05/29/2026
Seeing as the groups at LLGAMH aren't running right now, we thought we'd do our part by sharing some psychoeducational food for thought.
We encourage you to keep these conversations going. Talk about them with your friends, neighbours, family members, and coworkers. These are the things we should all be thinking about and discussing.
Let's start with the difference between guilt and shame.
I know, it's a heavy topic, but that's exactly why we picked it. Both of these emotions become heavier the longer we carry them alone. They weigh us down when left unspoken, which is why it's important to talk about them.
Guilt ➡️ "I did something bad." "I made a mistake."
Guilt is about behaviour.
It's that uncomfortable, nagging feeling we get when our actions don't align with our values. When used constructively, guilt can act as a moral compass and motivate us to make changes.
Shame ➡️ "I am bad." "I am a mistake."
Shame is about identity.
For many people, shame is the belief, not always based in truth, that they are fundamentally flawed, broken, or unworthy. It isolates us and grows best in darkness. The antidotes are empathy, vulnerability, and honest conversation.
For others, however, shame seems noticeably absent, even when society would reasonably expect it to be present. They appear to lack empathy, accountability, and insight. After all, a moral compass only works if you're willing to follow it.
Here's an example of the difference:
Guilt
A striking frontline worker might experience guilt because they're being told they're abandoning clients by striking. It's important to remember that if workers don't advocate for fair treatment and a basic level of financial security, they may not be able to continue providing quality care in the long term.
Many workers may also carry guilt from knowing they can't give clients their best because they're burnt out, overwhelmed, understaffed, and stretched beyond their limits.
VS.
Shame
Imagine being the CEO of a large organization entrusted with $15-20 million annually to provide services to some of the community's most vulnerable people.
Imagine publicly committing to keep two residential treatment centres open, reassuring residents, families, staff, and the community that those services would continue.
Then imagine abruptly discharging residents and closing those same centres, leaving people scrambling to understand what happened and where they would go next.
Most people would feel something in that moment.
They would feel uncomfortable knowing their decisions caused fear, uncertainty, and harm to people who were already struggling. They would feel compelled to acknowledge the impact, accept responsibility, and answer difficult questions.
That's what shame is supposed to do. Not destroy us, but force us to examine ourselves when our actions have hurt others.
When there is no visible acknowledgement of the harm, no accountability, no meaningful reflection, people are left wondering: where is the empathy? Where is the insight? Where is the shame that would normally accompany decisions with such significant consequences?
Leadership is not measured by salary, titles, or press releases. It's measured by how we treat people when they are at their most vulnerable, and by our willingness to own the consequences of our decisions.
The absence of shame isn't strength. It's a lack of accountability.
