Truthfully, I am struggling… really bad.
Years ago, LeBron James co-produced a Starz show called “Survivor’s Remorse.” The show’s premise was that a young basketball player, Cam Calloway, signs a professional contract with an NBA team and moves his family to Atlanta. For four seasons, fans got to laugh at the shenanigans and comedy that ensued as Cam navigated his family and their outrageous expectations as a result of his newfound fame. The title of the show stems from the medical concept of “survivor’s guilt, ” which is a response to an event in which someone else experienced a devastating loss but you did not. When that happens, the person who “survived” the event struggles within themselves because they are reasonably ok and unscathed, but someone else is not. According to the National Institutes of Health, survivor’s guilt is associated with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and has grown in understanding since 1943.
Until 2014, when LeBron’s show debuted, I had never heard of the medical term. I was familiar with PTSD, and I knew that I was living with that as a result of my childhood trauma, but I did not know that there was a phrase that could perfectly sum up how I have felt for all of my life.
Yes, I have survived many things, but to an extent, I am not thriving because of the guilt that I carry.
I have survivor’s guilt.
The rape that I endured from ages 6-8 years old was painful enough, but the remnants of it that still haunt me sometimes feel worse. For example, I struggle with making eye contact with men who are older than me because my rapist (who is also my brother) is older than me. Tragically, that fact also tainted my relationships with my other brothers, although they did not hurt me in any way, because when I see them, I feel the pain that I endured at the hands of one brother. Additionally, I struggle with feelings of abandonment and rejection because my father rejected and abandoned me before the rape even occurred. Yet, through prayer and decades of therapy, I have made some progress from those incidents. At times, thoughts and feelings resurface (thanks, PTSD), but by and large, I have made great strides, and I am forever thankful for the healing.
So where does the guilt come from? Well, that is coming from somewhere much closer to home.
For every victory I celebrated and every high that I have reached, my heart aches because a part of me feels like I do not deserve it. My family is laden with women who have [unfortunately] endured the same pains as me, and they are not in the same healing space as I am. Sometimes I intentionally dim my own light because I know that there are others in my family or close circle who are hurting, and I perceive that my happiness would further hurt them. The same thing happens when I travel. I feel guilty because my family hasn’t had the opportunity to travel because of financial constraints and/or work responsibilities. Often, I overcompensate by spending money (that I don’t have) to salve a guilt that consumes me completely, but was never expressed by my loved ones.
However, most recently, the guilt that has been consuming me dates back to July. In July, my regular mammogram revealed a nodule that sparked concern in my doctor. I was ordered to receive a biopsy of my left breast, and anxiety set in from the moment I heard his words. I had a friend of King’s reach out to me to provide prayer and comfort as I navigated the minutes, hours, and days of waiting for the results. When the results finally arrived, the only word I saw was “benign.” My body leapt for joy as my heart cried out to God in praise. I was so excited; I was so relieved! So, when my sister received news that she had a large mass in her bladder and her biopsy results came back cancerous, my old friend, Mr. Guilt, intensified to further consume me.
Why were my results benign, but hers weren’t? Why was I spared, but she was not?
With each doctor’s appointment, medication pickup, and CaringBridge post that is made, the guilt continues to rise within me. I am healthy… but she is not.
Thursday, September 17, 2026. That’s the day that she shared her cancer diagnosis. That is also the last day that I lived normally. The last day that my family lived normally.
Since that day, I have not slept, rested, or worked the same. Whenever I put my phone down, I dread picking it back up, for fear that something devastating has happened to my sister. In fact, King noticed that when my sister or my mom calls me, I immediately panic, worrying that something is wrong and that I have to immediately leave where I am to rush to them. Before King and I have date nights (which are cellphone-free hours of alone time), I text my mom and my sister, “jokingly” telling them to stay alive and well until I text back. In hindsight, this is probably why they often don’t tell me important things because they know that my nerves cannot handle it. When anxiety hits me, it cripples me, rendering me completely useless and incapable of doing anything.
This past Saturday, my sister texted me, asking if I could take my niece to her homecoming dance, and I said no. With all of the mess going on inside of my mind (ADHD, PTSD, OCD, GAD, and Seasonal Depression), I tend to GO, GO, GO, not realizing until it’s far too late that my mind and body need rest. As such, I intentionally build in days when I stay at home, disconnect from the world, and just focus on rest and healing. I have to have these days because if I don’t, I will not be able to function when I am supposed to… you know, like Monday through Friday when I am at work. Saying NO to my sister was one of the hardest things that I ever had to do. My mind and body needed the rest, but as soon as I hit send on the text message, guilt ate away at whatever else was remaining within me.
Today marks the beginning of a new month. A month where I wanted to focus on internal discipline (you know, for finances, health, etc.). Yet, my journal time (and ChatGPT) helped me realize that part of the reason I have not found the complete success in life that I have been looking for is that there is a humongous cloud of guilt that dwells over me, prohibiting me from ever going the distance. Every time I try, I see the progress and feel guilty about where I am in life. That guilt eats away at me, and then I fall back into the old habits that I once had. I’m not afraid of success or of being successful. What I am afraid of is how my enjoyment of my success impacts my family… and I hate that they may not have what I have.
That’s a lot to unpack. Unlike Cam Calloway, this guilt from survival has been my companion for 32 years, not just four television seasons. I’m struggling greatly to adjust to the rapid changes that have occurred in my family this year, and I feel guilty for even having feelings because I am not the one in physical pain and, all things considered, I’ve got it “good.” Tomorrow I plan on having a LENGTHY conversation with one of my therapists, in the hopes that he and my EMDR therapist can help me heal from all that is “broken” within me.
As King and I prepare for our next, we are being very intentional about our future and retirement. In order to go far, we recognize that we must make some great sacrifices today. King tried to prepare me, but even his preparation just presented more anxiety. When I realized that my family contained many members who either worked until they died or are still working in their older age, I declared that retirement is a privilege and a gift that I want to live to achieve. I want to live long enough to retire… and then live a decade or two or more beyond that. I want to travel the world with King, adding stamps to our passport and our National Parks book, and visiting iconic places all over the world. I want to begin living the life that my ancestors fought so hard for me to be able to have, and even that continues to churn guilt within me. I feel guilty for having a dream and for having a partner who supports and encourages my dreaming. To be completely honest, even as I write this, my anxiety and heartburn are rising, and I had to take Tums to fight the pain. I may not have cancer or any other debilitating disease, but I fear that guilt and anxiety may kill me just the same.
I want to be free to live… but I feel so guilty. And worst yet, I feel guilty for feeling guilty.
Beloved, can you pray with me, and can you please pray for my sister?
Be blessed.
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