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@vanishedreams
does anyone know what the first step of unlearning shame is. please say it’s substance abuse
Okay so, not a funny answer, BUT:
My therapist said that the difference between Shame and Guilt is that Guilt is what we Do, and Shame is what we Are.
She said that if we are experiencing pervasive Shame, we need to identify what part of us we believe is Shameful and figure out *why* we believe that.
Once we find the shameful thing, we decide if it’s rational- something we don’t like about ourselves and would be better off changing- or if it’s irrational- something we have been taught to believe that isn’t helpful or useful.
If it’s irrational, we identify where it came from, and reconsider the circumstances by which we learned it until we come to a kinder, more productive conclusion.
This conclusion could involve Guilt, but because Guilt is from Actions instead of Identity, we can let it go by choosing to act differently in the future.
Which is a difficult lesson, but really does well against compulsive self-destruction!
kissing you on the forehead
with tongue?
with tongue. 🥰
it's actually really weird to me that a lot of adults don't seem to remember the worst bits of being a child. were you not horribly aware of when adults were talking down to you as a child? don't you remember how little autonomy you were allowed, even when it came to things that seemed pretty harmless? don't you remember the times when adults would seemingly be assholes to you for no reason? even if you had nice and reasonable parents, didn't you ever have teachers or other adults in power who treated you disrespectfully? didn't it sting no matter how people justified it?
especially when I was a teenager, it seemed obvious to me & to most of my peers when an adult wasn't treating us with respect. you could almost smell it, in certain classrooms. there would be this palpable, shifting undercurrent of teenage dissatisfaction whenever some teachers started talking. and it made a lot of the kids act out! which of course made the teachers try to exert their power, which never worked because nobody respected them, which made them get more draconian, etc.
as a teen, I didn't really get why my peers and I seemingly had a superhuman sense for when an adult was on a power trip. but now I think I get it. kids are systematically denied autonomy, respect, and consistently have the validity of their experiences denied. like, flat-out. they're a vulnerable class of people made even more vulnerable by their lack of societal rights. being disrespected as a kid is so frequent that I would say it's a defining experience for most children. is it any wonder they tend to pick up on when an adult doesn't see them as worth listening to?
so yeah, of course a ton of kids want to be treated "like an adult." to them, that's synonymous with being treated like a human being worth listening to. it's up to you, as an adult, to understand that wish for what it is, and behave accordingly. you don't gotta be a child psychologist. you don't gotta be perfect at it. all you have to do is remember how painful adult disrespect could be when you were a kid & do your best to act with some compassion.
Honest to god having your rights to your body, opinions and existence violated in childhood is a foundational experience to why so many people are full of pain and dysfunction
I think a lot of people inflict punishment and injustice on others because the only "way out" of that hurt childhood self for them is to become the person with the power to hurt
Yeah "abusers having a hard childhood doesn't justify it" but y'all it's not about "justify" it's just a very difficult thing about humans that being abused while powerless, and wanting/pursuing the power to abuse, are often linked.
It's a choice to hurt people who are in your power, but the choice involves completely turning your back on the existing way things work, where there are two categories: powerless people who get hurt and powerful people who hurt others, and the goal is to be one of the powerful people
And really leaning into the "powerful" role I think helps you distance yourself from how it felt to be powerless. So yeah, a lot of adults do entirely just repress it
we were outside and the street was wet and the sign was flickering. i wanted to be barefoot but knew it would be weird so instead i just sort of hovered around you while you smoked and the awnings dripped. it was dark here, the blue darkness of a night that you’re not supposed to be out in, a night that refuses you. not a warm one but our knees were uncovered.
you play with your lighter. we stand under the lamppost. in three months we’ll be going different places as fast as our legs can take us. right now, the summer is too young to have a name. so we stand there. i’m in love with you and i have been since middle school math class.
“doesn’t it bother you,” you ask, and the neon sign flickers, “that your dad says shit like that?”
i put my back against the wet lamppost. you play with your lighter. “does anybody feel good about their dad?” i ask.
you snort. then we’re silent.
once when i was twelve my father threw a plate on the ground and later when he retold the story, he said that i had done it. or that i’d made him. i don’t remember exactly how he lied about it, only that he did, and that it was the moment i’d sort of recognized that he was 50 percent of me as a person and that was fucking terrifying.
the neon sign flickers. you play with the lighter and pass it over your fingertips. and then you say, “there’s a thin layer of molecules that stops me from being burned by this.”
okay. i watch you do it, even though i know i should be stopping you about it. it’s not the kind of night for stopping things. it’s the kind of night when we’re both the bad kind of quiet.
you unfold your free palm and hold it inches above the flame. “the further i get, the less it hurts,” you say.
you don’t look up. you put your lighter in your pocket. we walk in the mist which is the resting state of rain. i feel like we’re too close to an emotion to speak of it, but i know what you’re saying.
