Losing things, immigrant guilt, and loud inner critics

I recently thought I lost my wallet and my cute reading glasses. What followed was 24 hours of intense guilt, shame, and internal character assassination that was, frankly, ridiculous. I wasn’t mildly annoyed or inconvenienced, I was overwhelmed. The mean lady in my head took the wheel immediately. What the heck is going on with that?

Losing stuff has always been an Achilles heel for me. What’s confusing is that I don’t actually have a long history of losing things. One would think that when I do lose something, I’d be able to be kind to myself. Nope. When I lose something, I feel absolutely terrible. The tape in my head starts playing on repeat: This is why we can’t have nice things. I can’t believe you lost this. Losing things is terrible. You are extremely irresponsible. And then the imagined disappointment arrives: If you told your parents, your partner, anyone really, they would be so disappointed in you.

What guilt is and why we feel it

In psychological terms, guilt is understood as a self-conscious emotion—one that provokes us to look at ourselves, reflect on what we’ve done or failed to do, and evaluate whether our behavior aligns with our own morals or the morals of others.

Guilt is both deeply self-focused and intensely other-focused. It plays an important role in our interpersonal functioning, helping us stay connected to the group and motivating us to repair harm when we’ve done something that might damage our relationships.

Like all emotions, there’s a healthy and functional way to experience guilt. Guilt about past choices can help us draw bright lines around behaviors we won’t engage in again—like saying cruel things, cheating, driving under the influence, lying, or failing to show up for a friend in need.

If this were the kind of guilt I felt about losing objects, I wouldn’t be worried.

When Losing Things Triggers Excessive Guilt and Shame

Instead, losing things brings on a calamitous wave of thoughts, beliefs, and feelings that can drown me. The intensity is wildly disproportionate to the event. Even years later, the guilt can resurface. For example: I once had a tiny white fidget spinner. It was adorable. Truly the perfect size. I lost it on a trip seven years ago.

I still feel guilty about losing it.

A. Fidget. Spinner.

Many of us experience high levels of guilt. Some of us are more susceptible because of how anxiety operates in our nervous systems, our cultural belief systems, family dynamics, and perfectionism. For me, all four are in play.

Family Roles, Identity, and Guilt

I grew up in a family where I was the “responsible child” and my older brother was the free spirit and rulebreaker. That dynamic persists into adulthood. One of my sibling’s free-spirited qualities is that he loses things—keys, phones, wallets—often. Usually he finds them eventually, but there’s a predictable period of searching that accompanies his life.

So when I lose something, the mean lady in my head immediately tells me I’m behaving like my brother. You don’t need to be a therapist to see where this goes. Sometimes our internal picture of who we are is painted in opposition to someone else in our family. When that picture gets threatened, the emotional response can be intense and outsized.

Will my mother judge me for losing my wallet? Absolutely. There is a 0% chance I can control her judgment. How much power I give that judgment over my sense of self is 100% up to me.

Immigrant Guilt and the Shame of Losing Things

Cultural beliefs also deeply inform how guilt shows up. As a child of Asian immigrants, I grew up in a collectivist culture with a strong emphasis on honor and shame. Disrupting the group, failing to meet family or community expectations, or not honoring the sacrifices others have made for you are all considered worthy of guilt.

Sahaj Kaur Koli writes that guilt in collective cultures “reminds you of your responsibilities. It anchors you to your family, community, or heritage.” She also distinguishes between everyday guilt and immigrant guilt. My problem is that regular guilt about losing objects often tips into immigrant guilt—about being softer than my parents, careless with what they worked hard to provide, or fundamentally ungrateful. Somehow, a lost wallet becomes evidence that I have failed to fully honor their sacrifices. Seeing this narrative clearly has helped loosen its grip.

Perfectionism, Control, and the Fear of Making Mistakes

Another reason guilt about losing things is so intense for me are my control issues. I have held unrealistic standards for myself for most of my life. Losing something represents a lack of control that I absolutely hate. With my tendency toward all-or-nothing thinking, guilt quickly morphs into shame: not I lost something, but there is something wrong with me.

Losing things threatens my deep belief that if I just try hard enough, I can get close to perfect. When turned up all the way, my perfectionist tendencies mean that I can be overly focused on details, rules, and productivity, I can struggle with delegation, and it would be fair to say that I can be too rigid. With those beliefs as part of my operating system, not surprisingly, misplacing something is like kryptonite to me. Perfectionism hates being embarrassed, and losing things is basically a public takedown that feels terrible.

How to Cope with Guilt and Your Inner Critic

Here’s how I’ve tried to work with my guilt about losing things—and with the mean lady in my head—over the years:

Say what you would say to a friend.
The mean lady doesn’t show up when someone else loses something (okay, she does with my brother). I’m suddenly full of compassion: It’s okay. People lose things all the time. So I ask myself what I’d say to a specific friend if this happened to them.

Ask a friend to pull you out of the quicksand.
Sometimes I can’t access that compassion on my own. I’ve called friends and said, “The mean lady is back—I need help.” And I let them say the kind thing out loud when I can’t.

Re-evaluate your standards.
Guilt emerges when we violate an internal standard. Intense guilt is often a sign that the standard itself deserves scrutiny. Is it realistic to believe I should never lose anything? No. When I can acknowledge that this standard is slightly unhinged, the mean lady loses some of her authority.

Be kind to the mean lady.
She shows up to hold me accountable, make sure I’ve learned my lesson, and prevent future mistakes. She just happens to do this by making me feel like absolute shit. When I can access a more grounded, curious part of myself, I can thank her for her efforts—and gently remind her that shame isn’t actually an effective teacher.

The relief I felt last week when I found my wallet and reading glasses was intense and reminded me of how exhausting feelings of excessive guilt can be. I know this cycle well enough now that I can recognize it and get support when it’s triggered. Maybe one day I’ll fully rewire this part of my brain. But even if I don’t, I’m learning to relate to my guilt differently—to see losing things as a human mistake rather than a moral failure.