” I have been shaming myself for far too long. Shame isn’t the anecdote. It’s the poison that permeates my entire being” – An entry from my personal journal, June 18, 2024

You must understand what it’s like to be ashamed of yourself. I’ve never known a saint, but I know that they too, at some point in their life of virtue, have felt shame for the things they have done and what those things have caused them to become. I myself have lied, belittled, and aggrieved throughout my life and carried guilt for a short duration afterward, but it is shame that binds to my brain the way feathers stick to tar. It’s a filthy feeling, and to be so aware of it beckons a false sense of longing for personal betterment. Initially, this cycle may seem effective, even virtuous. Is discomfort not the seed of transformation? Yet, what if the cost of that discomfort is far greater than we realize? What if self-shame is not a catalyst, but a cage, one that stifles the very growth we hope to achieve within ourselves?

Shame will always fail us by its own nature. What is self-shame but a deeply personal reckoning, a voice that says, “You are flawed, and because of this, you must change.” Unlike guilt, which is affixed to explicit actions, shame attacks the self. The thing you have done that was wrong is gone, but in its place lingers your personal personification of wrong itself. You have not just done wrong, you are wrong. It’s a familiar narrative, one that emerges from the expectations society works so hard to place upon us. We must always be made to become what we are not, but this is impossible. We are intrinsically unique, intrinsically flawed. 

The pervasiveness of self-shame lies in its subtlety. It hides in the mute moments after a perceived failure, in your mirror’s reflection, or in the quiet judgment we pass on ourselves when we seek ourselves in the lives of others. It is a near-universal experience, one that is simultaneously hushed and divulged, making it all the more insidious.

And yet, we still turn to it for comfort, despite the pain it inflicts, but why? Because shame has become instinctual, almost primal. Humanity has come to value the pain brought upon us by shame as a teacher; we intellectualize our suffering as wisdom. 

But shame is deceitful. It alludes to a honeyed promise of benevolent reform, but instead, leaves a muddy trail of psychological and emotional debris. Self-criticism is the dirt, and our insecurity the dirty water. Research paints this in detail; chronic self-criticism is linked to heightened levels of anxiety, depression, and stress. Rather than propelling us forward in a healthy pursuit of our “better” selves, it roots us in cloying feelings of inadequacy. The changes it produces are often born from fear rather than desire. Over time, this erodes the trust we have in ourselves, making us less likely to take risks or embrace challenges.

If shame is the false anecdote, self-compassion is the true antidote. Where shame relentlessly alleges, “You are not enough,” self-compassion assures, “You are trying, and that is enough.” This approach does not deny the need for growth but instead reframes it as a journey rather than a punishment. To be kind to yourself is lethal to shame. To be mindful of your faults rather than resentfully critical is your weapon.

Shame disguises itself as a path to self-improvement, yet it leads only to stagnation. Its toll is both profound and unsustainable, trapping us in cycles of self-doubt and inadequacy. Genuine growth, however, does not emerge from harshness or self-reproach but from patience and understanding. By embracing self-compassion, we cultivate a motivation rooted in kindness and resilience, enabling meaningful and lasting change. In doing so, we not only transform ourselves but also set an example of grace and empathy for others. After all, if the aim is to grow, should the journey not feel like an act of becoming rather than an attempt to erase who we are?

References:

Scientific American. (n.d.). The scientific underpinnings and impacts of shame. Retrieved from https://www.scientificamerican.com