How I am dealing with my shame

The revolution will be publicly displayed.

I have battled with low self-esteem for as long as I can remember. Like the lowest, deep in the gutters located in the bosom of hell.

I moved through life making choices of friends, partners, and jobs that reflected my self-esteem, where I would also tire myself trying to prove my worth to them.

Madness.

The truth is, I was not conscious of my low self-esteem. It wasn’t until my therapist asked me to share with her a list of all of my shortcomings that I realised the common theme was a lack of self-worth.

I quickly realised that having low self-esteem is easy to deal with, especially when you aren’t conscious of it. But when you start to heal and become aware of it?

No one prepares you for the intense shame that comes with it.

A great deal of shame.

For me, it was a lot of shame about the choices of partners, friends and jobs I made, how I subjected myself to be treated in ways that reflected how I treated myself.

Shame, because I could not admit how much work it is to start my life again from scratch and avoid being seen in this difficulty.

As soon as I came in contact with the bigness of how my lack of self-worth drove me to people, places, and situations I should never be in, I cried. I cried a lot, unashamedly.

The crying eventually stopped, but the shame never did. When a random thought that made me ashamed crept in while I was taking walks, showering, eating, or doing anything, I would curl over and suffer a panic attack.

I remember taking a walk on a major motorway, shouting and kicking things to release the intensity of shame that I felt. Yes, it was this bad.

It was at this point that I knew I had to meet every part of this shame.

At first, I tried handling it with affirmations, focusing on positive thoughts when the feelings and thoughts of shame arose.

It helped, but who was I kidding? It was ineffective.

It is like being face to face with a tiger in a small room and saying, “This is not a tiger; this is a dove,” or “I am not here; I am in a mansion, surrounded by my servants, living my best life.”

Your answer is as good as mine. The tiger is going to eat you and your delulu.

So it is either you take all of you and face this tiger, or you accept that you are going to die.

Shame was not going to run my life, so I decided to face it.

The only way out is through, so I went in.

And boy was it ugly.

You cannot confront a tiger and remain composed; you have to pull out every strategy, and none of them include calmness.

The process is difficult, messy, humbling, and extremely painful.

It means that I have to come in contact with and identify many specific moments of mistreatment and the way I dissociated from confronting how it made me feel.

It means I have to repeatedly name names, accept situations of how I have been grossly undervalued, and be fully present with the intensity of that emotion as it moves through my body.

It means that I have to accept that it is my responsibility to figure out how to move forward and ensure I never undervalue or abandon myself again.

It means that I have to share my story, publicly, over and over again until I’ve drained the shame of its power.

Some days it's easy; some days I am overwhelmed to the point where I have to tap out—dissociate or numb myself with social media. But I see progress.

I notice it when I catch myself automatically refusing to engage with what my spirit feels is devaluation. Whether it is from me or anyone else.

Here’s what that looks like in real time:

Showing up fully and authentically, in presence and my work.

Accepting every part of who I am, the good and the bad, including every choice I have made.

Saying no. To people, situations and jobs that will make me repeat patterns, even if the cost is isolation.

Refusing to people please, no matter how uncomfortable the situation might be.

Doing hard things. Especially ones I ran away from.

Being real with myself and my audience about my reality and truth, in the content I choose to share.

Taking ownership of my wholeness and being, so I do not give shame any more tools that it can reserve in its arsenal and wield against me.

This is a lifelong journey, one that I have met with both gratitude and uncertainty.

But in the battle of shame and me, I choose myself.

Repeatedly.