The Strange Guilt of Having Needs
I went out to dinner one evening with my parents to celebrate their anniversary, and I ended up apologizing for something that wasn’t mine to carry.
We went to an Italian restaurant we’ve gone to nearly every year to celebrate a birthday or special occasion—Michelli’s.
If you’re from Los Angeles, you might be familiar with it. It’s fairly well-known here. The restaurant offers delicious Italian comfort food. The waitstaff provides entertainment by singing operatic or popular classic songs to the guests. And the ambience makes you feel like you’re in Italy.
It’s truly a fun place to go out to eat. But that night didn’t feel the same. I found myself apologizing for something I had absolutely nothing to do with.
My mom had ordered something she usually doesn’t get and found it to be too runny, perhaps too watery. My dad and her were talking about ordering her something else, and I found myself saying “I’m sorry,” repeatedly as though I made the dish myself. It’s always my automatic response.
I was overstimulated by the noise, the crowded restaurant, and the food situation. I actually started to cry at the table. That’s when I knew I needed to go outside. So I got up in the middle of what was supposed to be a nice family dinner to try and regulate myself.
I couldn’t get into the headspace that things would be okay. I kept thinking I was the problem. That I caused this. That I ruined everything because I needed a moment to myself. I felt so guilty and ashamed of my reaction. I couldn’t believe I was apologizing for something I had no control over. But I felt bad for my parents, and I kept thinking I’d ruined what could’ve been a wonderful memory.
Standing outside that restaurant, I kept thinking about how quickly I blamed myself for something I couldn’t control. Not only had I apologized for my mom’s meal, but I had also convinced myself that needing a moment to step away had ruined the evening.
The truth is, my guilt wasn’t really about the dinner. It was about something much deeper.
For years, I had treated my needs like inconveniences instead of recognizing them as part of being human. If I needed rest, I felt lazy. If I needed help, I felt like a burden. And if I needed space, I worried I was letting someone down.
Why do so many of us feel guilty for having needs?
Growing up, I truly believed my needs were inconveniences. I thought that if I expressed them, they would be dismissed. I’ve had experiences where my needs were overlooked, which instilled a fear of being vulnerable.
I always assumed other people’s needs were more important than mine. I was always the first to help them. I’ve been used to being a people pleaser. I want to be there for people and give them advice, help them sort out their problems. At first, I thought I did it because I wanted to, but over time I realized how often it left me feeling taken for granted.
Over time, I started to see a pattern.
I always felt this enormous pressure to be easygoing, independent, low-maintenance, and self-sufficient, and that mindset grew with me into adulthood.
Looking back, I don’t think that pressure came out of nowhere.
I think I learned early on that being “easy” made things smoother for everyone else. That if I didn’t need too much, ask too much, or feel like too much, things stayed calmer. I became very aware of other people’s comfort, emotions, and needs, and somewhere along the way, I stopped paying as much attention to my own.
I learned how to anticipate, adjust, and stay small enough not to disrupt anything. Without realizing it, I started equating being low-maintenance with being lovable.
That didn’t disappear as I got older. It followed me into adulthood—showing up in over-apologizing, minimizing what I need, and feeling responsible for how other people feel, even when it has nothing to do with me.
And I think that’s why something as simple as needing a moment outside that restaurant felt so overwhelming. It wasn’t just overstimulation. It was an old belief that said: if I take up space, something will go wrong.
And I think I’m only just starting to notice it as it happens.
That night outside the restaurant wasn’t some big turning point where everything suddenly made sense. It was quieter than that. I was sitting with the realization that I didn’t actually do anything wrong—but still felt like I had.
That gap between what I know and what I feel is where I’m learning to pause.
I’m starting to notice when I apologize too quickly, or when I assume someone else’s discomfort is my responsibility, or when I feel the urge to shrink myself so everything stays “easy.”
Instead of following that instinct right away, I’m trying to question it.
Do I actually need to apologize right now?
Did I actually do something wrong?
Or am I just uncomfortable taking up space?
Sometimes I still default to the old pattern. I still say “sorry” when I don’t need to. I still feel that familiar guilt rise before I’ve even had a chance to think it through.
But now there are also moments where I catch it. Moments where I pause long enough to realize I’m allowed to have needs without making them mean something about my worth.
It doesn’t feel natural yet. But it feels more honest.
I think about that night sometimes.
The noise of the restaurant. The feeling of being overwhelmed at a table that was supposed to feel celebratory. The way I quietly took responsibility for things that were never mine to carry.
And then I think about how I responded—how automatic it all was. The apologizing. The guilt. The belief that needing space somehow meant I had done something wrong.
But I also think about what I didn’t know how to do yet. I didn’t know how to say I need a moment without turning it into an apology. I didn’t know how to separate my emotions from other people’s reactions. And I didn’t know that needing care wasn’t the same as being a burden.
I don’t always get it right. There are still moments where I slip into old patterns without realizing it. Where I apologize before I’ve even had a chance to understand what I’m feeling.
But there are also moments now where I notice it. Where I remind myself that I don’t have to earn the right to have needs.
That night at Michelli’s showed me something I can’t unsee anymore.
That I don’t have to disappear in order to be okay in a room.
When do I feel guilty for having needs that are completely normal?
“Your needs are not an inconvenience—they are information.”
Listen to the podcast episode here:
https://embracetheunseen.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/Strange-Guilt-of-Having-Needs.mp3
Source: The Strange Guilt of Having Needs
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