words that work

A few days ago I had an important conference call and in the days before the call, I was feeling anxious and distressed anticipating the call but unclear about why. I went for a walk the day of the call, and during the walk I realized I was feeling ashamed. I had the belief that the other four folks on the call were expecting me to be clear and ready to decide on something that was important to all five of us.

Instead, I was not clear at all about the decision.

In my culture of origin, confusion was not acceptable; it would show weakness. The prevailing norm was that you had to be clear, concise, on point, and tracking, and if you weren’t then you were “lesser than,” you were weak. Of course it was dangerous to be weak in every way possible—physically, psychologically, and emotionally.

Thus, as I unpacked all of this in anticipation of the conference call, I realized that I was ashamed that I was “weak” in not being clear about what I wanted to do, and I was ashamed that I was ashamed.

Up until about six months ago, I had not ever, to my memory, acknowledged that I felt ashamed. In my family of origin, you did not acknowledge that feeling—it was shameful to feel ashamed. This came to my awareness in reading a number of things, including Brene Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. I was talking about it in workshops a lot and realized that instead of acknowledging shame, I had always said I was embarrassed. Most of my life I had conflated shame and embarrassment.

As I walked, then, I imagined a whole dialogue of letting the others on the conference call in on my realization during my check in. Thinking through the script of that dialogue brought me a lot of relief, and then I realized I was now anxious about revealing this to people. After all, everything I was planning to reveal was taboo—being confused (and therefore “weak”) and being ashamed.

Nonetheless, after everyone else checked in, I told them my story.

It was scary to do so—my heart rate was up and my palms were clammy as I related the above to them. I then asked for feedback, and I was very moved by their feedback and really liked how the conversation went after that. I was so relieved to have shared what I said, especially because the contrast between how I had felt before and after was clear.

I was no longer affected by this huge issue of my lack of clarity about the decision; it was like this big burden was relieved from me. All of my tormented thinking about my confusion was removed and I could just be in the meeting and say, “I’m not clear and I would like to get clarity.” I could break it down into specific things I was not clear about and talk them through, getting collaboration from people on the call. We ended up making a decision that all five of us seemed pleased with.

As I reflected on this later, it made me think about how hiding our shame—being ashamed of being ashamed—is exactly what gives it more power. Revealing it and including others in our experience dissipates that power; the shame fades under the light of revelation. This is exactly the opposite of what the shame is telling us to do. Our shame instructs us to hide it, both whatever we are ashamed of and the fact that we are ashamed, and when we listen to it, we stay imprisoned under it. As soon as I revealed it, difficult though that was, all the anxiety and stress I had experienced faded away.

Liberation lies just beyond revealing the truth of our experience.

I encourage you to inquire into those areas where you feel shame, and see what you find. How, in a safe way, might you share these feelings with someone close to you, just as an experiment to see what happens as a result?

Post by Ike Lasater with Julie Stiles