That Guilt I Feel…

I carry a constant, quiet guilt about my son’s psoriasis, as if somewhere along the way I failed him—maybe something I did during pregnancy, some small mistake I could have avoided. Even though I know, intellectually, that psoriasis isn’t caused by a single parental action, and that there’s no definitive cure, the feeling persists: every flare makes me question myself, every time I feel a prayer has gone unanswered, makes me wonder if I lack enough faith to make him well. I find myself torn between trying every remedy I hear about—natural treatments, old wives’ tales, new creams—and fearing I’m chasing false hope rather than genuinely helping him. That helplessness sits heavy; I want to protect him from pain and stigma, to find an answer that will spare him discomfort and social hurt, and when relief doesn’t come quickly, I feel lost and responsible. Deep down, I also understand that neither blame nor miracles are simple, that steady care, thoughtful advocacy, and unconditional love matter far more than perfection. Still, the worry returns: maybe there was something I did during pregnancy, some missed precaution or tiny slip that somehow led to this. That quiet, nagging guilt keeps surfacing whenever I see his skin flare, a persistent ache beneath the day-to-day work of caring for him. But… whenI feel this way, I find that my prayers receive a quiet response, a hailmary so to speak. I keep going.