perceived, in a small spiral notebook so I could accurately report them to the priest.

In my young mind, I’d convinced myself that if I’d left something out, that in itself would be a sin, and so it went. For example, when kneeling in the quiet darkness of the confessional, I told the priest I’d disobeyed my parents more than 200 times. After a long silence, the priest said, “You mean you counted?” After that, I stopped counting and did a rough estimate, but I felt guilty about it on some level. It never ended.

Perfectionism meets ED

When the seeds of an eating disorder were planted several years later, my “guilt radar” was primed and ready to engage. Even though the ED tendencies ebbed and flowed over the years, mainly because I didn’t know I had an ED, the guilt was always. One of the ED’s requirements was perfection.

Striving for perfection and routinely failing, because no one is perfect, created fertile ground for the ED to take root and grow. Grow it did. My parents were fairly strict, and that, along with the guilt associated with being born (original sin), meant I grew up to be a rule-follower who rarely, if ever, defied authority. When I did “colour outside the lines,” so to speak, I never enjoyed myself and was consequently plagued with guilt.

Becoming a mother—in my imagination

Motherhood was something I’d dreamt of since I was a little girl. I’d not only take care of my dolls, but my imaginary children as well. My sister, a friend, and I would create pretend families, and I envisioned myself as a perfect mother to all seven of my make‑believe children. Our “houses” consisted of throw rugs upon which we’d go about our lives. I don’t recall feeling guilty while playing that game, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.

Stillbirth: Grief, blame, and body trust

When my first child was stillborn, I was consumed with grief and guilt. After all, I was the only one who could care for him, and I (and my body) had failed. Even though on an intellectual level I understood the stillbirth was not my fault, my body held onto the trauma and guilt.

During that pregnancy, I ate like a “normal” person because I wanted to take good care of my baby and do everything perfectly. A doctor, whom I only saw once, admonished me about gaining “too much” weight, and his words resonated with the ED sitting quietly on the sidelines.

That one comment changed what had been a glorious time of freely nourishing myself and my baby into a time of more caution and less trust about my body. I continued to eat healthily, but the joy was gone. When my baby was stillborn, even though I’d done everything right, I questioned what I’d done wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to be a mother after all.

Infertility and the health halo

This guilt notion settled in deeper when a period of infertility followed, making motherhood feel further beyond my reach. After the stillbirth of my son, I did my best to ‘lose the baby weight,’ not only because that’s what everyone said to do, but because the weight was a painful reminder of what I had lost.

The ED, disguised as health, dictated what I should or shouldn’t eat, how much to exercise and was ready and willing to berate me if I didn’t follow all the rules. So many rules. Now that I know more, I wonder if my misguided goal of being healthy was contributing to the struggle to conceive. Everything was functioning normally, but being in a space of intentional weight loss certainly didn’t help.

Two healthy births—and a new resolve

I eventually became pregnant and gave birth to a full-term, healthy baby girl two years later. This time, I had a different doctor who made no judgments or recommendations about my diet or weight gain. He had been on-call the night my son was born, and he knew better than to give me more things to worry about. I’m forever grateful for his vigilant yet calm approach, as it helped me through a very stressful time. He was also there for my subsequent pregnancy three years later, when I gave birth to another healthy baby girl.

Motherhood was never something I took for granted, possibly because of the struggles I experienced along the way. It was truly one of the few times in my life when I completely trusted my intuition in parenting decisions. Perhaps my experience as an early childhood educator gave me the confidence and background needed to feel this way.

I find that confidence remarkable, however, given how EDs tend to erode self-confidence. Without internet or social media at that time, I had little to compare myself to and fewer voices telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. I followed my gut and my heart.

Diet culture at home

One area where I was not confident or did not have trust was in my body. After the birth of my second daughter, I again embarked on a journey to ‘lose the baby weight.’

I provided healthy meals and a wide variety of snacks for my daughters and tried not to talk about dieting in front of them, but I did police myself —unfortunately, setting that example. The problem was, I honestly thought I was being healthy and setting a good example.

After all, it wasn’t a diet– it was a lifestyle. (Today, I cringe at that phrase.) This was the era of Oprah pulling the wagon onto the stage, containing the amount of weight she’d lost. It was the era of “heroin chic” and the low-fat diet craze. When my teenage daughters wanted to literally follow my example and adopt the food plan of my “lifestyle,” I allowed it because I thought it was healthy. That is something that I deeply regret and for which I still experience a great deal of guilt.

My daughters insist they would have been influenced by society and diet culture no matter what I did, but I still regret the example I set. If I could change one thing in my life, it would be that.

While they haven’t developed eating disorders, my daughters have experienced disordered eating from time to time, and I know firsthand how much space that can take up in one’s brain. It’s a burden that no one deserves to carry.

Ripple effects and regret

I’ve also felt guilty about the influence I had on others during this time, when they saw my weight loss as inspiring and embarked on the same weight-loss plan. Did any of them develop an ED as a result, like I did? I pray that didn’t happen; that was never my intent. Mainly because I didn’t know I had an ED, I had no idea that I was promoting any harm. That is how insidious EDs can be.

What recovery taught me

Since my diagnosis and recovery, I have learned many valuable things about eating disorders and diet culture. Eating disorders are tricky and diabolical entities, always either trying to keep you in their grasp or trying to lure you back into their clutches.

In some respects, I am grateful for my ED because without it, I doubt I would have acquired the knowledge I now possess. Perhaps I would still equate health with weight loss and be setting a dangerous example for those around me. Perhaps the ED would still reign over me, berating me for my imperfections and mistakes, instilling more guilt at every turn.

Letting the guilt go

Another thing I’ve learned during my recovery is to ignore the guilt that the ED and diet culture try to inject into my thoughts. There is nothing to feel guilty about for eating that slice of cake or that cookie.

As my therapist and dietitian always said, “All foods fit”. That has become my mantra, rather than the old diet-culture slogan: ‘A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.’ I have learned to trust my body to take care of me rather than constantly battling to control it.

We now live in imperfect harmony together.

The guilty thoughts float away because we no longer listen to them; we listen to each other instead.