Hello my friend, and happy 2026!

I hope you had a restful, magical holiday, full of love, laughter and food! I’m so glad to be back in my studio, thinking about feelings with you.

I wanted to start this year by talking about guilt.

Why do people feel guilt? Why is it so powerful? And why does it feel like it follows us everywhere?

Guilt develops because we care. Because we belong to families, cultures, roles, and expectations. It’s a social emotion, meant to keep connection intact. It helps us notice when something matters.

But guilt often outlives its usefulness.

When it isn’t dealt with, it doesn’t disappear. It hardens. It lingers. And slowly, quietly, it can turn into shame.

Guilt says, “I made a mistake.” Shame says, “I am the mistake.”

For me, the guilt that has followed me the longest is mom guilt.

It started when I was pregnant. “Am I eating the right foods?” “Did I forget my vitamins today?” “Did that one cup of coffee hurt my baby?”

The guilt made me hate being pregnant. It fed my anxiety and every what-if my brain could invent.

“What if my baby’s heart stops?” “What if I already ruined something before he was even born?”

And then he was born.

My son was a colic baby. The kind people don’t warn you about. He cried from morning until night. Not fussy crying. Not tired crying. Full-body, relentless crying. The kind that makes time stretch and your nervous system feel like it’s on fire.

I had no community. No family nearby. No mom friends. It was just me and my son, day after day. I barely slept. I was studying to become a nutritionist while trying to get my illustration career started. We were living almost paycheque to paycheque. I didn’t even drive at the time.

I was exhausted. I was isolated. I was drowning.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure I had postpartum depression. I had so much pressure on me and eventually, I cracked.

One day, my son was crying worse than usual. I just needed him to nap. Just ten minutes. I laid him in his crib and started patting his bum the way you’re supposed to. Soft. Rhythmic. Trying to soothe him.

But he wouldn’t stop.

And somewhere between exhaustion and desperation, my gentle pats turned into harder ones. Not hitting. But I'm no longer calm. No longer regulated. Just me wanting the crying to stop.

The second I realized what I was doing, my body froze.

I walked out of his room while he was still crying. And I collapsed. I was crying too. The kind of crying that comes from shock. From fear. From realizing how close you are to the edge.

I still feel sick when I think about it.

Even now, part of me still believes that moment defines me.

Therapists often say guilt is an emotion that demands action.

Healthy guilt stays connected to behaviour. It says, “ Something bad happened.” It asks for reflection, repair, or learning. And when that’s done, it steps back.

Unprocessed guilt doesn’t know how to do that.

It doesn’t leave. It stays.

It settles into the body. In the chest. In the stomach. In the jaw you don’t realize you’re clenching. In the constant tension of trying not to mess up again.

And slowly, guilt stops talking about what you did and starts talking about who you are.

This is where shame takes over.

Shame says, “ This happened because you are bad.” “ Because something is wrong with you.”

It rewrites the memory. It rewrites your identity.

I didn’t just remember patting my baby’s bum too hard. I remembered myself as a dangerous mother. An unsafe person. Someone who shouldn’t be trusted with a child.

And once shame takes root, it doesn’t stay in the past.

It follows you forward.

That’s why guilt so often turns into anxiety.

Guilt looks backwards and says: “ Why did I do that?” Shame says: “ Of course you did. You’re a horrible person.” Anxiety looks forward and says: “ What if I do it again?”

If guilt never gets resolved, the brain tries to prevent future guilt by staying hyper-aware all the time.

That’s how guilt turns into: • people-pleasing (I have a hard time being disliked) • over-apologizing (that’s the Canadian in me) • self-monitoring (I need routines to function) • fear of disappointing anyone (one of my anxieties)

My son is twelve now. And the guilt didn’t stop when he got older. I’ve started to notice how my guilt makes me guilt-give . When I feel like I’ve worked too much and not spent enough time with my son, I guilt-give sugar. Letting him eat way more sweets. When I worry I wasn’t present enough, I guilt-give screen time. When guilt tells me I missed something important, I loosen boundaries that actually matter. Not because it’s what he needs. But because it quiets my guilt . And once I saw it in myself, I started seeing it everywhere.

We guilt-give by saying yes when we want to say no. We guilt-give by over-explaining, over-staying, over-giving. We guilt-give our time, our energy, our boundaries, hoping it will erase the feeling.

But guilt-giving isn’t repair. It’s relief. It soothes the discomfort without listening to what guilt is actually trying to tell us. And over time, it teaches us to feed or push down our guilt instead of understanding it. Guilt doesn’t actually want more from us. It wants honesty. Honesty about what we’re afraid of. About what we did wrong. Honesty about how to do better next time.

