Tag Archives: Shame

The Dementia Dossier: Dinner in a Drawer

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Dinner consisted of meat paddies (ground beef and pork), cheese tortellini, steamed asparagus, and sauteed sweet onions and mushrooms.  Mom hooted over the sauté: “Woo-hoo! I just love onions and mushrooms!”  Part way through our dinner television program, I noticed, in my peripheral vision, Mom open her middle end-table drawer and insert her dinner plate.  Gathering the dishes later, I asked her, “Do you want me to get your dinner plate from the drawer?”  Flustered, she reached for the bottom drawer.  “It’s in the middle drawer,” I observed.  She opened the middle drawer and retrieved her plate, empty of onions and mushrooms and asparagus tips, but all the meat remaining.  “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” she said.  “I just couldn’t eat the meat.”  Not to worry, I reassured her—she could eat or not eat what she wanted.

 

Image by Guilherme Teixeira Guilhermim from Pixabay

Courage at Twilight: The After Words (Guilt)

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I feel no guilt in the enormous relief I find in being freed from witnessing and absorbing the accumulated daily traumas of Dad’s last three years of life with paralysis and pain.  My struggle with guilt will settle in, however, as I contemplate my struggles to be happy and cheerful—and failing—in my care responsibilities, in my silences and avoidances, in my angry and impatient outbursts and imperfect sensitivities.  My resentments, certainly, were not Dad’s fault, but rather haunt me as beacons of my own depression and selfishness and lack of resilience.  Still, I am determined to not be sucked into to the vortex of guilt, the shamefaced guilt which will come if I measure my imperfections instead of honor my humanness.  The facts remain that I offered to the endeavor all my energies, gave all my love and found a little more, persisted through the difficulties, and prevailed.  Our objective was for Dad to live and die in his own house, comfortably, happily, well-fed, in good company, with his books, with his wife and sweetheart.  And we did it.  We overcame.  We prevailed.  We protected.  We cared.  We endured.  We loved.  For Dad.  For Mom.  For family.

(Pictured: the funeral boutonniere.)

No! to Shame

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Mt. Timponogos by Roger Baker

Shame is society’s largest lie, telling us we are bad or broken for making mistakes, committing sins, having weaknesses. Shame cripples individuals, families, communities, and countries. I felt ashamed of myself for most of my life, feeling deeply defective, unworthy, at fault, but not knowing why. Then I learned the difference between shame (i.e., I am bad for doing that thing) and embarrassment (i.e., I feel bad for doing that thing). I no longer feel ashamed of who I am.

I thank Brene Brown for her work to understand shame and to help people develop resilience to shame. I celebrate people who have the courage to tell their stories of feeling shame, and who have compassion for themselves and empathy for others. I dedicate this post and this poem to my darling mother, to my sweet sisters, to my lovely daughters, and to my dear friend Liddy on the other side of the world, all of whom I love and admire and appreciate. Let shame have no place in your mind and heart.

NO! TO SHAME

Many voices
in this world
will tell you
to feel
your shame:
you will.

Satan
and his stupid slaves
will whisper,
will scream
to believe in
your shame:
you will.

Listen,
though,
to my voice
above all:

You are good!
You are whole!

I will roar it
from my rooftop:

You are light!
You are love!

I will shout it
from my lighthouse:

You are virtue!
You are truth!

I will bellow it,
loud,
above the million hissing lies:

You are worthy!
You are pure!

I will say it and say it
again, and again,
time upon time,
till this world knows
what I know,
till I have banished
shame
from you,
for shame
has no place in you,
no quarter,
no nook,
no space,
no place.

Shame is ugliness
to your beauty.

Shame is filth
to your purity.

Shame is stench
to your flower’s bloom.

Shame is a leprosy
to your exquisiteness.

Shame is cold, gray ash
to the fusion heat of the stars
living in you.

So
quash the lying voices,
quell the insipid whispers.

So
send shame to its devil’s hatchery,
suck it to the center of
a massive black hole.

Listen to my voice
above all.

May 9, 2016