I went belly up with shame.
My old answer didn't suffice. I no longer blog for the same reason that I once did. There wasn't an adequate answer. Shame asked, "who do you think you are to put your thoughts, ideas and writing out into the world?"
Brown defines shame as the "intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging".
Shame kicked my ass.
I thought of deleting the blog.
I felt ashamed of who I am, how I think, how I feel, how I live. I came face to face with my own darkest self. Who am I to occupy space? Who am I to hope for love? Unworthiness and self loathing took up residence at my table and in my bed. I tried to be different, to feel less and reflect less, to BE more and to learn to shut up. I tried because I, like all of you, want, nay need, love and belonging.
My heart broke and not in the dramatic or romantic way. I found myself stripped raw, standing or laying on the ground of my being. I realized in that dark night that the very thing I spent a lifetime resisting, a lifetime of trying to be good enough, pleasing enough and attractive enough or smart enough or good enough to overcome, was ME. In that darkness, when all my coping strategies, and resistance fell away, there was a spaciousness that didn't demand "me" to be other than I am or life to be other than it is.
And for perhaps the first time, I sensed my own worth, as I am, in this moment.
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