There are two types of people in the world: those who think everything is their fault and those who believe nothing is their fault.
This is, of course, a false dichotomy. As in all things human, there is a spectrum between these opposites.
On one end, people carry the responsibility for everything and everyone. It sounds like this: «(Going down the stairs) I should offer to finish that report for Jane, she’s busy preparing to go on holiday. I need to make time to help John with his presentation; he was so nervous yesterday. (Entering the living room, starts to pick up the toys scattered across the floor) Looks like I’m the designated toy-picker-upper again. (Opening the front door) Mrs. Robinson’s old fridge is still on the curb; her nephew didn’t call for garbage removal. Does he even know he has to call? Will he call? It’s just easier if I handle it myself. (Dials the number)»
On the other end, people maintain a clear separation between their personal responsibilities and others, and believe others will do the same. It sounds like this: «(Going down the stairs) I bet Jane will go crazy today trying to finish the report before her holidays. She needs to learn to manage her deadlines and I need to save my energy. John’s stressed about his presentation tomorrow, but he’ll be fine, as always. He needs to trust himself more. (Looking around) These toys are everywhere. (Opening the front door) Mrs. Robinson’s old fridge is still on the curb. Her nephew didn’t call for garbage removal.»
I became conscious of this dichotomy after reading Thanks for the Feedback, which discussed how people in these two extremes feel and act very differently when receiving negative feedback: from «What have I done wrong?» to «Who are you to say I did something wrong?», from guilt-driven over-responsibility to disengaged detachment.
I imagine this spectrum as a bell curve, and use it as a form of human characterization, mostly out of curiosity, sometimes still out of judgment. I see myself as a kid, very close to the edge of guilt, trembling when my mother yelled, «Who did this?».
The «right» side
Responsibility is the ability to answer, to correspond, to offer in return - it shapes how we interact with others and with the planet (how we interact with ourselves is a whole other conversation). Nations and religions are preserved by a sense of duty towards them. Families rely on being there for each other. We rely on factories not to pollute our groundwater. Responsibility is what makes communities work.
Stepping back from a task, like Jane’s report, might ease our burden, but it can also cost us the chance to strengthen a relationship, to make someone’s life better, or to build a collaborative culture at work. If Jane’s report is crucial, choosing to ignore it becomes neglect. If, in a team or in a family, we always have the same people avoiding responsibility for the «shared» tasks, it places an unfair burden on others.
I had no doubt being responsible was the right side. It was what made me study, graduate, get a job I was passionate about, and become independent. «Responsible» was who I want(ed) to be, even if it wasn’t who I always was.
The other side
If we don’t do the things we’re supposed to, we are wrong, right? Not really.
I remember, during an exam period in college, being conflicted because I said yes to travelling to Cuba for a training course about non-formal education and environment. I had an exam the day after arrival and barely made it through. It was for sure the wrong decision, I was supposed to be studying, but I never regretted that decision because that training course was a milestone in my life.
How could that be?
The veil started to lift. Maybe there was something positive about «irresponsibility» and something negative about «responsibility».
Going back to the definition: we are irresponsible when we can not, or will not, respond to something or someone. But what if we are responding to something else, to someone else?
What if the person looking at the toys scattered around the living room is thinking, «Yesterday was such a creative night; having kids really brings out the playful part of me». What if someone decides that having a place for the imagination is more important than having a tidy living room?
What if the person that is not offering to help is simply trusting others to do their work in their own rhythm, allowing them to grow and learn from mistakes and, maybe, to come up with solutions they could never have?
How can anyone say one value is more important than another? Who decides to whom, or to what, we respond? Society? Our boss? Ourselves?
The veil continued to lift when I read Thanks for the Feedback. With one sentence, another part of my certainty came tumbling down. I don’t remember the exact words, but the idea was: when you take responsibility for a situation you are not responsible for, you make it harder to solve. This blew my mind: being too deep on the «responsible» edge could do as much harm as its opposite.
Years later, when I became a team leader, this idea was crucial. I was overwhelmed by all the things that were under my umbrella, a giant to-do list that haunted my sleep, and I could see how feeling guilty was preventing constructive conversations about the real issues.
At work, I started noticing how other people dealt with «responsibility» and how they could acknowledge a problem without immediately turning it into another thing they had to solve.
I learned to breathe, take a step back, and turn my internal talk from blame into solutions. I learned to be curious about the problems and about what we, as a team, could do. This helped me create space to look at things objectively and stop feeling it was personal, keeping guilt at bay.
But only when I left that job was I able to spot the arrogance of my feeling of «if I don’t do it, nobody will». It didn’t feel like arrogance at the time; it felt like giving my time and energy to a cause - I was being «responsible». It was humbling (and a huge relief) to realise how easily I was replaced.
«Irresponsibility» is not always about neglect; it’s about choosing what to respond to. It’s choosing what is valuable to us. It’s creating boundaries. It’s choosing to trust others. It’s having the humility to know things will go on without us. Maybe we can rename it «selective engagement».
The personal compass
Imagine we have a needle pointing to one spot on this spectrum, to what we feel is the «right» spot. My current default setting is still on the «feeling responsible» side, but it has shifted away from the edge. And it’s not always there; sometimes I intentionally move it to the other side.
Our individual tendency can change over time and vary across different areas of our life (like being responsible at work but not with your health). Being aware of this spectrum and this tendency allows us to adjust the needle when needed, while it is still possible for it to get stuck without us realising.
There are signs that let us know we are out of balance and in need of shifting. If we always feel guilty, if we feel resentment or if we are burned out, maybe we need to let go of the will to do it all. If we feel we are missing opportunities, if we feel apathetic, stuck, or disconnected, maybe it’s time to step up.
It’s not always easy to tell what the right move is. In some cases, I feel I shifted my needle too far into the letting go side, but then I wonder if I’m just feeling guilty for putting my needs first.
Moving the needle is searching for alignment between ourselves, others, and the world. Caring is an act of love; not caring is an act of freedom. Which is more needed? It depends - we need to calibrate the needle with our values, from the will to leave the world a better place to the need for peace of mind.
Where does your needle point to today? Does it need to shift?
I think about this a lot! I’ve always had a tendency to feel too much responsibility for other people’s feelings. Codependency! It’s a lot of work to balance it out, keeping the compassion but working towards healthy boundaries.