I'm working on a new book [more will be revealed in the near future] and I've been thinking a lot lately about the toxic repercussions of shame. It's kind of an old-fashioned word that you don't hear much any more, but I wish it would disappear.
Unfortunately, though, shame and its aftereffects are with us still, and they don't serve anyone well. (My friend Rob Wilson wrote a great column about it for Psychology Today and you can read it here.)
When I was a kid, shame was alive and well. I knew that sometimes my dad was ashamed that he grew up poor, and he pushed himself to his physical and emotional limits to provide a nice home for his family. I knew that my mom was sometimes ashamed of being chubby, and she put a lot of pressure on herself to lose weight. (I have felt that exact same shame for most of my life.)
I can remember as a kid hearing from my parents and teachers, "You should be ashamed of yourself!" [usually not directed at me, thank goodness].
The roots of shaming someone go back to the bible.
In Genesis, 3:10, we see Adam's shame after eating the apple: “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.”
We are taught as Christians that the only real way to get beyond shame is to accept Jesus and live a Godly life. I don't want to get into a theological discussion, but I am not sure that will really wipe out shame. I think the lingering effects of shame are very difficult to counteract.
When I was a child it was considered very shameful to have a child outside of wedlock. There were homes all over America for young pregnant girls to enter and give birth, then they were told to relinquish their babies for adoption and pretend they never got pregnant. Most adoptions were closed. It wasn't really the best solution, in most cases, because most of the young girls spent years feeling shame and regret and longing to know something of the children they had given up. Oftentimes the adopted children were prevented from finding their birth parents because of the toxic legacy of shame. Many adopted children, even though raised well in loving homes, felt as adults they should feel ashamed of how they came to exist.
I've watched a show many times called Long Lost Family, and it's mostly about adopted children and birthmoms trying to find each other. I always grab a box of kleenex before watching an episode because they always make me cry. God Bless the show, though, for trying to bring people together, and heal everyone.
I've often felt ashamed of the fact that I am not as pretty as my mother, or as smart as either of my parents. I've felt ashamed of being fat. I've felt ashamed that I couldn't give my children a father, or even a stable father figure. Recently, I've done a lot of looking back over my life and trying to see patterns and behaviors and ways I could have done things differently. I'm not sure it has been good for me to do that... I've found a lot of comfort and healing in watching the Ted Talks [on YouTube] of Brene Brown. She is an academic who has studied shame and vulnerability for years and her insights are powerful. I leave you with some of her wise words:
"Shame derives its power from being unspeakable."
"If we're going to find our way back to each other [men and women] we have to understand and know empathy, because empathy's the antidote to shame. If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in a petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can't survive."
"When we find the courage to share our experiences and the compassion to hear others tell their stories, we force shame out of hiding, and end the silence."
Check out my latest book: Talking Back: Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years.