“don’t grow a molecule coat too thick you can’t feel warmth,” i say. “don’t go too far away.”
you snort again. “too late.”
i look up. i can’t see the moon. i think of your lighter and the hand i want to hold and how both of us are running before the cement in the ground can take us. i think of how we are both playing with any lighter we find, balancing between the thin layer of dna and personality, of destiny and fate.
“it’s okay,” i say, “who needs fathers anyway.”
i'm used to it, and how bad it is, and how often it's so bad that it rings like a bell inside of me, drowning out everything around me. and the truth is that i get frustrated with myself about it - again? we're like this still? again? it's not that i feel weak, precisely. it's just this sense almost like - i've already been pushing against this thing for years now, shouldn't i have gained more ground?
i get frustrated because i'm sick of picking up the loose ends every six months. i get frustrated because it's always this same shit, same problem - i lose myself in a matter of months; spiral out of control, lose touch with friends and loved ones. i stop taking care of myself and therapy gets hard and i let everything around me wilt and shrivel and fall off; start somehow both sleeping too much and not-enough. i panic-attack and cry in my car in a target parking lot, pulling my hair out and hurting my ribs from sobbing so hard - and later, when i'm better, i'm embarrassed because how could i let it get that far?
it feels like - i already have done this so many times. isn't there a way out of it? isn't there a point where i've just... won? that it never happens again, that i just get to be done? maybe this is weakness, i guess - that i still (so often!) succumb.
i am used to it, so i forget exactly how hard it gets. do you even know how many times i've laid in bed, exhausted, blank and numb and listless and said - i can't anymore. i just can't. i'm not even really upset. it's okay. i've been here long enough. so much of my life was beautiful.... i'm just... done.
do you know how many times i woke up and i said - i can't and put my feet on the floor and said i can't, i don't want to and took a shower and walked the dog and bought myself fresh bread and put a nice playlist on and said i really can't, there's no end to this and i went to work and i called a friend and i made myself cookies even if food tasted like ashes and decided that i really should wait for the new album from that artist i love and i thought i can't, it's not worth it and then i washed my hands and cut my hair and drank more water and wrote a poem and signed up for an art class at the local community college and said i can't, i can't, i won't do this again, and i paid my rent and let the dishes rot in the sink but still made myself eat anything fresh even if it meant overdrawing my account on a stupid bag of plums just because they looked delicious and do you know how often i closed my eyes and thought this is it i really fucking can't, something has to give and i have nothing left that it can take and then i went to bed and i got up and i fucking survived anyway
yesterday the local ice cream place opened up for the first time this season and they were giving out tiny samples of their new dairy-free options and i tried a mango sorbet. three months ago i was positive that februrary was going to be my last month on the planet. i am teaching my dog a new trick and i just discovered a new band i love. i got a plant from the clearance aisle and repotted her and she's been perking up. i made salmon for alison and we ate it in her new house with her new beautiful baby girl. my manager told me he keeps recommending my work to others just because i always include a stupid number of puns. tomorrow i'm trying a new dance class. tomorrow i'm maybe going to buy more plums.
i forget, you know? it's not some bone-deep strength or some magical power. it's that some part of me knows - i need to stay. in all of this; out of all of this - i just want to choose love.
i had a dream last night that you apologized. it was for real this time. my hands shook while i read it; waiting for you to do the thing you always do - chewing on my lip, i was waiting for you to make it about you. waiting for the part where everything shifts and suddenly - again! - i'm taking care of you.
it's never really your fault, something is always "happening" for you. you always have an excuse. it's hard to explain because my heart is too gentle. i keep finding reasons to forgive your repeated actions. i keep saying well, you didn't have it easy or that was a hard time or maybe i just upset you enough for that reaction. i talk about how i was a troubled kid once. i talk about how people stuck by me when i went dark. i give you what i never got.
i texted my siblings about it: you ever remember something and then get mad about it all over again. and still, that little voice inside my head - did i not explain myself explicitly enough? am i being unfair? the boundary i drew had been communicated, but what if i should have given more chances for you to get used to it?
i had a dream you finally saw things my way. that you said - i realized why you were hurting. i caused that. i'm sorry. i had a dream that i know i'm going to have to talk about in therapy.
you want to know the worst part? i would forgive you pretty much instantly. i would roll over and let you back into my life immediately. i would tell everyone that you've turned over a new leaf. i would defend you like an attorney. i'd say how you've been working hard and finally apologized to me. i'd tell them all that the bare-minimum from you was finally showing.
that's all it would take. a single, real i'm sorry. and it's knowing that you can't do it. it's knowing you will never, ever take responsibility.