๐“๐ก๐ž ๐Š๐ข๐ง๐ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐†๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ญ ๐“๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐๐ฎ๐ข๐ž๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐‘๐ฎ๐ง๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐’๐ก๐จ๐ฐ

๐“๐ก๐ž ๐Š๐ข๐ง๐ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐†๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ญ ๐“๐ก๐š๐ญ ๐๐ฎ๐ข๐ž๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐‘๐ฎ๐ง๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐’๐ก๐จ๐ฐ

I used to be an expert at feeling guilt. Not just for the big things, but for everything.

Silly things I said as a kid. Mistakes I made decades ago. Sometimes even with people who arenโ€™t here anymore.

Guilt was my constant companion. For a long time, I thought it made me responsible, caring, good.

But it also made me exhausted. It kept me stuck in cycles of over-apologizing, over-giving, and over-functioning. It whispered, โ€œYou should be doing moreโ€ or โ€œYou shouldnโ€™t have said that.โ€

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