Shame undermines the soul and deprives us of the strength to move on. But it loses its power over us as soon as we learn to recognize it and speak it out loud. How to get rid of this feeling?
The shame trap is one of the most difficult forms of shame to recognize and articulate. It is often so well hidden or disguised that we unknowingly fall right into it—sometimes endlessly, time after time. When we are caught, we start shaking and asking the question: what happened, why am I covered in blood?
And the one who set the trap often replies: “What do you mean? I can not see anything. Maybe you have glitches? How are you, are you okay?” Often the trap of shame takes us by surprise, and we, unwittingly, climb into it again and again to make sure that we have not imagined it.
Here is my story about the shame trap. When Ellen was born, I was very happy to meet other mothers of young children. One evening at a work meeting, I was introduced to Phyllis, who had also recently given birth. She, like me, came to take maternity leave.
I talked her into having lunch together and trying to schedule a get together with the kids. I was so delighted with the “fellow traveler” on the journey to motherhood that when we had dinner, I made the usual mistake – I hurried with frankness.
I was eager to share my new experiences, and I said: “I didn’t even imagine that I would be so tired. Sometimes you just want to sleep a little longer or stand in the shower.
She replied: “Yes? And I never regret that I gave birth to a baby. Of course I was shocked.
I quickly replied, “I don’t regret giving birth to Ellen either, I’m talking about something completely different. I’m just tired”. She immediately hit the second time: “Yes, this is normal, for some women this is not easy – nature does not give everyone the talent to be a mother.”
Here I got upset. “Phyllis, look, I love being a mom, I love Ellen. I do not regret anything. Everything’s great.” She looked at me like I was nothing and said: “Okay, don’t get hysterical. Soon she will grow up, and you will feel better.”
This is where I started to turn my head around looking for a hidden camera… hoping that someone overheard this crazy conversation and could confirm that I’m not crazy and actually a good mother. I cried. Phyllis said, “Look, I didn’t know that was your sore spot. Let’s talk about something else.”
When I told my friend Dawn about this incident, she was amazed… by the fact that I was about to go out to dinner with Phyllis again. Don kept repeating: “It can make you go crazy. Why are you setting yourself up?” Then I could not answer her, but now, in hindsight, it seems to me that I wanted to prove on the second attempt that I was a normal, worthy friend and mother.
For two months in a row, when I saw Phyllis, I came home angry, depressed, and aggressive each time. It got to the point where I spent a huge amount of time and energy trying to guess what she would say next, to come up with ruthless answers, to hit her back, to put her in her place.
Don said, “You have to understand what’s going on. It’s just ridiculous.” I remember answering, “I know. So I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with her.” Don sighed. “What’s wrong with her, I don’t care at all. I wonder what’s wrong with you.”
About a month later, I ran into Phyllis at the pharmacy and she said, “Oh, you look bad. Recovered? Fortunately, I felt so bad and was so exhausted that I didn’t even scrape together the strength to “keep up” the conversation. She just looked at her, shrugged her shoulders and continued to look for medicine on the shelves. When she walked away, I thought: “What a vile phrase. She hit me.”
When I stopped trying to beat the Phyllis on her field and focused on my own feelings, I discovered how vulnerable I was. Now I understood that there was no need for me to take a fighting stance. I clearly realized how much she offends me, how often she says evil things, now and then she shames me.
It’s time for me to stop talking to her. After every lunch with Phyllis, I walked away as if spat on, but only after saying out loud the words “mean phrase”, “it hurt me”, I guessed that it was time to end this relationship.
Speaking shame allows us to translate experiences into understandable language. It becomes easier for us to learn from our own mistakes, and that is the purpose of becoming shame resilient. We cannot prevent shame, but we can learn to recognize it early enough to experience it constructively rather than destructively.
First, I was lonely and desperate to connect with someone about my new role as a mother. I noticed that my relationship with Phyllis had evolved from a lunchtime partnership to a battle, but I didn’t recognize the warning signs I now see in my then desire to “think up ruthless answers, hit her back, put her in her place.”
Now I know that when I feel like hitting back, I most likely missed turning on the shame button.
As I prepare to hit back, I drown in my vulnerability. I now also know that when I “fight back” with shame, it only increases my shame, and does not smooth it out. I don’t want to be like that.
Secondly, as a new mother, I did not yet know about the critical awareness needed to understand that for most mothers, motherhood is a powerful factor in shame. I definitely individualized (“this is about me”) and pathologised (“I’m crazy”) my experience. It took time to learn and use critical awareness in the area of motherhood.
Thirdly, when I told Don about my conversations with Phyllis and she tried to support me, I needed to listen to her.
Fourth, during our lunch, when I said that motherhood is sometimes exhausting, and Phyllis replied: “Yes? But I never regret having a baby,” I had to use my experience of speaking shame and say something like: “Wow. How cleverly you changed the subject: I’m talking about fatigue, not about the appearance of a child.
If our bickering had continued, I should have said something like this: “It seems that we do not understand each other. Lets change theme”. And of course, I didn’t need to continue this friendship at all.
About the author: Brené Brown is a psychologist, lecturer at the University of Houston (USA), and a researcher on shame. Author of the books It’s All Because of Me (But It’s Not) and The Gifts of Imperfection. How to love yourself the way you are.