The theme of ‘shame’ follows me throughout my life. All of us have felt it at one time or another. I wrote a little about it in my first little-known book “Surviving Teen Pregnancy.”
I was reminded of the meaning and damage that shame brings during a recent yearly health check. The Physician’s Assistant doing my exam had lost about 50 pounds during the year since I’d seen her. I hesitated to tell her how good she looked; she had not only lost weight, but ‘glowed’ up her look and her clothing.
At the end of the exam, I told her how good she looked.
“GLP-1,” she said.
“Oh. Well, you look great.”
“Thank you. Now when I look at old pictures, I’m ashamed of myself. I even burned some of them.”
She left the room, and I felt like crying. Nobody should feel shame like this. Not over who we once were. Those things about ourselves who make us who we are today, good or bad, are part of our journey through life.
Sometimes I start to feel shame over my age, over telling people how old I am. Age shouldn’t be shameful, although in society, somehow it is. I once felt shame when someone visibly did the math on how young I had children. Now, ironically, society tells me to feel shame about advancing age and the things that come with it.
I have felt shame and I have been shamed, and I am choosing to reject these feelings when they come up and are inappropriate. Shame brings you down. Shame is something you can accept or not accept.
Sure, I still feel shame about things, but I’m choosing to squash those feelings when they was over me.
