What does the word “shame” bring up for you? I recall being told as a child, “Shame on you,” and I would immediately feel guilty for what I had done, bowing my head in submission.
After being sternly spoken to or given a spanking, I would be sent to my room to “think about what I had done” and told I needed to go to confession for my sins. For those of you who were not raised Catholic, confession is the act of telling God or a priest what you have done wrong so God will forgive you.
As a young child, not fully understanding the purpose of confession, I referred to it as the “penalty box.” Yes, we were a hockey family. My grandfather, dad, uncles, and brothers all played. I, too, wanted to play but was told “no” by my dad because I was a girl. My cousin Stephanie was a girl and played hockey, but this held no weight with my dad. I could take gymnastics and dance, he told me. Yet, it was perfectly acceptable to “man” the goalie net in our yard that my dad turned into an ice rink every winter and have my older brother practice slap shots at me. Ironic? Yes, I believe it is.
Growing up, I never felt I had a voice. My father was the patriarch who ruled our household with an iron fist. What he said was final. No one challenged him because we feared him. Repercussions were swift if you disobeyed, so my five siblings and I were very well-behaved.
I was not always obedient; I had a touch of rebellion in me. I remember stealing a pack of Red Hot gum from our local gas station that I visited with my mother. As soon as we got home, I went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and started unwrapping the pack jubilantly. My mom whipped open the bathroom door and scolded me, took the gum away, and drove right back to the gas station. She had me confess to the attendant that I stole the gum. I was mortified! The gas station employee started to sympathize with me and said, “That’s okay,” but my mother interrupted him and said, “Don’t you dare!”
I finished my apology, we drove home in silence, and I was sent to my room as punishment. I was six years old at the time, and I have never forgotten the feeling of shame. It was an awful feeling to be humiliated, so I avoided both of those feelings at all costs for the majority of my life until recovery and finding my way to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA).
There, I found acceptance and love. You see, I did not know how to love myself, nor did I ever feel comfortable or accepted. I believe that deep shame was imprinted on my soul at a young age, and I truly felt like I was a bad girl at my core.
It took until I was in my 40s to rid myself of this feeling of shame. It took sitting down with my sponsor in AA and sharing my deepest, darkest secrets out loud. It was absolutely terrifying—as in, GI upset terrifying. But afterward, I felt as light as a feather. And joyful!
This was a new feeling I had never experienced before. I remember feeling like I had been given a clean slate in life, a feeling I never got from going to confession with a priest. That always felt like punishment to me. Afterward, the priest would grant me absolution and give me my penance, and I would go out to the nave, kneel down, and complete this. We did the same in AA after completing Step 5: “Admitted to God, ourselves, and another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs.” We kneeled down and prayed. No penance since the confession had already happened.
I now practice making daily amends. If I do something out of character or hurt someone’s feelings, I try to apologize in the moment or after reflecting on it, rather than stuffing the guilt and attempting to forget it.
Prior to getting sober and joining a recovery community, I was an expert at “stuffing my feelings.” Picture a sealed glass bottle thrown out to sea with a message in it. That was how I treated my feelings and emotions: stuff it and put a cork in it. Then move on and forget it—or attempt to, that is.
A glass bottle can only hold a certain amount of liquids or solids. Once full, pressure builds, and you cannot add any more to it, or it may explode or shatter. When this happened with me, my anger would come out in the form of road rage, or getting upset over burning a meal, crying for no reason, or drinking alcohol to cope.
It got to a point where this “lack of coping” no longer worked for me. Drinking no longer worked for me. Alcohol was a maladaptive coping mechanism to numb myself from feeling the pressures of life and, well, anything.
Attending women’s AA meetings every Saturday unburdens my soul. I show up, voice my burdens, listen compassionately to other women sharing their burdens, and leave feeling lighter and uplifted and, most importantly, not alone.
This is the gift of sharing my burdens or “dropping the rock.” Feeling comfortable enough to be vulnerable and share my struggles offers me the gift of absolution, peace, and serenity. I now offer this gift to other women who are struggling with life or alcohol.
How about you?
We’d love for you to share in the comments:
- What’s your earliest memory of feeling shame? How has it shaped you?
- How has your experience of shame changed in sobriety?
- Do you have a community or group where you feel truly supported and accepted?
And if you found this article helpful, please tap the little heart. It lets others know there’s something useful here and will help us grow this community.
Want to be published on Sober.com? If you’re sober and interested in contributing, we’d love to hear from you. Reach out to our newsletter manager here for submission guidelines.
 |
A guest post by
|