Shame

Real talk — SHAME.

Can we drop in and get super real for a moment?

Yesterday I got in touch with some of the deepest threads of shame in my system.

Ryan and I had an argument, my fear mind went into projections as to why the integrity of who he is - can’t be trusted.

I spiralled into a fit of rage and didn’t find the momentary spaciousness to pull myself out of the false projection.

The argument ended with me throwing something across the room at Ryan. I regretted it as soon as I did it.

It was only a small bum bag with nothing inside it, but the buckle reached around and hit his back, and it obviously stung him enough for him to immediately walk outside and close the door and breathe with himself as his own frustration bubbled to the surface.

I could tell whatever I did hurt him.

Hurt the man that I love.

I felt my system freeze.

The emotions rising inside became all too intense.

I sat my body down on the bed, head held low in so much shame.

My body suddenly morphed into a 4-year-old and a memory clear as daylight returned to me.

I’m 4, and I’ve just stuck a lollipop stick in my sister's eye in a play fight.

She has been rushed to the emergency room.

I sit in the corner of my bedroom with a barbie in each hand, pretending to myself that I am playing.

Really I’m trying to distract myself... as each second goes by as I wait for mum to bound through that door and scream at me.

An hour feels like a lifetime, and eventually she does bound angrily through that door and says things like

“look what you’ve done

how could you be so stupid?!

you are a bad girl for doing what you’ve done!”

Typical things an angry parent says to try and teach their child to be a “better person.”

I sit there with my head held low cowering in the corner, barbies still in both hands.

All I remember feeling was such deep shame, even though at the time I wasn’t aware that it was what it was.

It felt like an instant formation of belief systems that made me feel as though something was terribly wrong with me.

Maybe I was born into a very uniquely bad batch of rotten souls... and I was just different to the other children.

A trickle of energy poured through my system, insisting I believe that I deserve to be ashamed for being who I am and that in a somewhat twisted and perverted way...

I needed to be punished.

So I did punish myself, for many years.

By not stopping eating once full and always waiting until I was in some sort of digestive pain.

Or through heavy drug and alcohol use.

Or through cutting myself.

Or through throwing myself at men(boys) who deep down I know would harm my body or my soul.

May this story, that is not mine, but ours, an archetypal story of healing the child within... be a testament to the importance of how we speak to the children on this earth.

And how impressionable they are.

How sensitive they are.

How undeveloped their little minds are and that they’ll make things mean what you never intended for them to believe.

I’m not just talking about words to your children.

I’m talking about your inner words, to your little one within.

Shower that little blessed being with so much love.

Our planet depends on it.