The power of shame

I thought hate was more powerful, or maybe anger, or pride. But shame silently kicked me under my knees and made me buckle. I didn’t see it coming. It’s sneaky. It kicked me softly. First time, then again, and again. Anything I do is laced with my expectations of myself – does it pass the shame factor? Is it safe to do? What will others think? How will they judge me? Will it be frowned upon? Will it regarded as cool or not? I have a little voice go off in my head, saying – what is it of their business? But it’s quickly silenced by the overwhelming feeling of – shame. I’m not supposed to do this, I can’t do that, I won’t be able to do either, I have to consult, I have to understand, analyze, think, and come to a reasonable conclusion, like everyone does, like I’m supposed to do too.

Or do I? I don’t. But it doesn’t make a difference. The dreaded feeling was implanted in my body such a long time ago, that it became part of me. I choose to do things – but I think I am not supposed to, and I’m ashamed of them. I hide, and I feel awkward, and I want to disappear on the spot if I’m caught doing it, so I hide it better – the cycle continues. Instead of the father above my head, I now have public opinion. What will they think of me? Will they think less of me? Will they shun me because of what I do? Will they forever abandon me? It’s the deepest fear I have – being left alone. I was, many times. I remember how it felt. I was so little that I didn’t understand why I wanted to run away from the house, crawl into the bushes, find the farthest spot, the most tangled one, and then stay still there. I have done it a couple times, causing an entire family to look for me. I sat so still, I saw a mole dig its hole and peek out. I didn’t want to move. After hours of sitting still, it felt comfortable. What I didn’t realize I was doing was – I wanted to die. Like an animal. I was at peace. Nobody watched me anymore, nobody told me what to do or what not to do. Nobody shamed me into being at fault for my own abuse. It was me who was in control, it was me who was now observing, and I wanted to have it stay that way – forever.

Of course, I was found in the end. Of course, the longer I stayed, the worse the punishment was. The more stubborn I would get. The more determined I would hide the next time, choosing a better spot, a trickier one, a more secluded one. But I also trained myself in responding to shame – by hiding. Even in my dreams I was hiding. Under bed, in the closet, behind a curtain. Anywhere, only not to face my abusers. What else could I do? I was little, they were big. I was weak, they were strong. Hiding or dying was the only control I had. And one more – I wasn’t eating either, hoping one day I would just disappear. I don’t need to do this anymore. I’m an adult, I’m strong, I don’t have to face my enemies – rather, they might have to face me one day. But the feeling stayed. The feeling of utter and overwhelming shame controls me like it did back then. And I buckle to it, and loathe it, yet I allow it to take hold of me and ride me like a mule – mercilessly, into the ground. Why? How deep do I have to dig to unroot it? When will there be a glorious moment of me not giving a second thought to what it is I do and how it comes across to others? When can I grow small again and pretend I’m a toddler? How can I shake off the constraints and just be myself – no matter how embarrassing or humiliating it might seem now?

Maybe the first step is – me. Maybe the only step is – me. It is me choosing whether or not to keep playing the game or to tell it to bug off. I choose to play then. To have fun. To ignore the tug on my knees and to stand strong, or, if I fall, fall laughing. Keep doing what I'm doing because I feel like it - and not for any other reason. To show shame the finger, to bust it. To never even mention the word itself. There - extracted from my being. Even if it's just for this little minute, for this hour, for the evening tonight. Tomorrow might be different, but today I conquered it.

Photo by Kennedy Garrett.