Even those two letters – ‘me’ – are in this word. And not just anywhere in the word, but at the end of the word, the last one picked on the team, the one they forgot to announce at graduation, the weird invisible one who sat on the stairs in highschool with the ‘cool’ kids but never really belonged. The start of the word – ‘sham’. The dictionary defines this as bogus or false.
Shame. I am false.
It takes so little for this emotion to be triggered, a well-oiled machine ready to erupt in projections at any given moment. It grabs at my throat and strangles me. I am a victim of no one but myself.
I tried so hard to please that I lost myself in a suffocating quagmire of business casual, handshakes, perfection. I avoided eye contact. But oh those eyes, how I craved to lose myself there instead.
This journey has taken me so far from that old life, and yet. A simple scolding from a loved one takes me instantly back to that contained version of me, and inside I am screaming to be loved and heard and treasured. And those screams only reinforce this container that separates us.
I wield all my power, muster the tools, the courage, the intellect, to break down this ‘shame’. Some days I am winning, empowered, open and surrendering. Yet she is still deep in my heart, at times she feels so unreachable.
All I want is love.