Soccer practice. It's one of my favorite times. I love watching the girls run and play and have fun and learn and compete. I love seeing the community they build through a shared love for sport. I love the talk time with the other mommies. Always gives me something to think about.
This week a wiry thread of something ugly ran through every conversation. One mom was headed to a Girl's Night Out and needed someone to give her daughter a ride home. She took her time leaving; "guilt," she said.
Another mom had a coupon for a major discount at her favorite store. She wanted to run over and gift herself something. She weighed the pros and cons and worked out her justification for the purchase, wondering if she would hide it from her husband.
I myself didn't want to leave until my husband showed up. I was the drop off driver, he was the pick up driver. I knew he was on the way, I knew practice lasted another hour, I knew he knew. Still, I resisted leaving, worried, feeling guilty that I wasn't standing there, watching her warm-up, shoot, run, drill.
But the word "guilt" spoken by both of these moms resonated through my head, bouncing around like an uninvited guest overstaying its welcome in my head. I walked away confident my daughter would indeed have a ride home, that my husband would show up. Guilt had no place in this situation.
Sure. There are times when a healthy dose of real, true conviction prompts one to confess, or apologize, or change. But this? This was just silly mom insecurity. And I'm too busy for that.