The Price of Guilt and the Reward It Can Give If you Listen

I have a reusable coffee cup. I have a few actually, but there's one I use more than any others.

I bought it from Pret A Manger about five years ago, maybe more.

A few weeks ago in an independent coffee shop in Islington, after the barista had taken the cup from me, she looked at it and raised an eyebrow. The meaning was very clear. 'A Pret cup? Seriously?'

The feeling that came over me was quite something. I did what I do when I feel even slightly under threat, I retreated. I mumbled something 'They don't even make them any more...'

She said, voice full of sarcasm, 'Regular customer are you?'

I stayed quiet.

I didn't think much of it until a few hours later when it started to sink in. And then later, I thought about that cup. And that cup is why this event has stayed with me.

You see, I love it. Every time I hold it, it means something to me.

When I bought that cup, I bought it in a Pret near Charing Cross, because I kept getting annoyed that I was in Pret all the time and I wasn't getting the 50p discount they give to people who use reusable cups. I've used it hundreds of times since, more than paying for itself.

And the reason that mattered is that I was buying coffee in Pret at the time because I couldn't really afford to buy coffee anywhere else. I didn't have the money to spend £3 on a coffee in a trendy independent place. In Pret I could get their filter coffee for 99p, 49p with the cup! This really mattered to me. My finances weren't in great shape (I hadn't taken steps to sort them yet and my business hadn't grown to where it is now) and so every time I held that cup it told me I was doing something to make a difference to my life. What a feeling. And I still get that feeling, that satisfaction, from it now.

It is a really meaningful cup for me.

And that, of course, is what I wish I'd said to the barista. Before telling her that the other reason I like Pret is that pretty much everyone who works there is friendly, and no one there has ever sneered at me for anything. This would be followed, of course, by me taking the cup back, cancelling my order and leaving.

That's what what I wish I'd said and done.

But I didn't. I briefly considered leaving a review complaining but that felt petty, even though I was annoyed and hurt by the exchange. The next day I didn't go back to the coffee shop, of course, and I doubt I will for years if ever. That's the price of bad service.

And, now I know a new boundary. I know a new line I won't let be crossed again. And I know exactly what to do should that same thing happen again: I know what my values and boundaries require of me in that situation. I didn't know it before, I didn't know that the cup mattered so much until that woman sneered at me. Now I do.

I'd love it if in situations like that I knew instantly, but mostly, over the course of my life, that hasn't been how it's been.

Instead, it's been like this: something happens, and then later I am full of regret. Sometimes, like this, it's a nagging feeling lasting weeks (perhaps exorcised by a 12-minute article). But sometimes, for some things, those ones I regret the most, those ones which fill me most with guilt, the feeling lasts years. Sometimes decades.

There are things in my life which come to my mind regularly, maybe every month or two, and have done so for the last 25 years. They come with a wince.

They are how I know how to live my life.

The price of guilt is an unpleasant feeling.

The reward you can receive from guilt, if you want to really listen, is a life lived more in line with your values each day, week, month or year.

If you are willing to listen to the guilt, to understand yourself and to say to yourself: never again.

That's part of why my marriage is the best relationship I have ever had: it's built on the guilt of previous mistakes.

That's how the agreements I make with my clients are made: based on the things that have gone wrong in the past.

I have no doubt that's how my parenting is evolving: partly through wisdom and intuition and learning, yes, and partly through the mistakes I've made and will make.

Guilt gets a bad rap. But really it's just information. And it's important information: it tells you what matters to you, and it tells you how to behave in line with those things.

It can be damaging. It can create anxiety, worry and loss of the present to the past.

And it can be empowering: I'm still alive. There will be a next time. And I will be better.

And so, beware, sneery baristas of London. Be wary around me. I know what to say to you now.

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This is the latest in a series of articles written using the 12-Minute Method: write for twelve minutes, proof read once with tiny edits and then post online. 

The first 12-Minute Method Book - How to Start When You're Stuck - is out now!