Be Not Ashamed

Shame, it’s a powerful weapon.  One that seems to have become quite popular, especially on social media.

And one that is often misused, sometimes even unintentionally.  We’ve somehow found ourselves in a time where we have decided our dislike of “political correctness” gives us justification to treat other members of society in demeaning ways, to not give a second thought to how they feel, to write off anyone else’s opinions, or, sometimes, even facts.  We have decided our opinion must be the only way, the right way, because we’re the only ones to speak up and call out the other opinions as politically incorrect.  In reality, we are just trying to get them to not voice their thoughts, to make them feel ashamed of their opinions.  We are actually just being mean.

There is a place for shame, but, ironically, it’s often missing from that place.  Shame should serve to stop us from actually doing things that are inappropriate, immoral, illegal.  It is the emotion that helps us to feel remorse when we have crossed those lines.  It’s not something that is supposed to be used to make others feel at fault for something they have no responsibility for, and to justify our behavior in making them feel that way.

Some of our shame is very ingrained in society.  I grew up in a home with an alcoholic parent, it was a very dysfunctional environment.  I’m not even supposed to say that out loud.  Shame is supposed to make me keep those facts hidden.  Ironically, most of my memories are actually of the shame.  That shame, while I, myself, am no longer ashamed, is keeping me from writing any details because it could trigger shame in family members who read this.  This isn’t how we are supposed to live.  I shouldn’t feel some kind of blame for things that I didn’t even do.

Things I didn’t do.  That seems to be what we like to shame, actually.  We like to kick those that are already down.  Maybe it makes us feel better about ourselves, about our own shame, to shame others.

Children are often shamed, particularly those with disabilities.  What kind of cruel people are we?  Read through your Facebook feed.  There might be a post about a horrible, horrible 6 month old that had the audacity to cry when their diaper needed to be changed, ruining someone’s trip to the grocery store for a carton of milk.  There might be a complaint that someone couldn’t send in peanut butter cookies for a class party because a child in the class had a deadly allergy.  There might be several memes suggesting a child with ADHD just needs to be spanked.  There might be comments on all of those that suggest that the child and the parent’s should be ashamed how much inconvenience they cause, just by existing.

I have a child with ADHD.  I’m not supposed to say that either.  I’m supposed to keep that secret, or else everyone will know what a terrible parent I am, how ill behaved my child must be, and that I’m just perpetuating a myth that striking a child with a belt doesn’t solve all problems .  I’m not supposed to say that he takes medication, or else people will think I am just drugging him like a zombie.  I’m not supposed to let him talk about it for all the same reasons.  I’m not supposed to let him know it is no one’s fault that he has a neurological disability, that it even IS a neurological disability, that it is something that neither he nor I caused, that there are actually some benefits that it gives him.  I’m not supposed to let him feel OK with it, I’m supposed to tell him to keep it secret, to be ashamed. To be ashamed for something that is not his fault, that does not make him inferior, that only gives him a few obstacles in life just like we all have.   I’m not even supposed to say that he’s actually one of the most polite, well behaved boys you will ever meet, because that doesn’t fit the narrative.

A recent news item has brought the treatment of women into the limelight, from catcalling to misogynistic statements, to name-calling, to inappropriate workplace behaviors, to actual assault.  I am a victim of all those things, but, again, I’m not supposed to say that either. I’m not supposed to have any sort of emotion whatsoever when someone calls other women derogatory names or judges their abilities on their looks. I’m supposed to feel like anything that is directed at me is/was my fault.  I’m supposed to feel like “boys are just boys.”  I’m supposed to believe that I don’t really understand what sexual assault is.  I’m supposed to think that if any woman ready a particular book, that no woman is allowed to speak out.  I’m supposed to believe that I can’t tell the difference between someone whistling at me and someone raping me, that I think it is all “assault.”  I am supposed to be too ashamed to say when something happens, and then I’m told if I don’t tell someone right away that I can’t possibly be telling the truth.

Shame.  I’ve decided to not let it be used against me anymore.  When I first became very public about my son’s ADHD, you have no idea how many other moms, and even some adults, told me in private messages and whispered conversations, relieved to have someone to talk to, that they were dealing with the same issue.  The same shame.  It was almost as many as have started to speak out on the issues that affect women.

And I’ve only touched on the tip of the iceberg of the things we shame people for – religious beliefs, physical appearance……even what kind of food someone chooses to eat - I could probably write a book.

We’re all in this life together.  Have some understanding, have some respect, realize that many problems are not just something made up to advance political correctness, but that they are real and can cause hurt.

That’s why they have wine.