Tag Archives: Shame

An Unholy Confession

06 Sunday May 2018

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She knelt down at the bench that was drenched with the tears and prayers of all those who had come before her. This was a seat that was not meant for resting, but for wrestling. Sinners came to this bench to confess, to plead, to repent and to rise in salvation.

The black shoes she had been wearing restricted her from attaching herself to the bench in the manner she thought necessary to get close to God, and as she twisted-around to remove them, her black uniform skirt got caught on the sleeve of her tunic, revealing more of her regulation nightshade pantyhose than modesty would approve.

She did not know that he was watching her.

He was always watching.

She went about her business, preaching and teaching the word of God, leading the people in praise and worship of the creator she loved so very much. She was just doing what she had been called to do, the best way she could.

In her twenty-one years of life she believed she had a firm grasp on the world, and was wise and mature to its ways.

When he came to her and confessed his love, she found herself spinning and dizzy, unable to find her bearings and questioning what she had believed to be the safest place.

“My wife knows about you,” he confessed. She felt sick to her stomach and wanted to turn from him and run. Unable to speak, he continued, “I’ve been talking to my therapist about you.”

Was she, honestly, hearing him correctly? It seemed as though she had been thrust into another world, like a twisted version of what one might find beyond the wardrobe.

How could she have let this happen? What had she done to lead him on?

She stared back at him, in shock and disbelief and noticed for the first time how many wrinkles his face held and the glisten of his silvery white hair.

He was in his 50’s and had kind, but lost, eyes. She had always appreciated his gentleness, but now she felt like he was a predator. He was no longer a sheep, but a wolf in sheeps clothing.

“I love you,” he made his confession plainly.

She tugged at her white blouse nervously, suddenly feeling naked and exposed. In her mind she was pleading with him to stop looking at her. She felt undressed by his stare.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

She said nothing. Frozen to the ground, unable to move, the world rang in her ears and she remembered what it felt like to want to disappear.

She never wanted to be seen by a man again.

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To Realize this Dream – I Need the Power of the Force

04 Friday May 2018

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I lost something somewhere along the way. Was it when I left the realm of the religious and spiritual? Was it when I had my son? Was it long before then when I had moved to a foreign country to be with a man I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be with?

When did I lose the ability to be still? To sit quietly, contemplating, or not, but being still, restful and at peace?

Sitting still now hurts my head. It is laborious and requires effort and discipline. I have to convince myself that it is a worthwhile endeavor and that it is producing something positive; that it is not just a waste of time.

I also used to write; I wrote almost every day between 1994-2013. I have a large stack of journals leaning-against our lounge wall reminding me of how I used to pour my life into words on a page. This was a religious act to me, just as prayer once was. It was part of my communion and communication. When I no longer believed that there was anyone out there with whom to communicate, I stopped writing.

I didn’t realize that I had been communing and communicating with myself all-along and that it was this relationship that had been lost.

I am on a mission to seek that which was lost – to find, once again, that communion with myself. I am also taking a terrifying journey to and through the past as I traverse my old journals, typing-up entries and key moments of my life. As I have begun organizing the journals chronologically, I have already experienced intense feelings of shame, embarrassment, anger, disappointment and fear.

I used to think that I was so mature – so wise and worldly. When in truth, I was such a child, and so naïve. It is going to be a taxing journey, but a worthy one. Who is this person from my past? More accurately, who are these people? The little girl, the young girl, the teenager, the early adult, the woman contemplating marrying a man she wasn’t sure she loved, the mother-to-be. Who is she?

I am determined to reconnect, at least, to the writer and the dreamer in her. To dream and to write again and to, finally, begin the task of chronicling and connecting stories into a piece of work that can be published.

I want to be a writer more than anything. It will never happen if I am not putting-in the work required to get me there.

So, mark this date on your calendar, the day I set-out to bring my life, my experiences, my thoughts, my relationships, my embarrassments and heartaches into a story in ink and on paper.

May the 4th be with me.

post-note: Though I have come to loathe this day and all the Star Wars posts, comments, jokes, memes, etc., I could not ignore the fact that this is the day in which I made some bold steps towards realizing this long-time dream of mine, and I need the power of the force behind me on this one.

Sexual Abuse and Being Fat

17 Thursday Mar 2016

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At risk of contradicting myself (see previous post entitled “Shame, Shame-Double Shame”), I want to take a moment to talk about the effects of sexual assault in regards to shame.

Another reason I feel more comfortable “covered” is because I was sexually molested twice as a child.

I start to feel uneasy when I think that too much of my body is exposed. I don’t being uncovered. I don’t like giving guys a reason to look at my body.

Because two grown men looked at my body when I was a child, liked what they saw and decided that it was something to take for themselves.

And so, staying fat is also a way to protect myself.

The second I think a man might be noticing me for my looks, I start to feel uneasy, my body temperature rises, I get queasy and my mind starts to spin out of control. It’s a panic attack.

