A look at the 'guilt gene' and why we struggle to choose ourselves  

Somewhere along the roads of history, mankind decided that being busy, tired, and constantly on the go meant you were doing something right. Men were taught to provide, and women were taught to anticipate. To notice what needed to be done before it was asked. To manage not just tasks, but emotions; to hold families, relationships, workplaces, and traditions together, often invisibly, and several times at the cost of their own mental peace.

If men were out all day, women were just as busy, ensuring everything ran smoothly at home. Whilst neither could tangibly prove how much their time was worth, there was a subtle shift in that idea. If men or women weren’t seen running from pillar to post, it was assumed that they were lucky enough to be doing nothing, or were just plain lazy.

When festivities become performative 

The celebratory season arrives with a familiar script: calendars brimming with social engagements, weddings to attend, dinners to host, gifts to source. Tucked between the fairy lights and festivities is an emotion many of us know too well but rarely articulate: guilt. Guilt for cancelling plans, for arriving late, for not being present enough, generous enough, available enough. Guilt for wanting even a moment to catch one’s breath.

But what if we can get to the root cause of this feeling, and realise that claiming a little time away from the world is actually a splendid way to come back to it in a more wholesome way? Today, celebrations are as much about visibility as they are about connection. The table must look a certain way. The outfit must feel “festive.” The gathering must be documented, shared, and remembered publicly. In this context, taking time for yourself can feel like opting out of the narrative.

There’s a fear of missing out, yes, but also a fear of being misunderstood, or appearing ungrateful or antisocial. Yet, so many of us know that the most restorative moments rarely occur amidst that boisterous group plan, but instead tap us gently during the quiet moments we take to get ready in the evening, or in that cheeky cup of hot chocolate at midnight.

Why are we apologetic about choosing ourselves? 

Over the years, multitasking, especially for women, has never been just about efficiency. It has been about worth. From an early age, the more a woman does skilfully, the more she is expected to do without pause. Acknowledgement or approval rarely arrives, but the absence of meeting others’ needs is quickly frowned upon. Over time, taking a moment purely for oneself becomes something that exists in the margins, negotiated only after everyone else has been accounted for.

So, when a woman chooses to carve out time for herself—and we’re talking real time, not hyper-productivity disguised as self-care—it disrupts a deeply ingrained pattern. The guilt that follows is not personal weakness; it’s a cultural lens, because we live in a world that celebrates women who do it all, but quietly penalises those who choose to do less. Rest, when claimed without justification, is still viewed as indulgent, solitude is mistaken for disengagement, and boundaries are too often interpreted as selfishness.

This is why even moments meant for restoration are framed as efficiency. A walk can’t be a stroll; it must be for fitness. Reading must be educational, regardless of the fact that all books expand minds. A solo trip must be transformative. Pleasure alone rarely feels like a sufficient reason to do the things we’d like to do. What women are really negotiating in these moments is permission, sadly not even from others, but from decades of internalised expectation. The idea that being needed is synonymous with being loved, and that opting out—even temporarily—risks disappointing someone.

The cost of this conditioning is profound: chronic exhaustion, emotional burnout, a persistent sense of being stretched thin, even in moments of supposed rest. Choosing me-time, then, is not about indulgence. It is necessary to take a step back to recoup and understand that presence does not require depletion.

How to take guilt-free me-time 

Rest is a right, and it looks different for everyone. The social butterfly might feel anxious at switching off notifications for an afternoon, but that action might be an introvert’s dream. A trip without waiting for the group chat to agree might sound terrifying for some, and therapeutic to others. The truth is, there’s no right or wrong. Each one’s roadmap to rest looks different, and the core of this whole concept is that you do what feels right for you, without any pressure or judgment.

Do what helps soften your nervous system, where breath returns to rhythm, where thoughts settle. Whether it’s a daily tea-making ritual, journalling, taking yourself out for coffee and cake or even just sitting in contemplative silence on your balcony: taking time for yourself does not diminish your care for others. It recalibrates it. A rested mind listens better. A nourished body offers more. A grounded presence is far more meaningful than a resentful one. Something remarkable happens when we allow ourselves space. We return softer, more attentive, and less reactive. We stop counting what we give and start enjoying how we give it.

As the year winds down, there is a temptation to fill every remaining space, to end on a high, to do it all, to be everywhere. But there is another option: to enter the year carrying some energy forward. Taking guilt-free me time isn’t about withdrawal from the world. It’s about returning to it with clarity, intention, and grace. Perhaps the most radical shift isn’t learning how to multitask better, but in learning how to stop apologising. We need to trust that our relationships, our work, and our identities will not unravel simply because we chose ourselves for a while.

All images: Getty 

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