My Shame

I feel shame.   

Shame is different than guilt.   Guilt is when you do something and,  afterwards,  you regret having done it.    When we apologize for what we've done and try to atone for it,  we then can alleviate the guilt.   It's possible that it can go away.

Shame is different.   Shame is when you feel bad about yourself because there is some basic flaw in who you are.   Within the framework of shame,  there is nothing you can do to alleviate it.   It is intrinsic.   Some churches do the world a monumental injustice and call this shame "original sin".   They try to tie our shame to some kind of spiritual "truth."   That way,   it's much easier to control us.

My shame is not far under the surface,  though I hide it quite well (at least I think I do).  Underneath my sense of well being and positive spin on life,   I feel,  well,  bad about who I am.    At some level I think I am unlovable,  even though there is plenty of evidence to the contrary.   When I receive love from others there is part of me that says "yeah--they're doing that now….just wait until they learn who I REALLY am".   

I have to admit that my wife loves me so well and so,  shall I say it,   sincerely,   that this voice has lost a good deal of its teeth.   And,  nevertheless,   there it is.     It is more buried than it used to be.   It flashes those teeth from time to time.

So where does my shame come from?   Here's my understanding:

When I was a kid,   I had a number of experiences,  both chronic and traumatic,   that told me,   "I am not a worthwhile person".   

When I was between the ages of birth and four life was fairly un-bumpy.   On the other hand,  my dad was a severe alcoholic,  my mom had untreated bipolar and they both,  as reported by mom,  were having affairs.   So,  perhaps "un-bumpy" is relative.

During that time both parents gave me attention and love,  in spite of the fact that they were fairly consumed by their own personal issues.   They loved me,  but they probably only had a limited amount of attention they could give to their active and rambunctious youngster. Their attention was probably pretty spacey (mom) and pickled (dad).

My bonding with both of them was likely pretty tenuous due to the realities of their mental health.

My wobbly bonding with my parents probably is near the root of my shame.   Then,  other stuff came along to add to the shame.

My parents divorced when I was four.   My dad,  whom I longed deeply to bond with,  I now only saw sporadically.   My mom was under a great deal more stress and was not fun to be around.   The attention I had received from my parents was,  at age five,  a tiny fraction of what is was before they split.    My experience was that I became much less important to each of them.   They just did not have the time for me beyond providing me with the basics.

When I was six,   I was molested by my fifteen year-old female babysitter over several months.   And my dad exited my life.   He shot himself when I was fourteen.   Between the time I last saw my dad and when he died,  eight years passed.   To say he was in sporadic contact with me during those eight years would be generous.

My mom is a good person;   she means well and she tries.   But her deep narcissism meant that she was not aware of pretty much any of my emotional needs.   She raced around and tried to do things that a "good mother" does,  but she never listened to me.   Instead,  she talked.  She had a low-level to medium-level mania going for much of my growing up years,  as well as a few nervous breakdowns.

Neglect,  sexual abuse,  abandonment.   These were some of my most formative experiences;   they told me who I was in the world and what I meant to the people I was closest to.   This was definitely not the whole story of my life.   But it is,  most likely,  the story of my shame.

It's no wonder I feel shame.   It's logical.   Anyone with childhood experiences like these would have to deal with shame.

Next post:  What to do about it?

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly,  Ben