As we close the door on discipline and move on down the corridor, how many of you feel as if you’re dragging along a ball and chain with Guilt written all over it? Are you feeling tired and maybe a bit discouraged? There’s a lot to being the kind of mom kids need. You’d think they’d pay more for the job.
Maybe it’s time, in our tour of the mansion, to take a brief rest. Here at the end of the hall is an easy chair. Let’s sit a minute.
We no sooner get seated when the room begins to move. No, it’s not the room. It’s us. The panel behind us and the portion of the floor holding the chair are turning. In a matter of seconds the lovely hallway has disappeared and before us is a damp, dungeonlike room. Cobwebs from centuries of dust hang heavy from every corner. Musty smells of rotten wood and moss-covered stone fill our senses. We can hear the splash of water and a low, unearthly growl.
As our eyes adjust to the dim light of a candle, we can barely make out shapes of—no, it can’t be. It looks like an ancient torture chamber—a stretching rack, a ball and chain, a guillotine, and (gulp) even an alligator pit.
Built-in Guilt
This is part of being a mother? Maybe you’re wondering where our explorations have led us. This, my friends and fellow mothers, is the famous guilt factory.
I decided to stop for a quick tour, because every mother’s heart comes equipped with a room like this. And every mother ends up taking a trip through it at some time or other. Sometimes we come out unblemished, but more often than not, we end up wearing the ball and chain on a permanent basis.
At one time I was a frequent visitor to the guilt factory. I would often let guilt stretch me out on the rack until I literally ached. Other times I’d lay my head across the sharp blade of the guillotine and wait for the lever to be pulled. Fortunately, no one ever pulled it. Most of the time, though, I settled for the ball and chain.
I had been led to believe that ultimately I was responsible for my children’s behavior and when they messed up, it was a direct reflection on me. I blamed myself not only for the things I really had done wrong but also for those things over which I had no control.
When my children hit the explosive teen years and made some wrong choices, I visited this room on a regular basis. Unfortunately, there were quite a few people who were more than willing to open the door for me.
In my book Have You Hugged Your Teenager Today? I dedicated three chapters to helping parents get out of the guilt factory and lock the door behind them. I’ll cover a few of those basics now.
Standing Trial
First of all, I’d like you to think about why you feel guilty. If you’re visiting the guilt factory on a regular basis, perhaps it’s because you really are doing something wrong.
For example, Alice, a mother of two boys under five, suffers from frequent pangs of guilt. Every morning she hustles around trying to get herself ready for work. She seldom has a chance to give the kids a bath and is lucky to even get their night diapers changed before she packs them up, straps them in the car, and runs them to the sitter.
“Sorry,” she says in a limp apology. “I didn’t have time to feed them … and … Andy is soaked.”
Alice leaves them clinging to the sitter, whiny, runny noses, and wet diapers, relieved to have someone else cope with the mess. She goes to her job and puts in a full day’s work. When she picks up her children they cry, because they’d rather stay with the sitter. By the time she gets the kids home and supper on the table, she’s spent.
Alice rushes through the bedtime routine with the children. She decides to skip their baths tonight. After she puts them to bed, she can hear them crying in the other room. Guilt washes over her, and she remembers hearing somewhere that you can spoil a kid by rocking him to sleep. She doesn’t dare start, they’d want it every night, and she couldn’t…. Guilt nudges her, but she shoves it aside and turns on her favorite television comedy for a few laughs.
She’ll be glad when morning comes and she can drop off the kids again. At least at work, she’s appreciated.
Alice should be feeling guilty, because she is neglecting her children. In order for the guilt feeling to go away, Alice must face it. She needs to examine the priorities in her life and place her children in higher esteem.
God uses true guilt to show us we’re heading the wrong way. When we do examine our guilty feelings and realize we’ve done wrong, there is only one solution: We must repent—meaning we apologize to God and to our children and stop doing the wrong. God then promises us release from that guilt.
Guilty until Proven Innocent
There is another kind of guilt, however, that throws us into the dungeon. After we have examined our actions and realize we are not at fault, it still happens. It is a kind of guilt that hounds us—even after we have been released by God. It’s called false guilt.
One good friend, Marty, had been suffering from every torture in the guilt factory. Her daughter Candi ran away from home at fourteen and got pregnant. Marty had worked outside the home since Candi was seven. Candi’s father had died in an accident.
Marty and Candi had a good relationship. Marty tried to teach her daughter all the right things. She never taught her how to steal or to try drugs. In fact, Marty taught her the dangers of that kind of life.
But Candi found some friends who taught her everything they knew. When Candi left home, Marty blamed herself. She went into the guilt factory with the blessing of her friends and family. Friends insinuated that if she hadn’t had to work, it wouldn’t have happened. She was labeled guilty until proven innocent, judged and hung without a trial.