I struggle with more than just mom guilt.

I punish myself for not spending enough time with my aging parents. Guilt for working too much. And then guilt for not working enough. Guilt for not being a good enough wife. Guilt for spending too much money. Guilt for resting. Guilt for wanting more.

I could go on and on.

Some days, the guilt eats me alive. It makes me overthink everything I do. It yells at me, YOU’RE A BAD MOM. It sits heavy on my chest and paralyses my thoughts.

Sometimes it feels like guilt is going to kill me.

But here’s what I’ve learned, guilt itself doesn’t destroy us. Shame does.

Looking back now, I can finally see how much I was carrying.

I was alone. Truly alone. No family nearby. No community. No one tapping in to give me a break. I didn’t even drive, which meant getting around with a colic baby was EXTRA hard. We were living almost paycheque to paycheque, counting dollars while I was enrolled in school, studying to be a nutritionist. I was also working. I was trying to build a career that felt impossible at the time. I wasn’t sleeping. My body was depleted. My nervous system was fried.

And on top of all of that, I was trying to care for a baby who cried constantly, relentlessly, without relief.

I wasn’t a bad mom. I was a human under enormous pressure.

I noticed what I was doing in that moment. I stopped. I walked away to calm down. And I never let myself get into that situation again.

And I’m finally able to say this, even if my voice still shakes.

I forgive myself. I forgive you, Holly.

When guilt is acknowledged, named, and either repaired or released, it completes its cycle.

When it’s ignored or turned inward, it turns into shame and starts shaping identity.

And no one heals while believing they themselves are the problem.

So if guilt has been loud in your life lately, I want to ask you:

What moment are you still punishing yourself for, even though you’ve already paid for it a thousand times over? When guilt brings that memory back, what does it tell you it means about you?

If someone you love had done the same thing, under the same exhaustion, pressure, and fear, would you believe it defined who they are? Or would you see it as a human breaking point?

And what would change if guilt wasn’t something you used to hurt yourself, but something you used to understand yourself?

Guilt isn’t here to break us. It’s here to wake us up.

It shows us where we care deeply. Where our values live. Where we want to be more thoughtful, more present, more loving.

But guilt was never meant to be a weapon.

When we turn guilt into punishment, it makes us smaller, harsher, more afraid. When we turn guilt into information, it makes us kinder — to ourselves and to everyone else.

Because people who forgive themselves aren’t constantly defending their worth. People who understand their own breaking points judge others less. People who stop punishing themselves stop passing that punishment on.

You don’t become better by carrying guilt forever. You become better by listening to it… and then choosing compassion over cruelty.

Including toward yourself.

You don’t have to be perfect to be good. And you don’t have to keep bleeding to prove that you care.

You’ve already proven that.

Therapeutic Art Activity: The Guilt Release

Find a quiet space and grab a pen or pencil (and colours, stickers etc).

Name the guilt (boulders): In each boulder, write one guilt you’ve been carrying. Big or small. Try to keep it specific (one guilt per boulder).

What it taught you (the character): Inside the character, write what this guilt shows you care about, what value it points to, or what you’ve learned about yourself because of it. Example: “I want to be more present with my son”, “I want to yell less” etc.

Letting go (the balloons): In each balloon, write the emotion, story or negative self talk that you’re ready to let go of. Examples: “I’m a bad mom. I’m selfish. I always mess up.”

Pause and reflect: When you’re done, look at the page and notice the difference between the guilt you named, what you learned and what you’re choosing to release.

Decide what happens next: If something needs repair, take one small, realistic step to lead you to healing. Example: Do you owe someone an apology? If nothing needs fixing, give yourself permission to release it.

Fold the page and place it somewhere safe. This is a signal to your body that you don’t need to carry this guilt with you anymore.

Return to it: You can redo this activity anytime guilt gets loud again. Each time you do, you’re teaching yourself a new pattern. That you can learn to do better without punishing yourself.

Journal Prompts to Release Guilt

Let Go Sticker & Art Print

I made the Let Go Balloon as both a vinyl sticker and an art print for anyone sitting with guilt, shame, or something they know they’re ready to loosen their grip on. Not to force release, just to remind you that letting go can feel liberating. Letting go isn’t about giving up. It’s about choosing yourself when holding on keeps hurting.

Hang this art print somewhere you’ll see it when your mind won’t stop ruminating. When you need a reminder that you’re allowed to put things down.

Stick this somewhere you’ll see it when you’re stuck replaying, overthinking, or carrying more than you need to. On your laptop, journal, water bottle, or mirror.