Someone recently called me out for being hypocritical because in one day I posted what they saw as two opposing opinions: one was about living a life so saturated in love that no one can convince you to hate, and the other was about cutting ties with...certain people.

The person identified themselves as one of those "certain people" and then went on to tell me how good they are because of the volunteer work they do, and so on.

It made me glad I've done my shadow work around being hypocritical!

Because here's the thing...unless you're willing to acknowledge that you experience hate, contempt, and shame, don't preach to me about love and "goodness."

Acknowledging your capacity for hate, contempt, and shame, creates a more profound understanding of the human condition and allows for a more realistic and grounded form of empathy for others.

Experts on love do not ignore their "darker" impulses, they witness them...with love. They are aware of them. They know how to experience them and name them and feel them.

They may or may not act on them, but if they do, they do so consciously and with the knowledge that there may be consequences.

People always talk about how they got hurt, used, abused, and manipulated. Never have I heard anyone say, "I was a villain once to someone." ~ ho.nest.y on Threads

It reminded me of something that happened last year.

I was a villain. Mostly in my head, but a little bit outwardly, too.

My husband and I went on a guided tour of the Connecticut College Arboretum, and boy did I have a lot of judgment about this one guy who was there. You should have heard the commentary streaming from my brain!

I stood apart from the group, arms crossed, mirrored sunglasses on. I felt like an eye-rolling, judgmental sack of contempt.

[guess who I reminded myself of?]

When I am like this, at the very least I try and witness it without shame, and at best, I love myself because (not "even though") I am snarly.

[guess who didn't teach me this?]

I used to just believe I was bad...so bad there was no coming back from it. Sometimes, when I couldn't control it, I'd project it onto others.

A few times I was cruel. Outwardly. To people I love. Relationships ruptured. Intense shame and regret ensued. I'd be shut down for weeks. I wrote about some of these times in You Are Not Your Mother: Releasing Generational Trauma and Shame.

Relating differently to the part of me that sometimes feels like an eye-rolling, judgmental sack of contempt helps me not act on those feelings.

Because ultimately, two things are true at the same time: #1 I truly do not want to be cruel to others and #2 I have the capacity to be the cruelest of the cruel.

This is the paradox of the work I do.

The more I love the part of me that can be a cruel-ass bitch, the more I cultivate the capacity to be authentically kind, nurturing, and compassionate...to be silly, engaged, and joyful (like when I am silent disco-ing on the boardwalk)...and to have those qualities emanate from the deepest and best place within me.

I can have hard, awkward conversations without my shit leaking out sideways. Mostly. Sometimes I don't do it as elegantly as I'd like. Sometimes I'm a little leaky. And I know how to make a repair and change my behavior (if I want to). And even then, things might remain uncomfortable. My voice shakes. I can't find the "right" words.

Sometimes I speak in paradoxes because the truth is too rich for simple logic. I am extra fluent in paradox. I am raw yet powerful, aching and grateful, confounded but clear. I am both dying and being reborn. I am no longer trying to resolve the contradictions, but rather immersing myself in them, basking in them, and allowing them to teach me all they have to teach. This entails me sitting with my sadness as I laugh and letting my desire and doubt interweave. The contradictions I face with open-heartedness gift me with sublime potency and authority. ~ Rob Brezsny describing those of us of the Scorpio persuasion

Getting back to that event at the Arboretum. While that stream of judgmental commentary issued from my brain, I used my tools to create safety and unshame the experience. I doubt the guy had any clue about what I was thinking about him.

I also recognized a consequence: I may have missed out on making a genuine connection with someone. I didn't give anyone the opportunity to interact with genuine, warm me; nor did I get the opportunity to experience the same in them.

I am okay with that. And the next time I am in a similar situation, I can choose differently. Or not.

~~~

If our mothers couldn't tolerate their uncomfortable feelings and love the parts of themselves deemed shameful, they couldn't do the same for us, and that's what makes it hard for us to do the same for ourselves (and others).

It's something we can do to evolve humanity.

This doesn't mean we're only love and light, it means we love the whole of who we are, including the parts that are hateful and dark. Eye-rolling, judgmental, and contemptuous. Defensive. Selfish. Grouchy. Mean. Hypocritical. Etcetera.

The invitation is to unshame these feelings and parts. To witness them and love them and ask them what safe expression they seek.

This gives you the space to act with consideration rather than letting those parts leak out sideways in ways you don't intend.

Much, much love,

Karen
The Shame Whisperer