Shame:
How it twists and perverts reality...
Did you ever have that experience as a kid, or have seen it played out on a movie, where a teacher or a parent or a coach would look at the kid and say, very sternly—
“Shame on you.”
How small you felt, how scorned.
I remember very clearly a few points hearing my father saying to me, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”
You knew that was serious.
Shame is different than embarrassment. Different in that, with embarrassment, it is usually a momentary or passing mortification. It hurts, it sucks, but often removed from who you are. It is something you did, not something you are.
Shame cuts deeper.
I remember when a piano teacher and other relatives were “let into” our family home. With its dilapidated state and with my mother’s hoarding, dirt and chaos and disorder, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I said I did at the time, but what I really felt was shame.
Shame because I was tied to this chaotic mess. I knew that it made a statement about my parents, their socioeconomic level, our living habits, their mental illnesses. Even if I couldn’t articulate this at the time.
I had learned long ago to not let certain people into our home. To rush out the door before a relative arrived, or another adult, so that I could hop in the car before they would knock on the door, for fear of others seeing the inside of our home dwellings.
I was ashamed. I was inextricably linked to this place; I was involved. I felt it said something about me, who I was, at my core. Who my family was, that I was tied to them. Even though I was a child who did not choose and could not help where I lived.
Shame—it’s different than embarrassment.
I think about the ‘shame’ I carry from that wounded child and also the shame I’ve acquired in recent years, post-suicides.
A few times lately, I have tried to articulate this state (deeper than a feeling) for others, friends, on why it is so hard for trauma victims/survivors to heal from shame. Why I think some of my deep wounds are a result of shame.
Shame is different from grief. It is different from hurt, or loss, or tragedy.
Today I read the following quote that nicely articulates why…
It is from author David Bedrick. He said:
“Shame is a very unique form of violence…
Because other assaults and violences injure our body or psyche and allow us to see that we are suffering because we were violated.
Shame twists and perverts this fundamental understanding, leading us to believe that we are not suffering because we were hurt, but because there is something wrong with us and therefore [we] deserve to suffer.
This fundamental belief system, when internalized, prevents all injuries and violations from actually being addressed.”
He further points out that other methods of ‘healing’ forget to address the element of shame, and proceed forward, banking on this idea that the shame is lifted.
But, until we treat the shame and that core foundation of our shame, we will not heal.
This is key because as someone who has had trauma, PTSD and C-PTSD, wrestling with this deep ceded element of shame is something I am well acquainted with.
I have not always called it shame. I have called it “irreparably broken.” But I think that what I really meant was shame.
Because if you asked me to articulate why I thought I was hopelessly broken beyond repair, I wouldn’t have been able to answer you why this was the case. I just knew that I felt I was beyond hope. I would never have said that a friend was beyond hope, or that if another that I had to encounter who had the same life experiences as me, that they would be beyond hope.
This is where the above quote resonates with me. Shame perverts and twists things, convincing you that you are beyond hope, repair and healing.
I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t to me. Rationally. On an objective level, I too don’t buy it. I believe there is hope for most everyone. Cognitively, rationally, I would say, of course that includes me. I am not special or unique enough to evade any glimmer of hope or chance of healing.
But, much like the conditions of depression (major depressive disorder) and anxiety (generalized anxiety disorder) do not make much sense outside of the minds of those who experience them, so too is the gripping fear and paralysis that shame causes, for many of us who are trauma survivors.
I have heard it said that trauma survivors feel “God-forsaken.” I comprehend this—that it corresponds with feeling and believing oneself to be irreparably broken, deserving of all pain and hurt given to you—shame.
Sometimes when friends would say to me, how can you doubt yourself? Or, why do you think you’re not okay, alone—look at what you’ve done, who you are, what you have accomplished—in spite of it all, your intelligence and bravery, etc?
Yeah, yeah, thanks, thanks—
But— (dot, dot, dot…)
I would fumble to adequately explain. To really make myself heard and understood, this deep feeling of brokenness that I felt, at my core.
It was more than perfectionism and imposter syndrome. It was shame.
It’s not only that—
Undoubtedly, sometimes it’s the unprocessed grief and emotions, which is why I’m working so hard with somatic healing.
But I also think, a key element of it is this: the deep-rooted shame component.
Shame lies. It deceives.
But it is damn convincing. You battle with your heart and mind, your cognition and logic, applying different rules to yourself than you do to others. Much like others do with various other mental conditions & mental illnesses.
I think about who else wrestles with shame that prevents them from healing…wondering about the experiences of others with different kinds of trauma—other forms of psychological and emotional abuse, encounters of incest, or sexual assault, rape…
These experiences have roots in shame as well, either because of the taboo factor with incest, or with sexual assaults and how they are bodily violated. It’s obvious that it gets harder when there is so much cultural and societal pressure that looks to blame the victim. To twist the situation so that rather than laying the blame fully, squarely on the shoulders of the perpetrator. (What was she wearing? How much did she have to drink? Did she “ask for it?”)
It is so devastating and yet, with all of this pressure, this double victimization occurs: blame the victim, then shame compounds for the victim/survivor, internally.
Shame often feels intertwined with who we are, elements of us that we cannot escape, nor overcome.
Shame often feels like chains, knotted and tied on us, bolted, much like Marley in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.
This is where I realize that—in order to overcome this shame, to truly heal—we have to do so in community, to share our story, in whatever way we can or feel called. Maybe it’s in therapy or through writing, finding a support group or learning and sharing other stories, but—
As it is said, rarely do we ever heal in isolation. And when trauma convincingly lies to you, making you believe that you are worthy of your suffering, deserving of your shame, then—
I think we need to step outside of our own bubble and the confines and prisons of our minds. To heal, we need other stories and perspectives.
Shame can be something afflicted on us, by others. But I think that even worse is the sense of shame that we inflict on ourselves. And accept that we deserve this.
But with trauma survivors, we must remember and center that we didn’t choose our experiences. We are shaped by them, certainly, but we didn’t/don’t “deserve” them.
These reassurances—in so many different ways—I think are crucial for helping those of us who feel shame, to heal.