Ending The Shame Cycle

I will be 49 next month. I think about how life works differently for me now vs. when I was 39, 29, 19…or nine.

One theme that continues as I get older is my personal life becomes quieter. It doesn’t mean I don’t want people, but when you pursue healing, you have to relearn a lot of your relationship skills so you do not repeat old patterns. I have had to face the fear that I will once again feel overwhelmed by thinking I must prove I am worthy of a person’s care, rather than relax and believe they offer it because they want to. With age, there is a soft surrender that helps you recognize when you have more understanding to pursue new connections and when you’re too tired to try.

In my twenties, there was consistent feedback that I was moody. What we called “moody” then was someone who had no coping skills to deal with a dysregulated nervous system while experiencing trauma in real time and having never heard the word “trauma.”

I still don’t have answers about parts of my life then. I don’t know how I believed in the good in humanity. I don’t know how I functioned considering what was lying in my mind and body unaddressed and what was happening in real time.

What I do know:

When we are in toxic environments (homes, jobs, families, or communities), we find a way to neutralize their impact so we can survive it. That can be something that makes the fear of existing in it not be so frightening, like giving too much of yourself, doing what you’re told even though it feels harmful, and/or silently taking on shame’s message to not have to deal with more external tension from how people feel about you.

I recently read Cleo Wade’s ‘Where to Begin.’

“My friend Maud once said, ‘There are times when we must speak, not because you are going to change the other person, but because if you don’t speak, they have changed you.”

This truth hangs heavy for anyone who has been silenced or overwhelmed by too many demands, too much judgment, or too many circumstances that make silence seem like the safe option to remove the targets at the center of their hearts.

When that silence begins early on, it becomes a part of survival mode. Again, it is not just a quiet voice or an appeasing person, but a soul that is not existing freely because too much has already been done to it.

What happens to those? To the ones who hide their beauty, passion, compassion, and dreams? How far beneath the surface is their hope? What has to be seen, heard, and felt in order for them to feel their voice coming from their gut and living unapologetically without fear?

When you don’t have the tools and direction, silence makes sense. As does numbing, coping skills, and attempting to be invisible.

When I look back at the part of me that people called moody, I see a heavy smoker, an unbalanced but eager entrepreneur who worked 70-80 hours per week—someone willing, fearful, and doing what he could to become less moody for others.

What no one saw was the shame, the inner critic, the cPTSD, and the young man who was praised by strangers for things he accomplished and criticized for sharing those praises with those closest to him. I did not fit with those I longed for approval from most and never understood how to function better, like everyone else, no matter what I tried.

These messages shaped many future years. The moody title spread into difficult, too intense, and too much.

Until I found the right support and we named all those things cPTSD, autism, and dysregulation.

Suddenly, the parts of me who walked the world with a bowed head, knowing if I were genuinely myself it would often not go well, had a name for the reason he can’t show up the way he’d like in certain situations. The balance of what my body and brain know, combined with how my body and brain work, gives me access to listen to what helps, rather than adapt to what is expected by those who refuse to see the bigger picture.

One of the greatest threats we experience in childhood trauma is having an inner critic’s voice shaped by our abusers.

Like this experience:

As an adult, you ask for basic care from loved ones, and they explain why you don’t deserve that. There are names, accusations, and suggestions that deny your ability to live on equal ground with them.

Your inner critic has been alive since childhood when those meant to care for you started these narratives, so the inner critic gets louder as the years go by, amplifying this exact kind of message.

The harmful beliefs swirl together because when you had to depend on loved ones to get by, it was too much of a risk to believe what was happening was unjust. The inner critic was born to keep you silent to avoid more pain. They are loud to protect you. This is all they know.

Many of us lived like this for many years. The noise. The messages. The lack of space and distance from feeling like we can safely be above ground, equal, cared for, and maybe even, dare I say, loved.

The noise and narratives become part of our survival, shaping who we want approval from and why.

The noise and narratives keep us rooted in trying harder to find the winning combination to prove we were somehow misunderstood and deserved validation long ago when we got judgment instead.

The inner critic hears the judgment and shames the longing. Shames the desire. They hurriedly hire an orchestra to make their message fit in your world and sound safe and soft when you start to outgrow it.

I am amazed at how healing can happen, especially when we receive information we didn’t know to ask for.

A diagnosis, a definition around what a scapegoat is, how a nervous system works, understanding what narcissism looks like—all these things can bring layers of confusion together in a quick jolt.

I bought my first pair of noise-canceling headphones four years ago, mainly for when I was traveling full time. I used to brace myself for the pilot’s announcement on every flight. Without fail, when he would use that microphone that appeared to be installed inside his throat and nostrils and turned up to levels only pilots have access to to make announcements, I would jump and turn to the person next to me with a sheepish grin.

“Why are they so loud?”

Noise. Noise. Noise.

Moody. Moody. Moody.

Try harder. Try harder. Try harder.

Be better. Be better. Be better.

My headphones give me permission to remain in my body. They buffer the pitch, volume, and intensity that make my brain lose sight of its coping skills, especially by unexpected clamor.

I have worked hard to understand the messages that live in me. By naming things, getting educated, and dismissing unhelpful and dismissive feedback, I can continue to function in a way that honors autism rather than run from it because I am afraid someone will stigmatize me.

The beauty in naming what your mind and body have experienced (and continues to experience) is that it roots you in information that needs to be processed. I think of the inner critic again and again. The way they were born, the reasoning behind it, and their desire to keep you small and silent, all because taking up space as you are feels risky.

This is no way to live. The goal is not to silence the inner critic but to know it. To investigate why it believes what it does and why its messages are so shameful.

I want to tell you this truth:

When you stop trying the extremes in healing (HUGE push to change everything overnight and BE what others want), you start to find steps toward understanding.

When you stop ignoring the inner critic and shame and approach both with curiosity, they stop speaking so loudly.

When you uproot the messages that shame who you are, how you have responded to things, and what others have labeled you in times you were most vulnerable, you stop pursuing things that were going to hurt you again. This leads to peace being accessible.

I don’t know a single survivor who has not had a difficult relationship with shame. But I can tell you there are many ways to navigate that shame and use those messages for your healing and growth.

Is it easy? No. This past stuff has shaped a lot. But does it work? Holy shit–the peace!

• To be free to be honest with yourself and others without worrying if it was the right thing to say or the right way to say it.

• To take pleasure in things that you’ve done well, but you hear and see them differently because there is a baseline of peace from which you live.

• To connect with people in new ways that don’t feel risky because your inner critic is not shaping action steps for you to prove your worth. To just be in the other’s presence.

• To know shame’s sting is gone and you are building a life where it can’t come back the same way because your life is saturated with compassion and understanding.

It’s like having your own custom pair of shame-canceling headphones, where you remain in your mind and body, and what would normally cause you discomfort never has a chance to begin with.

While healing is complex, your value is not. May your fight in healing be to experience that value through the eyes of pleasure and peace.

I’m glad you are here.

Nate

My online group is doing a deep dive into the scapegoat role in August. If you’d like to join, you can do that here.

Truly, truly, I’m glad you’re here.