Feeling shame, or ashamed, results in a wanting to cover oneself. Many women who have suffered sexual abuse are overweight or obese and find it very difficult to lose weight. Being bigger and unattractive can make us feel safe. No one will want to do that to us again. No one will want this. If I give it up, who knows what they will do to me again.

Even now that I am happily married, have a son, a family that loves and supports me, I am scared all the time that if I look too good, something bad is going to happen to me.

For those of us who carry around this shame in our bodies, the battle we face is an exhausting, uphill and constant struggle.

If someone thinks we look good, it’s difficult to separate that compliment from the feelings that ‘looking good’ to someone is shameful because shameful things are done to you when you look good to people.

We feel as though our own bodies have betrayed us. Our bodies have caused horrible things to happen to us. It’s because of how our bodies looked that people touched us inappropriately and did things that robbed us of our innocence. We feel ashamed.

And so, we hide.

We hide behind hoodies and jogging pants. Behind pigtails and messy hair. We hide behind humour and bubbly personalities. And, we hide behind fat.

We have to learn that it was not our fault. It was not our body’s fault. Our breasts aren’t to blame. Our skin is not in the wrong. Our thighs are not the problem. Even our most intimate of places have done no wrong to us.

Your body did not betray you. Your body did not fail you, or allow this to happen. It was not in agreement with any of it. Your flesh did not betray you.

For us this journey is about learning to feel safe in our own skin. We have to learn to make our bodies our allies, not our enemies. We have to learn to trust our flesh. We have to learn to forgive ourselves for hating ourselves so much.

I am trying to become friends with my body again.

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Shame, Shame-Double Shame

16 Wednesday Mar 2016

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When you’re fat, overweight, obese, plump, “big-boned”, curvy or whatever it is you like to call yourself when you are much heavier than you should be, shame is a constant companion.

According to the Wikipedia article on shame, “The roots of the word shame are thought to derive from an older word meaning “to cover”; as such, covering oneself, literally or figuratively, is a natural expression of shame.”

And so, you will find those of us who are “plus size” draped in outfits that closely resemble bed sheets and garbage bags. We know that what we have isn’t considered beautiful, but that’s not really where the shame originates.

The shame is not created by knowing that people think we’re unattractive, it’s from people judging us every time we have a cookie or a cheeseburger, or assume we spend all our time slumped on the couch with a bag of cheesies in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other.

I sit down on the streetcar and feel people are thinking ‘that fat and lazy slob should stand up. It might help her, actually, lose some weight. No wonder she’s fat.’

I get a donut with my steeped tea and feel people behind me, checking-out my back fat and can hear their thoughts out loud, ‘oh, honey. Put it down and walk away. That’s why you are so fat’.

Even though my grocery cart is always full of fruits and veggies, when I get to the checkout, I feel like everyone around me is thinking: ‘good for you, girl. I hope you can keep on this diet. Good luck’.

And, based on the nasty comments I’ve heard (and made) over the years (yes, fat people judge other fat people), I know that I am being judged.

And, so, I cloak myself to hide my shame.

I hide behind a bubbly attitude, bright sense of humour and quick-wit. Fat people have learned to protect ourselves by finding ways to disarm people before they attack. We make fun of ourselves first, so that the judgement and jokes of about our size won’t hurt as much.

But, it actually doesn’t really work. We feel hurt all the time.

And, it doesn’t matter how many times we’ve been judged, teased, had jokes made at our expense ‘in good fun’, or been fat-shamed, when it happens again it strikes at the very core of our being.

And so, I am desperately trying to turn the tides of shame. And, I’m starting with truly learning how to love myself.

It may sound silly to you, but I’ve started wearing a bit of makeup most days to work, I have bought a few dresses that are so far out of my usual “comfort” clothes in which I can hide myself away.

And, surprisingly, this has made a huge difference. Every time I apply the mascara, or slip the bright red dress on over my head, I feel this little idea growing inside of me-‘you are worth it’.

I am removing the layers I have been hiding under for years. I am allowing myself the freedom to be seen. To be beautiful. To feel good about myself.

As my feelings of worth increase, I begin to process decisions, not from a place of shame or judgement, but by deciding what’s best for me. Because I deserve the best.

I still have a long way to go. But, slowly, I am removing my cloak of shame and learning how to truly love myself.

When deciding whether, or not, I want to buy a bag of chips, the voice in my head has always said things like: ‘go ahead, fatty. You’re never going to be thin so you may as well enjoy yourself.’ ‘Have the chips, fatty. Nobody cares about you or how you feel. You may as well have some comfort in knowing that.’ ‘You deserve those chips. You deserve how they will make you feel more fat and helpless’.

When I’m trying to make choices about food these days my new mantra is: ‘You deserve the best. Is this the best?’

You deserve the best.

You deserve the best.

Believe me. It’s true.

You deserve the best.

You.

You deserve the best.

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