How low must I have been to allow the fists - punching, the feet - kicking, the hands - scratching, choking, clawing; the 'I'm sorry's' forgiven again and again? How low must I have been to endure years of abuse, surrendering the most precious parts of myself, succumbing to a life of fear and torment, without finding a way out? How low? And once I reached my threshold with nothing left to lose, peeling myself off the floor for the very last time, finally listening to that voice within me, telling me to run, where does the shame go? The shame of realizing that for years I hungered to be loved at any cost, sacrificing my dignity for mere crumbs tossed my way. How do I mend the brokenness?
I wrote the above during one of my MANY journeys into the abyss of myself where I stumbled across something that surprised the heck out of me.
Shame.
It surprised me because I'm not at all ashamed of my life's walk, knowing that it has gifted me with so much wisdom, humbleness and empathy. I am grateful for all of it. However, that is the type of shame we typically think of first isn't it? Concerns about how other people will view us? Well, the shame I'm speaking about here is much more intimate. It's a loss of inner grace - an odium for self.
What I mean is, it wasn't the experiences themselves nor what anyone may think of me that caused this shame, but rather the realization that I had sold my soul to such a profound degree; that I had relinquished my integrity in exchange for love. The fact that it wasn't love at all wasn't the point, you see, it was my willingness to forfeit my power for it that created such turmoil within me.
It was during this evening of introspection that I understood I had to deal with my own self-disdain for having sacrificed so much of myself in the past. The plethora of reasons why I've journeyed down these self-sabotaging, love-seeking roads (childhood experiences for example) doesn't change the fact that in my heart I held myself accountable. That in itself is honorable I suppose - I'd taken full responsibility for my life - but it didn't end there.
All this time I'd been beating MYSELF up. And when I looked ever more closely at this self-abuse, I saw that it had been a pattern of mine for as long as I can remember.
So the point of this rambling is to say to anyone who has experienced any type of abusive trauma, please check-in to make sure that YOU haven't become the abuser. Blaming and shaming ourselves serves no purpose. My shame was so deeply hidden, I had no idea I was even harboring it. To heal it, we've gotta feel it. We've got to own it, find our way through it and finally let it go in order to free ourselves.
Here's to the never ending journey of becoming...