In Jungian circles, shame is often referred to as the swampland of the soul. I'm not suggesting that we wade out into the swamp and set up camp. I've done that and I can tell you that the swampland of the soul is an important place to visit, but you would not want to live there.
What I'm proposing is that we learn how to wade through it. We need to see that standing on the shore and catastrophisizing about what could happen if we talked honestly about our fears is actually more painful than grabbing the hand of a trusted companion and crossing the swamp. And, most important, we need to learn why constantly trying to maintain our footing on the shifting shore as we gaze across to the other side of the swamp--where our worthiness waits for us--is much harder than trudging across.
"How to" is a seductive shortcut, and I understand that. Why cross the swamp if you can just bypass it?
But here's the dilemma: Why is "how-to" so alluring when, truthfully, we already know "how to" yet we're still standing in the same place longing for more joy, connection, and meaning?
Most everyone reading this book knows how to eat healthy. I can tell you the Weight Watcher points for every food in the grocery store. I can recite the South Beach Phase I grocery shopping list and the glycemic index like they're the Pledge of Allegiance. We know how to eat healthy. We also know how to make good choices with our money. We know how to take care of our emotional needs. We know all of this, yet . . .
We are the most obese, medicated, addicted, and in-debt Americans EVER.
Why? We have more access to information, more books, and more good science--why are we struggling like never before?
Because we don't talk about the things that get in the way of doing what we know is best for us, our children, our families, our organizations, and our communities.
I can know everything there is to know about eating healthy, but if it's one of those days when Ellen is struggling with a school project and Charlie's home sick from school and I'm trying to make a writing deadline and Homeland Security increased the threat level and our grass is dying and my jeans don't fit and the economy is tanking and the Internet is down and we're out of poop bags for the dog -- forget it! All I want to do is snuff out the sizzling anxiety with a pumpkin muffin, a bag of chips, and chocolate.
We don't talk about what keeps us eating until we're sick, busy beyond human scale, desperate to numb and take the edge off, and full of so much anxiety and self-doubt that we can't act on what we know is best for us. We don't talk about the hustle for worthiness that's become such a part of our lives that we don't even realize we're dancing.
When I'm having one of those days that I just described, some of the anxiety is just a part of living, but there are days when most of my anxiety grows out of the expectations I put on myself. I want Ellen's project to be amazing. I want to take care of Charlie without worrying about my own deadlines. I want to show the world how great I am at balancing my family and career. I want our yard to look beautiful. I want people to see us picking up our dog's poop in biodegradable bags and think, My God! They are such outstanding citizens. There are days when I can fight the urge to be everything to everyone, and there are days when it gets the best of me.
[As we've discussed], when we struggle to believe in our worthiness, we hustle for it. The hustle for worthiness has its own soundtrack and for those of you who are my age and older, it's not the funky "Do the Hustle" from the '70. It's the cacophony of shame tapes and gremlins -- those messages that fuel the "never good enough."
--"What will people think?"
--"You can't REALLY love yourself yet. You're not _________ enough." (pretty, skinny, successful, rich, talented, happy smart, feminine, masculine, productive, nice, strong, tough, caring, popular, creative, well-liked, admired, contributing)
--"No one can find out about _________________"
--"I'm going to pretend that everything is okay."
--"I can change to fit in if I have to!"
--"Who do you think you are to put your thoughts/art/ideas/beliefs/writing out in the world?"
--"Taking care of them is more important than taking care of me."
Shame is that warm feeling that washes over us, making us feel small, flawed, and never good enough. If we want to develop shame resilience -- the ability to recognize shame and move through it while maintaining our worthiness and authenticity -- then we have to talk about why shame happens.
Honest conversations about shame can change the way we live, love, parent, work, and build relationships. I have more than one thousand letters and e-mails from readers of I Thought It Was Just Me my book on shame resilience, and they all say the same thing: "I can't believe how much talking about shame changed my life!" (And I promise, even if you're eating while you're talking about shame, you'll be okay).
Sarah again. Now we're getting into some of the heavy stuff - shame and guilt. And Brene is right! This isn't pleasant stuff, and most of us try not to dwell too much on our shame or where it has its roots. But I just want to add the thousand-and-first recommendation of this work, because talking about shame and confronting it head-on during the past three months has really changed my life, for the better. The shame resilience work that we will get our first taste of next week has been slow and painful, but it has brought me closer to my family, peers, and to God. Without having put in (and continuing to put in) this time, I know that I wouldn't have had the strength to start up this blog. So take a chance with me! Let's take an honest look at the things that really matter most to us. It all starts by having an honest conversation with yourself... so go forth and be bravely, boldly, beautifully human.
No comments:
Post a Comment