The way my feelings of shame cling to me never fails to surprise me. Like barnacles on a ship, they seem to crust onto me, constantly slowing me down and inhibiting my attempts to move.
Twenty-three years ago, in middle school, for about a week, I'd sneak over to where the littler kids left their lunches in the hall while they were on the playground, and I'd steal candy from their lunch bags. Twenty-three years, and it still comes up with the rest of the tornado of shameful moments from my life, whenever part of my mind feels like the rest needs a good ass-kicking. One voice among many, saying "Of course you're worthless, you have been since you stole candy from the other kids."
And since this voice was in my own head, it hasn't been until recently that I've thought to doubt what it says. In a way it's always been right. Stealing from the other kids was a thing to be ashamed of. But why does it still have power over me, after so long?
1 comment:
It's easy to let this kind of stuff dominate your attention. Everyone has a memory they'd rather be rid of.
I know it was looking at my first wife in a dressing booth and getting yelled at due to my peeking. Odd stuff, but it still feels shameful.
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