Shame

I spent most of my youth hiding who I was. Hyper-focussed on how my wrists were angled, whether my hips would swagger or sway as I walked, how long I was staring at the boy on the playground that made my stomach and diaphragm feel like they were filling with a warm energy. An energy that shifted to my brain and released serotonin that I had to hide behind a forced stoicism when all I ever wanted to do was smile. The same joke that went around about the other boys was laughed at and brushed off, felt like a bullet if the target ever landed on me. A game of Russian Roulette I was always going to lose if I sat down at the table. So where does that come from? That feeling of getting caught for experiencing something that feels natural? Did I inherit it? Or do I paint it on without even realizing it? Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.

We’re talking about Shame: The Uninvited Guest.

Shame doesn’t knock, it doesn’t announce itself, it doesn’t wait for you to be decent. Long before you realize it picked the lock, Shame has made itself comfortable. Every time I experience rejection for my authenticity, I go back to a parent telling me to “stop putting your hands on your hips while you walk.” No explanation, only correction. A download I never accepted the terms and conditions on. Every time shame sees an opportunity, I am reliving my ungreatest hits.

We’ve looked at the many forms of self in our last blog, we’ve explored the justification of the different characters in our body and how strategic we can be to protect ourselves from necessary exploits. Shame doesn’t need, or want consent. No safe word has been established. It’s not a behavior like guilt, it’s an emotional state. Shame is something that you are made to feel you are. That’s where the toxicity lies: Guilt attacks what you did, Shame attacks who you are.

How did we acquire such an unfortunate burden? It’s often passed down, a family heirloom. Oftentimes, from our family of origin, whether anyone meant to give it to you or not. It’s more than that though. We are fed shame in our social circles, from teachers, religious entities, advertising, social media, entertainment.

It’s a germ. Everywhere. Invisible to the naked eye.

No one had to tell me that sex was shameful, the silence did that for me. Everyone is doing it, no one is talking about it. I was in my early twenties the first time I had an intimate discussion about sex with a platonic friend. It felt like I was breaking rules. But on the other side of that, I felt like I learned a lot about myself and my friend. Insecurities seemed less grandiose, my concerns weren’t as unique as they were at the start of the conversation. It was simply a beautiful moment of emotional intimacy and vulnerability.

It’s heartbreaking, really, to feel like we have to hide our sexual selves in terms of discussion with trusted others. We don’t talk because of Shame, and Shame stays because we don’t talk. So where do we go to learn? Depending on your generation, sexual education often comes from those 18+ sites, providing unrealistic standards and expectations. A spectacle that angles the body for the best camera angle. It’s meant for entertainment, not education. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. But when we have no other resources, no honest conversations, no other avenues to learn, we rely on what’s available. That’s showbiz, baby.

Vanilla sex has some acceptability these days. We are talking about it a bit more in the digital age, but it still has a stigma on being a raw topic of casual conversation. Taking it a bit further, the silence is louder with anything that isn’t vanilla. Kink gets the black sheep label; too aggressive or primal for general consumption. But it’s not just kink and vanilla, we are all somewhere in between two ends of the spectrum. Once again, we find ourselves somewhere in the grey. Shame intersects every shade of grey.

Does the secrecy of our sexual desires change how something feels? Does Shame distort desire, or intensify it? The fear of being discovered, some kinks thrive on the risk of getting caught. It’s the psychological heightened sensation of doing something you shouldn’t and seeing if you can get away with it. Other kinks could be reputation shattering, and could warrant judgment from others that impacts the newly outed individual’s pride. Pride, after all, is just the script we perform for others; that version of ourselves that is fit for public consumption. There’s even a camp of individuals whose kinks focus specifically on shame, humiliation, degradation. They welcome it, like an old friend.

Shame is not always the enemy. It’s not always the verdict, but an arrow. Pointing at the thing you haven’t spoken into the world yet, the desire you haven’t fully accepted. Playing the part of a coping mechanism, a protector and provider of safety. Maybe it’s saying it’s not time yet, it’s up to you to decide if you’re living in familiarity for justified precautions or if you are at a plateau because you’ve gotten used to the view. Perhaps the arrow is pointing towards freedom too, a moment of growth and acceptance, feeling like you will get closer to a version of you that feels more whole.

That boy on the playground hiding a smile; his story continued on for years before he saw the arrow pointed towards freedom. Shame was a tool that told him it was not safe yet, but it never said never. That desire you’re afraid is too weird? Maybe the friend in front of you has similar desires. That lover you’re afraid of knowing this more primal side of you? Maybe it’ll unlock something within them. So, the next time Shame enters the room, pay attention, ask it questions, get to know it. You may find it’s time to tell your uninvited guest to leave, stick around for a while, or ask it to watch.