There I sat, my first time on a Counselor’s couch, nestled between pillows, knowing it was only a matter of time before I erupted like Mount St. Helens, spilling hot lava tears, dark and terrifying, all over this stranger’s furniture.
It must have been obvious. This woman in front of me, whom I’d never met and who had no inkling of my story, reached over and grabbed a box of tissues and plopped them in my lap. Then she offered me a soft blanket which I gratefully accepted, like a prisoner’s last meal, knowing it wouldn’t save me, but would bring some sense of comfort to my trembling, terrified soul.
Maybe because she was a professional who was obligated to guard my secrets, maybe because she was so kind and had the face of someone who understood similar pain, I’m not sure. But I felt safe.
I knew that this one hour visit would be my first step into something I’d never experienced, but something I so desperately needed. I was certain that my mind’s and my soul’s well-being would not survive without it. I had to be all in.
Feeling safe allows vulnerability, and as she looked at me with those caring, understanding eyes, I let the flood gates fly open. Anguished tears kept coming. The kind that come from the core of your gut. Fear and anxiety were released through those small ducts in my eyes and poured down my face.
Much needed tears. Years-delayed tears. The only saltwater whose taste could refresh my soul.
I thought I knew why I was there. Deeply imbedded anxiety.
But what I’ve found in the past three months, on that couch, and on my own, poring over scripture and books and articles, talking with other women and revisiting my very own history, is so much more.
That my perfectionism, my anxiety, my people pleasing and every sense of angst that has plagued me over the years have stemmed from a much darker and more sinister source.
It’s name is SHAME.
I thought I understood shame. That it was the after-effect of making a bad choice. I thought it was the same as guilt.
Guilt tells us WHAT we did wrong. It’s based on what we do or don’t do and points out what we’ve done wrong. Feeling guilt is how our consciences (and the Holy Spirit) convict us so that we can live a better life. A holy life. Good guilt is necessary and important.
But shame, oh shame, is so much bigger and uglier. Shame says that what I’ve done has become what I am. That my history is my identity. That what has happened to me is too much for anyone to handle, including me. That my flaws are unforgivable and that ultimately, I am unlovable. There are so many blanks to fill in for what shame says about me. About you.
I’m finding that too many of us wear shame long after we’ve changed our behavior, our hearts, our directions. Long after we’ve “grown past” the hurtful comments about our appearance, our name, our upbringing, circumstances beyond our control or any myriad of things that have marked us, maybe even subconsciously.
Life goes on, and so must we, right? Ignore it and it will go away. And I did that until perfectionism, anxiety, co-dependency, etc. became so unbearable and so fatiguing that I was forced to take a look at the source.
Almost four years ago, I started on a journey out of a shame that I could easily name. The shame of my own poor choices and resulting consequences. The more obvious version of the shadow that destroys.
Little did I know that this journey would wind beyond that. That I would find more than I was even looking for. That I would end up on a counselor’s couch coming to the end of me as I knew it. As broken and undone as the tissues that were melting with my tears.
All pride and sense of composure was suddenly lost. Everything was unwinding to expose the state of my naked and broken soul, that had huddled too long under the heaviness of shame.
I have found shame clinging to who I was as a person and who I wasn’t. To how I looked and didn’t look. To what had happened to me and what hadn’t. To being too much and too little.
Shame was choking the life out of me and like the build-up of lava that came from that spewing mountain, my tears have poured out, mingled with the dark enemies of perfectionism, anxiety, co-dependency, and comparison.
This is the project that I referred to in January when I wrote that I would be focusing on the hardest work of my life. That I was taking a hiatus from blogging. Little did I know then how hard it would be. That it would feel like the mountain I hiked this past weekend with my family. Like I’m not going to make it to the top. Like I would have to stop as the hike gets steeper, and sometimes sit down and do nothing. That I would cry because my heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
This is the journey out of shame and all of its counterparts and companions.
Dots are being connected. Threads are being found that have been with me my whole life. It’s fascinating and devastating. And I can’t stop until I get to the top or I’ll never experience the freedom that I hear waits for me on the other side of this mountain.
But I don’t want to go it alone. In fact, I can’t.
The thing is, this isn’t just about my journey. It’s about yours. Maybe the journey you have no intention of going on. Maybe you don’t struggle or never have struggled with shame or its friends that go by different names. I doubt it, but maybe you exist out there. I hope to join you one day.
But for those of you that feel a twinge when I talk about this subject because you have seen it play a role in your life, would you join me?
If you are wrestling with outright shame or the death grip of anxiety (yes, it’s related to shame), or the endless weight of perfectionism (also, related to shame) or the upside down world of co-dependency (and, once again, born out of shame), people pleasing (ditto), comparison (uh-huh), would you like a community of friends who could share the journey with you?
Jesus despised the shame when he went to the cross. He has felt every bit of it and wore it to kill its power and give us freedom over it. But we live in a broken world that tells us we deserve shame. As if some sort of scarlet letter or dunce cap or mask is our fate. And we have believed the lie without even realizing it.
Shame is not our destiny, nor anything related to it. They are not part of the abundant life Jesus promised.
Let’s be Shameless.
I would love to hear your stories. As detailed or as simple as you’d like. What caused you shame? How did it/does it feel? How is it paralyzing you? If you’ve found freedom, how has that looked for you?
I will never share your story without your permission and I will never, ever share your name.
This journey might sound scary. And it is, I’m not gonna lie. But what’s scarier to me is living under the heaviness of shame for the rest of my life. I’m so very tired. I want that freedom that comes with exposing, disarming and destroying shame. I want more. Don’t you?
Let me know if you’re in on this project. This healing. This return to true life. My email address is janajarvis82@gmail.com. You are NOT ALONE!!!!
