Shame

Sep 8, 2024

A version of this post appeared first on The Vining Center blog.

“Shame is not something we ‘fix’ in the privacy of our mental processes; evil would love for us to believe that to be so. We combat it within the context of conversation, prayer, and other communal, embodied actions.”

~ Curt Thompson, MD, The Soul of Shame

What comes to mind when you think of trauma? The death of a friendship, the loss of a home, a diagnosis that forever changes the course of your life? Not all trauma comes in the shape of a major, life-altering event. Some trauma is cumulative, like growing up in a home where you are neither seen nor heard, where loved ones mock or dismiss the things most precious to your heart and soul as unworthy of their time or attention.

Regardless of its source, trauma inevitably leads to shame and isolation. Shame tells us that we are fundamentally wrong and damaged at our core, with little hope for redemption. Shame is about who we are, not what we do. The natural course of shame is isolating ourselves from our true selves, others, and God. Like Adam and Eve, we hide behind our fig leaves of competency and success, hoping no one will notice that we are dying a slow, miserable death inside. We prop ourselves up with outward trappings, hoping no one will look beneath the surface at the deeper truth—the desire each of us has to be truly known.

Intuitively, we know that shame quenches our gifts and any sense of vocational vision and creativity we might possess, so periodically, we peek out from behind our fig leaves of self-sufficiency, only to draw back into hiding at the slightest provocation or hint of rejection.

Is there a better way? How do we end the cycle of trauma, shame, and isolation?

According to Psychiatrist Curt Thompson, we combat shame through honest conversation, prayer, and communal, embodied actions. My experiences bear this out. I first entered into this type of community among a group of unorthodox Christian artists. They created a safe space for me to share my story and embraced me despite my rather unconventional life experiences at the time.

Several years later, while sorting through additional layers of trauma, I began my initial training as a spiritual director. I found myself in a group of believers from multiple denominations, but what we all had in common was that we had suffered deeply. We went around the room and shared our “shame narratives,” holding space for each other’s pain. We were neither put off nor repulsed by each other’s pain; instead, we were drawn together through our humanity, stories of suffering and injustice, and a shared hope for a different future. Later, we shared a meal and drank wine late into the night.

Over the years, I have learned the importance of creating communities of safety and healing where others can share their shame and uncover their true selves in the safety for which they long. As a spiritual director, I seek to establish this environment for each of my directees, whether one-on-one or in a group.

I believe there is no other way.