Guilt is such an ardent, intense feeling. A feeling stronger than sadness. A feeling sometimes as strong as grief—but maybe they are the same. Grief is unexpressed love: the things people never said to their loved ones, leading to guilt. I think it started when I was younger, the interminable guilt existing in my head. My mother’s dissatisfied mind branded my mind if I had poured too much milk into my cup, making it pool out of the top and drip onto the floor. Nonplussed, I didn’t know what to do with the milk next. The only thing I could focus on was my mom’s face. I was the reason her lips tightened into a line, her eyebrows drawn together, her face long, her eyes hard. I did not want to be the reason. I wanted her to look at me with her face bright, smile big, and eyes soft. But at that moment, I wasn’t. At that moment, I wasn’t, and that image of her branded my mind—present still, 15 years later. For 15 years, I have been carrying the abounding heavyweight that is guilt. It has made me quite the self-deprecator, and I have a habit of blaming myself for every little thing. If I make a joke and see someone looks a little upset or off, my mind goes back to the fact that I made a joke a few minutes ago and thus assume their upset demeanor is because of me. What I didn’t know is that her boyfriend broke up with her last night, and that’s why she’s upset. When I was in middle school, people around me were adamantly astute about my guilt. They would ask me to do enormous favors for them—guilt made me extremely altruistic—knowing I would do so without question. Albeit unreciprocated, I would do such favors because I knew I’d feel worse had I said no. However, my guilt is not always pernicious: it sometimes leads to good things. Suppose I see an older woman carrying groceries to her car. In that case, my guilt serves as a presage, telling me she might drop everything, even when she looks capable of carrying everything herself. Nonetheless, I am compelled to help her and I do exactly that. As I get older, It becomes easier to control it. It becomes easier to manage the weight of the guilt. Sure, it is just as strong as before, but I am done letting it control me. It’s affected my relationships with the people around me, and I cannot let it rule my life. I am not capitulating the burden it’s caused me; I am choosing to be freed.