I will never forget the time someone suggested that I "take responsibility" for the emotional pain I was experiencing in regards to my mother. I was simultaneously furious and full of dread. Furious because I thought taking responsibility meant it was my fault. Underneath that (unbeknownst to me) was shame. Full of dread because I suspected it would require some sort of massive change on my part, that I didn't know how to change, that ultimately I wouldn't be able to, and I would continue to feel helpless, hopeless, and pathetic (more shame). I didn't know that handing responsibility to her for "fixing it" would just perpetuate my misery (because she was swimming in the same shame pool of misery I was, and when I tried to climb out, she pulled me back in and I didn't resist because I wanted to stay attached to her, even if it was an unhealthy attachment). I needed her to see me differently so I could feel differently (I didn't know about subject/object). I just thought that there was something wrong with me (thus requiring that massive change). I didn't know that underlying all of this was shame that wasn't mine, but which I had taken on and internalized. Shame kept me from being able to see myself clearly. Shame kept me cycling between feeling victimized, lashing out at others, and people pleasing. If you've had the same experience and relate to this, know this: Taking responsibility is not about fault or blaming yourself, it's about reclaiming power. Taking responsibility is not about waiting for her to see you, it's about seeing yourself. Taking responsibility is not about changing yourself, it's about changing your relationship to shame and being MORE of who you are. Taking responsibility means choosing to see and own and experience your aliveness, your brilliance, your authenticity, your intuition, and your gifts (all of which are already there...no change required to have access to them). I work with women who are carrying shame that is not theirs. Women who have internalized their mothers' stories about them, like, how bad they are, how spoiled they are, how pathetic they are, how annoying they are, how hopeless they are, how selfish they are, how "too much" they are, how "not enough" they are. Together we break that pattern and create new ones. If you are confused about what it means to "break a pattern"...if it seems like this vague concept with no real "instruction" other than "do it the opposite way she did it," I have some good news. You break the pattern by unshaming and actually valuing the thing(s) in you that others have put you down for and which you now put yourself down for. Whatever those things are, they are the medicine, not the disease, not the poison. Much, much love, Karen P.S. When I work with clients, we work on three main skills: creating safety, creating intentional identity, and creating healthy boundaries. Depending on how much time you want to spend, my packages range from $750 up to $5000.
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Founder of Shame School and author of You Are Not Your Mother: Releasing Generational Trauma & Shame and Difficult Mothers, Adult Daughters: A Guide for Separation, Liberation & Inspiration
“She said, you met a lot of hurt people who wanted you to feel the same/you used to tune them out, but now/in the quiet corners of your day/you regurgitate all of the negative opinions they used to throw your way…” ~ poet Rebecca Dupas What her brilliance here. Much, much love, Karen We slay that dragon in Shame School. Get on the wait list.
I received many responses to "when your mother hates you" and wanted to share this one: "...it goes both ways. It's only human of us to hate them sometimes, too. I actually made an ENORMOUS stride of progress a couple months ago when I admitted to myself I was feeling hatred toward my mother. I was in an awful but all too familiar moment of anger and frustration towards her, and I can't remember if I said it out loud to myself or just in my head, but the words were, "I hate her." Immediately...
She was celebrating a significant career achievement at a large public event where she would be honored and where she was keynote speaker. As she was leaving the hotel suite where colleagues, friends, and family had gathered prior to the event, her mother, who was behind her, yelled out: "You know...you look fat in that dress!" She froze. Then had the wherewithal to turn and say, her voice taut with pain, "MOTHER!" before rushing to a restroom where she cried as a friend consoled her. Later,...