My stomach is knotted. My head feels fuzzy. My palms are sweating. Past conversations are reworked with wishes of what I should have said versus what actually came out of my mouth. Future conversations are played out in my head. Stop, Jennifer. Stop ruminating. But none of those people really know me, and do not know what I meant. They will think less of me. But you are taking up too much wasted time by your words, which are not valuable because you said nothing you actually meant. What a waste. Stop thinking about it! I am going to throw up. Why can't I let this go????
Florida Bible Camp is where I spent at least one week of every summer from age 9-21. My second year of camp, I was a chubby fifth grader who had moved states, schools, environments, and social classes two years before. This was an overnight camp, and I did not know many people other than the two or three kids from my own church. But I enjoyed making new friends so off I went. A few days into camp, kids were doling out nicknames and mine came back.
Jabberjaws.
I remember the wash of shame that stole over me as this nickname was given. I talked too much. I took up too much space. I remember not talking much after that, with a hot face most of the time when I did. This was not a nickname given in fun or enjoyment; it sounded more like a brandishing to just shut up. I felt as though I did not belong, that I was always on the outside. Just so we are on the same page, here is a definition of shame. Shame is the "intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging" (Brown, Daring Greatly).
So I did shut up. For years, in the true sense of who I was. But it is hard right? What I have learned about myself is that I am a talker, an external processor. I do tend to jump in with ideas and thoughts, and while I have more appropriate boundaries and mutuality now, I still am a talker. Discussion and conversation is where I grow and learn the most rapidly. It is also still where I experience the most shame and hot-washing moments of regret. Every time I talk or feel as though I am talking too much, I get embarrassed and feel ashamed for saying anything at all. I worry so much about how people will take my words, because I know the impact words have had on me. Just when I feel as though I am getting to a place where I am not as shame prone, the rug is pulled and my feet are in the air.
Many of you read this and might think, gosh, she is so sensitive. You're right, I am. I am sensitive to my own reactions and to yours too. I am constantly assessing individuals and groups and am always aware to ongoing dynamics. It is overwhelming at times to feel it all, and yet it is what makes me an effective psychologist.
But sometimes I miss it. Sometimes I am all in, and out of tiredness and frustration and impulsivity and naivete I miss it. I say something wrong or offensive and all of a sudden I don't know where my footing is. That sense of shame that I felt as a 10 year old girl is back, and I fear. Fear what? I am not always sure. But fear it is. As a psychologist, I know that these are moments we all have and relationships are built on working them through. But when there is no chance to work it through immediately, or there is no relationship context to provide grace, it is hard to sit in the feelings of shame and uncertainty.
Brene Brown, in her book Daring Greatly, encourages shame resilience. She says that shame is a common human experience, one that we rarely talk about because it is so intimately vulnerable. Brown says that one of the things shame resilient people do is call on their people to remind them of their worth and value and help them reason through the storm. The last few days have been hard, as I have withdrawn and also attempted to look like normal on the outside. No one usually knows that I feel this way. This time I reached out to a couple of my people, which helped, and then I was back in the wash as I retreated again. It is literally like walking around emotionally naked, feeling as exposed as my skin to this cold Massachusetts winter. Brutal.
The storm is not over. But today as I read the above quote by Brown, I am reminded that I will stumble with people and be misunderstood and there will always be people who choose to walk away or call names or whatever it is that humans do. But those stumbles happen because I am choosing, now more than ever in my life, to be all in. That has consequences, and once the storm calms, usually I realize that it blows away the people that I will never have a strong relationship with anyway because of how tenuous or fragile those connections were.
And now, even with all that wonderful cognitive reframing, I will excuse myself to go wipe my underarms from the anxiety of writing this post. Peace.
