Shame Grows in Secret
I’m ashamed of who I am. I used to think it was OK to feel bad about myself all of the time. It’s been my baseline for most of life so far. I’ve been ashamed of who I am, and I’ve tried many things to help remove the shame.
At first, I didn’t know what shame was. I could not identify the bad feelings in my heart, the ones that said I’m worthless, that I shouldn’t be the way I am, as shame. So I tended to agree with people who thought little of me. I felt like a fraud around people who respected, even loved me. Sometimes, I still gravitate towards disrespect and poor treatment, because it speaks to me on a deep level. Small, repeated incidents during my childhood taught me that I was inherently bad, and that I had to work for everyone’s approval of me. So, when people treat me kindly, I feel as though they don’t understand me. And when they ignore or neglect me, I feel seen! Like, yes, that is exactly what I’m used to, and the people I trust the most treat me this way, so you must be one of the people I can trust! That is, up until I learned about shame.
The second part of this journey, for me, has been to seek information. A lot of it comes from within me. I look at the things that revolt me within myself, and I ask myself why that is. It’s a silly and painstaking exercise, and I hate to do it. So I do it often, in therapy, with friends, and on my own. I’ve realized that not all shame is valid. I’ve learned to question the source of the shame, and set aside what’s not mine. I’ve also learned to speak about it, to people I trust to hold space for me and insist on my value as a human being. When people I trust to validate me repeatedly tell me that I am not bad, and that I have inherent value, I don’t easily accept things that insult my soul.
In learning about shame, I’ve learned to name the things I am ashamed of. It has helped me to question the source, and the validity of the shame. I am ashamed of many things, and most of them have to do with my gender. I say “my gender” with a lot of caveats. I did not choose this gender. It was given to me, and I was socialized around it. And most of that has been based on the fact that I have a penis, which, coincidentally, is the focus of a great deal of shame in my body. But nothing about me called for any categorization into a gender bin. The confusion I feel around it is astounding. Not only do I fail to live up to the ideals for men, but I carry deep shame about the harm caused by men. Men hurt women and children. That’s a narrative everyone knows, and for good reason. It’s so common that it doesn’t need evidence, and I don’t have to think about it long to feel ashamed. On top of that, I don’t seem able to fit any of the positive gender roles I’ve been given either. The calm and stoic man. The hard-working man. The caring family man. I’m none of these things. I’m nothing!
As a first-generation immigrant, I’m busy untangling the web of cultural norms and family trauma, and I find it all so messy that it’s almost beyond me to function in society some days. And I’m ashamed of that, too. I see that I’m not the only one having these issues, and I want to reach out and help other people, but I feel incapable of helping and healing even myself sometimes. It all makes me feel small and insignificant, and that’s exactly where shame wants me to be. If I’m useless to other people, and if I’m inherently bad, then I should hide in a corner until I’m a better human being. Then, I can maybe interact with other people. But it doesn’t work like that.
Shame grows in secret, with silence around it. My shame feeds on the fear that it is so heavy that it is unspeakable. It feeds on the fear that other people will avoid me for being the way I am, and I will die, lonely and sad. It might be absurd, but shame might be the thing that connects most of us. If we all feel bad in our bubbles, and never speak about it, then it becomes so easy to get angry at everyone else. “They’re all judging me” is a story my shame tells me every day, in every social interaction. It’s for their sake that I’m keeping the ugly parts of me hidden, and they’re not even grateful for it! They hate me, and every look and gesture serves to compound the shitty feeling I carry with me everywhere.
There are some things that we do that are genuinely harmful, and shame protects us against those acts. But so much of our shame only serves to keep us powerless and docile. So much of our shame deserves to be questioned and turned upside down, inside out, and massaged into feelings of belonging and joy. So I’ll start by sharing mine.
I’m a 31-year-old man. I’m ashamed of being a man, and I’m ashamed of not wanting to be one. I have two degrees, and I don’t work in either field, and the fear of going back to the job market paralyzes me. I’m ashamed of the way I look at women. I sexualize them and make them responsible for my happiness. I’m ashamed of how privileged I am, and how little I do for other people. I’m ashamed of my country of origin, and my looks. I’m also ashamed of having left that country, because people are not doing well there. I’m ashamed of how little I know. I’m ashamed of my family’s dysfunction, and I’m ashamed of how little I do for my family. Right now, I’m ashamed that I’m sitting on a comfy sofa on a Friday afternoon, writing about shame, when there’s so much suffering in the world. I’m ashamed of how little I am suffering. And I’m ashamed of my suffering, too.
The list goes on. Some of my shame is valid. It serves to change my behavior in a meaningful way. But most of it needs to be massaged into feelings of belonging and self-love. I don’t try to do it all on my own. Therapy, group conversations, and time with friends have really helped me to see the true colors of my shame. What used to feel impossible to talk about now feels manageable, in small chunks, with people who believe in me, and in the inherent goodness of everyone. It’s not my job to prove that people are inherently good. It just helps me get through life, and get the best out of it.
