Guilt/y

Guilt is a negative emotion experienced when one believes they have committed a wrongdoing or caused harm, such as breaking a social or personal standard. It is a feeling of remorse or culpability for an action and is distinct from shame, which is a negative feeling about oneself rather than a specific behavior. While it can be uncomfortable, guilt often motivates a person to apologise, correct their mistake, and act more responsibly in the future.

Action-oriented: Guilt is a reaction to a specific action or inaction, such as lying, cheating, or failing to fulfill a responsibility.

Harm-focused: It arises from the realisation that one has caused actual or perceived harm to another person.

Difference from shame: Guilt focuses on the action (“I did something bad”), whereas shame focuses on the self (“I am bad”).

Behavioural outcomes: Feelings of guilt can be adaptive, prompting individuals to repair relationships and make amends.

The root cause of guilt: People may feel guilt for a variety of reasons, including acts they have committed (or think that they committed), a failure to do something they should have done, or thoughts that they think are morally wrong.

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Types of guilt:

Reactive or consequential guilt is something a person feels in response to a specific action, event, or failure to act.

It is often tied to regret, loss, or witnessing the harm they have caused, which then triggers a feeling of guilt — not because they fully understood the impact when they did it, but because they are confronted with the outcome afterward.

Example:

Jamie and Una are in a long-term relationship. Jamie forgets Una’s  birthday. Not just forgets — completely blanks on it — and does not even text. Una spends the day alone, heartbroken, crying. They do not fight. Una just goes quiet.

At first, Jamie thinks, “Eh, people forget birthdays. It happens.”

But then Jamie sees:

• Una turning down friends’ invitations to celebrate late — “It does not feel right.”

• A drop in how open or affectionate Una is.

• Una finally saying, “I did not expect much. I just thought I mattered enough to be remembered.”

Suddenly, Jamie feels a sharp, sinking guilt. Not because they forgot on purpose, but because they now see how deeply it hurt Una. That is reactive guilt — their conscience waking up to the pain their actions caused after the fact.

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Anticipatory guilt happens before a person does something wrong. It can sometimes help stop people from acting in harmful ways.

This kind of guilt shows up when you are weighing a decision, and even if you have not acted yet, you are already feeling uneasy, conflicted, ashamed, or emotionally tangled.

Example:

Tim is invited to a weekend trip by a friend they have been emotionally flirting with — while still technically in a relationship with Morgan.

Tim has not told Morgan about the trip. They are justifying it: “It is just friends. It is fine.”

But the whole time leading up to the trip, Tim stomach is in knots. They avoid bringing it up to Morgan. Their texts to the flirty friend feel thrilling and sickening. They know if Morgan found out, they would  be crushed. But they have not “done” anything yet.

That inner dread? The discomfort? The conflict before action? Anticipatory guilt. It is kind of the conscience’s early warning system. Sometimes it saves us from bad decisions. Other times, we bulldoze over it — and graduate into reactive guilt later.

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Existential guilt is a broad, complicated feeling that is not linked to a specific act or event. For example, you may feel guilty that you somehow are not living up to your potential.

Existential guilt is not about what you did or did not do. It is the guilt of being.

Of surviving when others did not.

Of having more while others have less.

Of not doing enough to save the planet, end wars, heal injustice, rescue lost causes, answer every cry for help.

It is that crushing awareness that:

You are lucky, and that makes you uneasy. You are alive, and that makes you feel indebted. You cannot fix everything, and that makes you feel guilty for existing in the mess.

Marit has a good job, a safe home, and time to rest. They scroll the news — famine, war, genocide, people begging for help. They donate when they can. They speak out. But at night, they lie awake wondering: “Why me? Why do I get comfort while others suffer? Why can I not stop this?”

They are not responsible for the pain in the world — but they feel like they are.

That is existential guilt. The guilt of inherited suffering, of privileged helplessness, of watching the world bleed and only having a bandaid.

It feels like standing on a hill watching a flood you cannot stop, carrying someone else’s pain in your pocket, because you should or like you owe a debt to existence, and you do not know who to pay.

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Collective guilt is the feeling that you share some responsibility for harm done by members of a group you belong to. This group may be your society, culture of origin, family or gender.

Collective guilt is the guilt you feel on behalf of a group you are a part of — even if you personally did not do the harm. It is the emotional weight of history, community, ancestry, nationality, religion, gender, race, species — any group that has inflicted harm, knowingly or not.

It is what you feel when you say things like:

• “I did not do it, but I benefit from it.”

• “My people did this, and I still carry the legacy.”

• “I do not agree with this, but I am still part of the system.”

It is often tangled with shame, grief, and a desire to make it right — but also helplessness, because how do you atone for a past you did not control?

The white man who feels left behind, yet still walks into every room assumed competent, safe, worthy — that is the contradiction of privilege.

He may not have a yacht or inherited land, but he inherits trust, leniency, visibility, and the benefit of the doubt in almost every system.

That is collective guilt — a quiet, persistent ache that says:

“We did something wrong. I want to help make it right. Even if I did not do it alone.”