Recently, during a book discussion, the term ‘Guilt Gene’ was used. The woman, let’s call her Mary, who used the term was attending our book club for the first time. Mary introduced herself as having traveled and lived all around the world. She spoke many different languages. I believe her work involved translating or something. Mary then introduced her sister, Sarah, sitting right next to her.

Mary was apprehensive about coming to the book club alone so she coerced Sarah to come along with her. Hmmm, let me get this straight . . . you lived all over the globe, often by yourself and you speak numerous languages. What reason is there to be apprehensive? We are a Woman’s book club and we meet inside a public library. Women, Library, Saturday morning? Tell me, where is the fear factor?

Mary was quite outspoken and gregarious while Sarah was the direct opposite, very quiet and sparse of speech. Back to the subject of the guilt gene. Mary went on to say that she feels that her sister, Sarah, has inherited the guilt gene. She is always trying to atone for something. Sarah just sat there nodding her head yes.

An interesting concept; guilt gene. Why do some people feel the need to apologize for anything and everything. I am, ahem, ‘guilty’ of that trait myself. If there is a problem, I immediately go into ‘solving’ mode and try to fix it. Did I make a mistake? What did I do wrong, or how did I cause this issue? Those are always my first thought.

What makes one person feel responsible or culpable for circumstances over which they have no control or even involvement? Wow, that must be exhausting. (Believe me, it is.) AND, what a coup for the guilty! They get to sit back and watch as these people are running around, beating themselves up and trying to make everything alright.

I remember when I was around 12 years old and one of my older sisters and my younger brother got into a fight. My sister was supposed to be fixing dinner and my brother wanted a snack. She locked the kitchen door and wouldn’t let him into the kitchen. My sister was in fact, sitting in the kitchen reading a book and fixing dinner was not even on her agenda.

My brother banged on the door over and over. They were yelling back and forth. Suddenly, my sister got mad and kicked at the door! A HUGE piece of the door came through to our side. OH, MAN, Mother was going to be pissed. My sister calmly opened the door, let my brother into the kitchen and then went back to reading her book. He went outside with his snack. I stood there staring at the door with the hole in it.

What do you think I did? YUP, sat down and began putting the door back together. I started crying and worrying about what was to come. First with my mother and then, OH GOD, our father.

Do you have the picture now? Me on the floor, Elmer’s glue in hand, adjusting the pice of the door like a jigsaw puzzle. It was a panel door. The part that my sister had kicked out was really thin. It didn’t take that much to break it. Did I mention that we had all taken Karate and we knew how to break boards by kicking? Duh, She must have known what would happen right?

With tears running down my face and jagged sobbing, I continued to work at ‘repairing’ the door. I thought it was looking pretty good. At least there wasn’t a gapping hole anymore and you couldn’t see into the kitchen. Sure it looked weird and you could tell there was something wrong with the door. Too bad we didn’t have any paint. If there was time, some artwork could have hidden it. No such luck though. The front door opened and that’s how my mother found me.

She stood there looking at the me sobbing, sitting on the floor and the ‘patchwork’ I had done.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Caroleena and Doug got into a fight. I’m sorry, I’m trying to fix the door.” I replied.

Yes, in my mind not only was I responsible for them fighting, and the broken door, but I also had to fix it.

I don’t remember what happened next. I just remember that the door was like that for the remainder of the time we lived in the house.

Guilt or shame, is a tough emotion to keep in check, for me at least. It is an ongoing process trying to break that habit.

Do you have a sibling or friend who is constantly saying “I’m Sorry.”?

Do you do that?

Give them and yourself a break the next time you hear “I’m Sorry.” Maybe you can help them and yourself lessen the impact of their ‘guilt gene’. It’s worth a try.

Oh, year, I’m sorry, if you don’t like this post.