Brene Brown, in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, closes chapter 3 with, "If we're working toward relationships based in love, belonging, and story, we have to start in the same place, "I am worthy."
So, where am I in this quest to be worthy? To give and receive love? To belong? Where am I in the ability to muster courage, and to give compassion and feel connected? Those might be tough questions to answer, but only because of a lack of courage to answer them, which answers the questions. That means, I begin to study my lack of "shame resilience."
Lack of? How about the complete dearth of shame resilience?
Step 1: "Who do I become when I am backed into the shame corner?" (I am plageurizing up the whazoo here, and I fully acknowledge it, but I need to go through these steps, and you will see in question #3, why here).
I become that child anxiously assessing what is right and wrong, wondering if I am doing what is right, or will I be punished? I am that child wondering who is going to laugh at me next and why? I am that teen wondering how I will avoid the embarrassment of making a mistake, of saying the wrong thing, of giving the wrong answer. I am that young mother who feels more like she is one of the children in the household. I am the newby who wonders how old she has to be in order to be seen as competent enough to make a decision or offer an acceptable suggestion. This is a start. This blog is not long enough to hold all of the situations I could recall, if I just kept on recalling and writing. But these will suffice to finish this little survey.
Question #2: How do I protect myself when backed into the shame corner? While I HAVE retaliated a couple . . . few? . . . times, my most common reaction is to quit the team, leave the party, avoid going to that place again, hide, keep it a secret, ask others not to "tell on me," and physically, I think I always tip my face down, just a little. The old classroom technique that says, "Don't call on me."
Now, that third question: "Who do you call to work through the mean-nasties or the cry-n-hides or the people-pleasing?" (I really need to acknowledge the author, Brene Brown: Her words, not mine!) Sometimes, my journal. Sometimes . . . what do little kids call it. . . "my secret friend?" Sometimes, God. Maybe on a rare occasion, my husband. Most of the time, no one. Guess this is one area I really need to work on.
Final question: "What's the most courageous thing that you could do for yourself when you feel small and hurt?"
You can't see or hear me, so you missed my huge SIGHHHH. How do I answer this question? Use my feeling words? Make a request? Both? Something else? So, when my solution to a problem was flatly ignored, I repeated it a few times, then finally said, "I don't understand why you aren't considering my solution." I think that was a courageous thing to do. It worked, too. They tried my solution and the problem was solved.
Okay, poor example. Another one: I could respond, "Since I don't want to feel like I am more stupid than everyone else, do any of you have any tips on how to be quick-witted in the use of puns?" Now, that is a scarey option. Why don't I just walk out the door, saying, "I'm just not quick-witted enough to hang out with you people?" That sounds like my current non-resilient methodology. How about, "Sorry I'm not laughing, but I don't understand your pun." That is really a dead-end remark. Okay, I have it: "I am feeling really embarrassed because my need for competence is not being met." Now I see ten pair of eyes staring at me incredulously. So, from here, I am supposed to make a request. . . "Would someone please explain that pun to me?"
I'm not getting very far on question 4. I think I will sleep on it. Or at least, I will try to sleep. Maybe I need to be patient . . . and read the rest of the book. I'll do that tomorrow and in the coming days. 62 years don't need immediate change, but change as soon as possible. I'll go to the safe One, God.
