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Today, I'm going to tell a bit of my story.
Because, yes, I have had to battle intense shame that was at the root of my own perfectionism.
My husband and I moved to Fayetteville, Arkansas, from Dallas in 1993. We'd been married for three years; the move was going to complicate things as we were in the midst of infertility treatment. But we readily adapted to frequent trips to Dallas for treatment. And miraculously, we were lucky enough to have a son through in vitro fertilization (IVF) a year later.
I had a great marriage and a child and was building a solid private practice. I felt lucky, blessed, and finally, very happy.
Why "finally?" My husband was not my first partner. Nor my second. He was my third.
In my 20s and early 30s, my life was very chaotic, as I made many unwise and immature choices. I carried shame for the pain I'd caused others while still licking some deep wounds of my own. I was trying to release myself from that past. But it was hard, and I wasn't overly successful.
I told my Dallas-based therapist before we left for Fayetteville, "I'm not going to tell anyone about my history. I'm not going to lie. But I won't 'offer' information. I'm too afraid of what people will think."
I don't remember what he said. But his smile conveyed both understanding and challenge.
He knew how stuck I was in fear. And shame.
What Maya Angelou Helped Me See
However, around the same time, I picked up Maya Angelou's wonderful book of essays, Wouldn't Take Nothing For My Journey Now. She talked openly about her own life, revealing both success and struggle; she inspired me to think of my own life in an entirely different way. If she could reveal to the world that she'd not been "perfect," what was stopping me?
While I was still combatting regret and shame, it began to dawn on me that my own emotional growth didn't lie in carrying around shame for the rest of my life. In trying to hide things I'd done or the path I'd managed to walk.
Rather, it was time to accept all of me. My mistakes. My vulnerabilities. As well as my strengths. And not give them any more power than they'd already sapped from me.
When Life Gave Me an Opportunity, I Took It
I remember the morning that life gave me the opportunity to challenge that shame.
What sticks in my mind is the picture of a client, tears streaming down her face as she buried her head in her hands. It was her first session, and she'd only begun to fill me in on the details of why she was there.
These were her words:
"I'm about to get a second divorce. I cannot believe it. I was so sure that this second time was different. That I was different. That he was different. I don't even know how I'm going to tell other people...."
I responded the way I would normally, letting her cry. But also giving her the space to tell me more of her story while hopefully creating a therapeutic relationship that could offer safety and trust.
She came in a few more times. She was getting slowly better. But one day, she was being particularly hard on herself. And she said this, "I'm sure you wouldn't know what getting a second divorce feels like." She didn't say it angrily, and it wasn't a question. It was more of an aside.
It took me a second. Then I said, looking at her calmly, "You're about to join a club that I've been a member of for quite some time."
She looked back at me, beginning to absorb the fact that I understood in not only a professional way but a personal one. She wasn't alone. Far from it.
And we went on with her session.
Shame Lies
The funny thing that shame does? It lies to you. It tells you that you're so terrible. And that you must be the worst of the worst. So, when you meet someone that you like, trust, or respect, and they tell you they understand and have lived what you're living? Gone through what you're going through?
You figure out shame has been lying to you all along.
