Cracks in the Wall

I am reading Daring Greatly, by Brene’ Brown.  This is a book about authentic living and the courage to be vulnerable.  It is about confronting shame and developing resilience to shame’s attacks.   For this moment in my life, her writing is speaking directly into the needs of my spirit.  It is like she is reading my mind – hearing the questions I have struggled with and writing with such honest gentleness I am able to hear and digest.  It is annoyingly painful, yet I can feel a current of joy underneath the pain working its way to the surface.

I have spent the better part of my life building up shame resistance.  I freakin’ hate shame and all its nasty thoughts and feelings it brings to the table.  That voice that says if people really knew me they would be disgusted.  If they were to see me, they would run in fear.  That voice that says I am not worthy of connection; not worthy of love.  I hate this voice and the havoc that it brings.  So, I run from the voice.  I run fast (not literally as my actual fast pace is an 11:00 minute mile).

My early years were spent living in a small bungalow next door to an older brother who brought experiences that forever changed my life.  I was in the third grade the first time I can recall experiencing shame. This was the first time I spent the night at someone’s house other than grandparents or my next-door neighbor.  It was in a wealthy neighborhood.  The family ate dinner together at home.  And what I remember most is the mom tucked all the kids into bed.  She tucked me into bed.  I was in heaven.  The next morning, she drove me home to our tiny bungalow a block away from the liquor store.  It was the first I realized my world was different than others at my private school.  We moved to our own well-to-do neighborhood shortly after this encounter, but the shame of that neighborhood and the abuse that occurred there came packed in its own box and moved with ease into my new second-story bedroom. 

My ten-year-old self fought the shame by being a turd at school and home.  I picked fights.  I bullied.  I developed an anger sword to protect others from seeing my shame.  Eventually attacking others only got me in more trouble than I cared to deal with, and the anger sword became an anger shield.  I built a wall of stone, steel, and concrete (also known as good behavior, no tears, and a I-got-it-together smile) hoping no one would be able to get through.  Eventually this wall took on a natural look It was camouflaged enough with good works and flying under the radar that others hardly noticed.   Most of the time I was too busy to notice the wall. Anger turned inward, and my shame voice did a number behind the perceived safety of my wall.  Business, alcohol, and electronic gadgets filled the gaps when shame started to rear its ugly head.

Shame behind the wall is so incredibly destructive both to myself and those I care about.  I become a distant wife, grouchy mom, and selfish friend.  It’s not that I want to hurt others as much as I become so terrified they will see me and ultimately reject me that I become unavailable first.  I prevent the opportunity of rejection. And here is where I say, “Thank God I am not the best at construction.”  To quote Leonard Cohen (thanks Brene’ Brown for quoting him in your book), “There’s a crack in everything.  That’s how light gets in.”

The wall I built has many cracks that years of patches are no longer holding.  Thank God for mid-life awakenings (I am avoiding the term mid-life crisis) and my soul saying “Enough is enough.  Heal, damnit.”  And thank God I am willing to quiet down enough to listen.  And I know the healing process would not be possible if I did not feel safe enough in life.  I am forever grateful for friendships and steady-as-a-rock husband who have helped me feel and know this safety net around me.  I am forever grateful for my imperfect cracks that allow light, love, compassion, grace, and empathy to seep in and be that much needed balm.