Shame is something that until recently, I didn’t believe I exhibited. If you had asked me say, ten years ago, if I felt shame I would pause, furrow my brow and say “Nope, not really familiar with shame.” I would likely have gone on to talk about my anxiety or impatience or inclination to work too much. But shame was unfamiliar territory…or so I thought.
Fast forward to 2018, when I started doing self-inquiry work through an organization called Woman Within. While I had done tons of therapy and read countless self-help books, I had never before done any exploration around the notion of shame. It was in an experiential workshop where I first discovered that, oh my God, I have TONS of shame! I was working through some childhood memories revolving around poverty and my disabled mother. As some point in the process a light flipped on and I saw it clearly. I had SO much shame around my upbringing, my appearance, my personality, basically around I how I showed up in the world. Upon reflecting on this work, I realized that I have carried shame with me my entire life. I just didn’t know what to call it.
So, we obviously can’t fix something if we don’t see it. As many before me have said, awareness is the first step to healing. And, to risk overusing the onion metaphor, the process of healing requires the peeling back of one layer after another. All that to say, just because I realized I had shame, didn’t mean I could just magically fix it. It requires work, focus, patience, and most of all, self-compassion.
I have made some good progress around shame. I have continued with my self-inquiry practice, I have brought a greater level of awareness and observation to my daily life, and I’ve challenged myself to re-think old outdated beliefs about myself. But, reference the onion, I still have more layers to deal with.
Just last night, I was provided with another opportunity to do some work around shame. I was involved in hosting an online event with a community of women. I was assigned a few topics to cover and had prepared in advance. I was really pleased to have the opportunity to share some of my writing with the group and enjoyed rehearsing before the event. The gathering started off well and there was good energy and connection within our group. During some of the lulls in conversation, I came up with funny little stories and snippets to keep the group engaged and energy high. I contributed a lot and it felt really good….until it didn’t.
Toward the end of this 90-minute gathering, I started to feel a self-consciousness around how much I had been talking. I started to compare how much time I had taken to talk versus the other women. I concluded that I had talked WAY more than anyone else and that I should just zip it. I started to feel embarrassed, gluttonous and ashamed for turning the gathering into ‘The Lori Show’. Just as these feelings started to overtake me, an organizer reminded me that I had one more topic to cover. OMG. I locked up. Even though I had prepared and I knew what to say, I couldn’t find the words. I stammered and stuttered and struggled to make complete sentences. My heartrate shot up, I started to sweat and I felt a mental fog take over. It’s like I was drowning in shame. I managed to throw out a word salad that sort of made sense and after a couple of minutes, was able to hit the mute button. Holy shit. A fellow organizer kindly thanked me, said I did fine and went on to close the meeting.
Afterwards, I just sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen. “What the fuck just happened?” “Why did I lock up?” “What’s wrong with me?” My stomach knotted up. I was confused, frustrated, and physically shaken. I had a weird nervous energy and the compulsion to just run away.
Thankfully, I had the wherewithal to take a walk. Pretty quickly, I was able to recognize that I was feeling childhood shame. I realized that at some point during the gathering, my inner child had taken the reins. She was having fun interacting with everyone, laughing and telling stories, but at some point, as in my actual childhood, she realized that she was being too much, she was too big. I was a very sweet, playful, creative child, but my enthusiasm was frequently met with suppression and punishment. The adults around me didn’t have the interest, patience or energy to keep up with me. I felt shame around my behavior and quickly learned that I needed to be “seen and not heard” in order to be accepted. My only chance at being loved, was to be invisible.
On our walk last night, I told my child that her contributions were valuable, that the women benefitted from her words and really enjoyed spending time with her. I reassured her that she hadn’t talked too much. I reminded her how she made the woman laugh and how her words encouraged others to share. I reassured her that she had done nothing wrong and that she could let go of the shame she was feeling. I commended her on showing up and doing her best.
The walk and a good nights’ sleep helped to dissipate the shame. I’m still feeling a bit raw this morning, but grateful that my onion is one layer smaller.