Okay Shame
But what use is that?
What a violation! was all I could think of when she said, “Leema, can you see what this girl is saying?” I choked, swallowed and resigned. I ended it there. Nearly five years of a close friendship, gone because I had to be wrong, there’s no way her choices landed her in the arms of her destroyer. I let this one fool me once again with good conversation and laughter: two acts, concepts existing asides despite each other.
The other replicated my favourite Sam Smith song on his piano at his dad’s house, waiting desperately to leave and never come back if he could manage. There wasn’t much of him that required lingering, but he was a good lay. He said he never promised me a relationship, and I thanked him. Not because I was grateful, but because shame had already set up camp in my chest; tight, familiar, and loud.
Now you might wonder why I’ve shared so much without really saying much. I want us to get comfortable with our truths, however awkwardly moist they may be. I want us to deconstruct the paradox we’ve lived ourselves into. In seeking knowledge, I’ve also learnt pain, but that deters me not. I live with the searing discomfort of indifference when my mask slips, even slightly.
So, what does ‘shame’ have to do with any of this? Let’s define it:
a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behaviour. It is also a condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute.
Some experiences place us in this condition. More often, we attribute them to things outside our control. But I’m not writing about shame that stems from accidents or misunderstandings. I’m writing about what happens when people act badly and avoid accountability to escape the discomfort of owning up. You know your actions hurt someone, violated a boundary, or were simply inappropriate, but instead of being honest, you dodge, deflect, or deceive, all to avoid the shame of being seen as wrong.
Think back to the last time your actions left you feeling ashamed. Strip the story down to its facts. Separate what actually happened from what made you anxious or panicked. Did you escalate things because you felt cornered? Was it really about them—or did you choose your ego over the relationship you had with the person you hurt? Was it more important to ‘win’ than to reconcile? Only you can answer that.
It’s also important not to conflate shame with guilt. They often get tangled, but they function differently.
Guilt = “I did something bad.”
Shame = “I am bad.”
There’s a particular discomfort society teaches us when we express the desire to belong. Over time, when our efforts to connect don’t yield the results we hope for, we begin to associate our desires with shame. The world doesn't teach us to manage big emotions like rejection, disappointment, shame, or anger. Parents try their best, but most of us end up learning through experience. You train, you lose, you try again, you get better. You win. In relationships, it’s the same. Some people you like won’t like you back, and you have to be okay with that. As a wise person once said, “Not everyone will like you, you’re not ice cream.” And as someone who’s lactose intolerant, I felt that deeply.
In modern dating, shame can manifest in breadcrumbing, ghosting, being overly clingy, avoidant behaviour, or even in moments of honesty—like asking for clarity or being sexually open. These behaviours often tie back to our upbringing, our religious and cultural contexts, and how we first learned to navigate relationships. I often ask myself: why does being honest about our needs feel so exposing?
Let’s consider what some psychologists have said about shame, starting with my personal favourite, Brené Brown. She describes it as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” Her work on shame resilience speaks to the power of naming what we feel, speaking it, and resisting the isolation that shame can cause.
My favourite podcasters also touch on clarity conversations around needs in relationships but their ideas often get reduced to money talk or surface-level aesthetics for people who value materialism and aesthetics over deep connections. If we also examine the concept of Attachment Theory, people with anxious and avoidant attachment styles often feel shame for needing reassurance or closeness, and in both cases, their unmet needs get labelled too much, thereby fueling shame. Sometimes, internalised beliefs and cognitive distortions like ‘catastrophising’ that most of us liken to ‘overthinking’.
I like the angle of shame resilience and naming what we feel; whatever the other person does with that information is knowledge. When I fail to honour my boundaries, break promises to myself, or act unkindly under pressure, shame shows up. But my resilience has grown. It began when I stopped blaming myself for the emotional limitations of others. It got stronger when I learned to build healthy boundaries. I still slip, but I’m learning. I value my close-knit community and surround myself with people and things that make me feel safe and full.
I know I’ve explored many angles in this piece, but I hope something here stayed with you. I’ll leave you with this question, and I hope someone or all of you leave comments as the answer to this question:
If shame is the price we pay for vulnerability, what is the cost of not showing up at all?
Things I enjoyed…
The last 3 episodes of I Said What I Said podcast
Some music from the 70s like Thinking of You Sledge Sisters, or Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) Looking Glass
I read a compilation of short stories centred around a convenience store by a Japanese Author. It’s called the Convenience Store by the Sea. I have never read anything like it, but I’m grateful I made the choice to read it. I’ll likely write a review in my notes.
Visiting my friends and seeing Superman midweek. It’s the kind of spontaneity I want to return to
Stay Jiggy folks,