Marty had fallen into the trap of false guilt. Fortunately, Marty is learning that she shouldn’t keep what doesn’t belong to her and is gradually leaving guilt in the dungeon where it belongs.
I understand how Marty felt. I’ve taken my turn in the guilt factory numerous times. I might still be there if my daughter hadn’t given me some wise advice.
“It Wasn’t Your Fault, Mom”
Caryl had always been an easy child to raise. As I recall, she got a total of two spankings throughout her entire childhood. She seemed to be a nearly ideal child—a good student, obedient—what more could a parent ask for?
In her sixteenth year, we saw some subtle changes, but then, why wouldn’t we? She was turning from a child to a woman, and some mood swings were inevitable. She had gone through some major changes in her life as well. Injuries knocked her out of competition in gymnastics, and she was forced to find new interests and friends.
We thought she’d handled it well. She hadn’t.
My husband and I had gone on a business trip, leaving Caryl to stay with her grandmother during our absence. When we arrived home a month later, our daughter had changed.
She greeted us at the door with a wide smile and warm hugs. “There’s something I have to tell you, Mom,” she said. “Last weekend I became a Christian.”
My mouth fell open. “But you’ve always been a Christian.”
“No. Not really. I went to Sunday school and church, but it was just because you made me. It never meant anything to me before.”
“But how—what happened?” I stammered.
“Well, that’s the hard part. For the last year, I’ve been pretty mixed up. You know all the times I stayed at Jan’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we usually didn’t stay there. We’d go out to parties. Her folks would lie to you and tell you we were outside ’cause they thought you were being too strict.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Mom, I couldn’t even ask you to let me go to those parties. I knew you wouldn’t let me.”
“Were you drinking?”
She nodded. “I’m not proud of what I did, Mom. In fact, last week we got in trouble with the police. I was so scared you’d find out. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. I decided to kill myself. I didn’t think I could face you and Dad again.”
My knuckles turned white as I clasped my hands together. The shock of what I was hearing blocked any meaningful words from making their way out of my mouth. Suicide? I cried inside. How could this have happened? What kind of mother am I? I should have never gone on that trip.
“I was trying to get the gun together when the phone rang,” she continued. “It was a guy I’d never met, but he’d seen my name on his church roster [we’d visited the church a few times] and recognized it. His brother was in Youth With a Mission with David. Anyway, he asked me to come to a youth retreat that weekend. I don’t know why—I really didn’t want to—but I said yes. I went, and a lady, one of the counselors, started talking to me. Before I knew it, I was telling her everything. She said the Lord still loved me, and I could be forgiven for all the stuff I’d done—even lying to you.”
“Of course, honey. We’ve talked about forgiveness.”
“I know, Mom, but it just didn’t sink in. Anyway, she told me about how Jesus died for me, and that all I had to do was ask forgiveness and I would be saved. Well, I did, and I committed myself to Jesus. Now I need you and Dad to forgive me. I know I’ll need to be punished… .”
I didn’t know whether to be happy or angry. I pulled her into my arms and cried. “Of course I’ll forgive you. But I don’t understand how you could have—oh, I feel so terrible.” I drew back from the circle of her arms to look at her. “I should have known something was wrong.”
“No, Mom, you couldn’t have known what was going on. I didn’t want you to.”
“But … oh, baby, we came so close to losing you. What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently so this wouldn’t have happened?”
For a moment I felt like a child, while my daughter spoke to me with all the wisdom of a mom. “Don’t blame yourself. You’ve been a great mother. You taught me right from wrong. What happened was my fault. I knew it wasn’t right. I think maybe I had to go through this, to make my own decisions. I had to come to God in my own way. Because of what happened, I have a very strong testimony to share with other teenagers.”
In telling this story I don’t want you to think for one moment it was as easy as it might appear on paper. It would take a whole book to describe the pain our family went through. My point is that Caryl, not her mother, had made some wrong choices.
I hadn’t been the perfect mom, but I’d done my best. I’d woven strength into Caryl’s fabric. She had been pulled and stretched in many ways. She weakened some, even tore a little. God mended her worn places and stitched up the tears. She made some errors, but in the end, she chose God’s way.
When we do wrong as mothers, guilt can be dealt with swiftly and surely by accepting the blame and saying, “I’m sorry.” Then God can get on with the business of forgiving. That way, we spend very little time in the guilt factory.
Kids need moms who spend less time feeling guilty and more time loving, hugging, kissing, laughing, and getting the job of mothering done.
Now, let’s get out of this hole in the ground. I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air.