I realized I was leaving the house with shame this morning.
<<<quick sidebar: I dragged the best friend to see Elizabeth Gilbert in DC when she was touring for Big Magic, so like, 3 years ago. And EG is famous for many things, but this one in particular is in the book:
An open letter to FEAR:
\”Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that you take your job seriously. Apparently your job is to induce complete panic whenever I’m about to do anything interesting—and, may I say, you are superb at your job. So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still—your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the road maps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.\”>>>
So, back to this morning. I was going to a Nia (dance fitness) class. I was a few minutes late. I felt ashamed.
And then I realized that I didn\’t know WHY. No one will care, you just sort of come in and join wherever they are in the dancing. It\’s not a big deal. So why the shame?
Because my SHAME has always been with me, and she attaches herself to whatever is convenient in the moment. In this moment, it was being late. I said, to myself, in my head, metaphorically (yes, I am aware that sounds like I\’m crazy. I\’m a mental health professional, after all. but it\’s what I did):
\”hey shame, stay here.\”
not in the back seat, like fear with Elizabeth Gilbert.
You are not even getting IN THE CAR.
I drove to class, feeling lighter.
They had just started, and not only did no one care I was late, the teacher smiled and welcomed me.
After about ten minutes I had a stark realization:
SHAME WAS THERE.
How did I know?
Because I felt her. I felt her as I was silently berating myself for not doing the moves EXACTLY like the teacher. Or not kicking as high as the woman next to me. Or not having as cute a workout outfit as some of the other people. Or comparing bodies (one of the worst shames for us women) to mine.
I was like-What is happening? I LEFT HER AT HOME.
Well, that b*tch must have taken an Uber. Because there she was.
So I-again-metaphorically, in my head, hissed at her to get out. She wasn\’t welcome there. I kept dancing, but in my head pictured myself showing shame out the door. And then I enjoyed the rest of my class. I let go, I danced, I didn\’t compare myself to anyone else. I was there for ME.
The reason we have the conversations (and make-believe, metaphorical interactions) with our feelings is because they don\’t just go away. Nor should they. There is a functional use for both shame, and fear–but about 87% of mine is not in service of those functional uses. They are old stories, that at one time protected me, but now are just like monkeys on my back.
(*incidentally, Nia is a great vehicle for this. It\’s a fusion of dance, martial arts, yoga, *and* healing arts. It\’s a mind-body explosion, in the best possible way.)
So although my life is far less driven by shame, fear, and a number of other sufferings than it used to be, they still live within me and I figure they always will. I have to keep becoming aware of them, and not letting them take over. Learning to dance (see what I did there?) with that is such a huge part of healing, of growth, of recovery.
And sometimes, you gotta make those b*tches take an Uber.