S for SHAME

I finally figured it out.  I’m feeling shame.  Good Lord, why?

SAVE stands for Shame, Anger, Voicelessness, and Exhaustion.  Issues that I, along with 42 million other adult survivors of sexual abuse, deal with almost every day.  S for Shame comes first, of course, but I thought I wouldn’t be writing much about shame.  It was an old issue, I thought, and not one that affects me much now.  I was wrong.

Over the past few months, or to be completely honest, over the past year, I’ve been letting go of projects that I once thought might make a difference in the lives of the 42 million adult survivors in this country.   I’m disillusioned with social media, or to be more exact, with the power of social media to impact the things I care about.   Reluctantly, I’m saying goodbye to some people and plans I built some very high hopes and dreams around.

If people are ever going to wake up and face the impact of sexual abuse on our culture, it might not be me that makes it happen.  I’m old, and tired, and I want the third act of my life to hold more happiness.  I’m ok with this…most of the time.  I’ve done as much as I can do, and much more than most.  But there’s still that voice in my head telling me I can, and SHOULD, do more.

Where does that voice from?  Why is it so impossible to tune out?  Who decided it was all up to me, anyway?

People have asked me for years why I do what I do.  I always replied that I didn’t know how NOT to do it.  But I’m learning.  I’m learning what it’s like to not leap out of bed at 6:30 every morning, rushing through a daily schedule that includes workouts, appointments, Zooms, texts and phone calls, constantly balancing my calendar and then double-checking it to make sure I haven’t double-booked.  Taking some more time for myself, giving myself permission to skip a workout or two, and enjoy the only two hobbies – needlepoint and music –I have left.

It makes sense.  It feels good, and it feels right.  Most of the time.  So what’s going on?

It’s not anger – at least not totally.  Certainly not voicelessness – that’s not my problem anymore!  Maybe exhaustion, coming from thirty years of working a mission no one ever wants to even admit exists.? 

But anger and exhaustion don’t make me cry.  Only shame can do that.  And I’ve been crying a lot, lately.

Then, last night…I had a dream.

Usually, I dream about losing my car, or screaming to people who won’t listen, or reliving the life I lived before I escaped to college.  I wake up sweating and crying.  Then I try very hard NOT to fall back to sleep because I don’t want to pick up where I left off.

But this one was different.

I was at a party on the top floor of some big building.  There were some lovely, very well-dressed women there.  We had “goodie bags” with jewelry and other thoughtful gifts.  One of the women told me I was late.  (There’s the first clue this was a dream – I’m NEVER late).  I apologized and said it would never happen again.  Most of the other women spoke up in my support.  (There’s the second clue.)

And Oprah was there!  OK, I confess, this was not the first, or even the second or third, time I’ve dreamed I was friends with Oprah.  What sexual abuse survivor, particularly those of us in Chicago, haven’t dreamed that?  In this one, apparently I’d found and forged a friendship with her long-lost son.  We were talking about him, and looking at photos.  

Then the dream shifted, and now I was at a party thrown by relatives from my father’s side of the family.  We were sharing photos, notes, and recipes, and they gave me one for a lime pie.  Shades of my Aunt Elizabeth, famous for her fruit pies.

However, I had to leave early…because there was a third party.  This time, the attendees included my financial team, and people I know through my granting.  They all had gifts for me, so naturally, I was having a great time.  They were even serving that lime pie!

I stepped away from the party to call my mother, who was somehow still alive (third clue) to let her know I’d be late getting to her.  She didn’t understand what I was saying, just kept repeating “Jean will be home soon.

Time to wake up. Some things don’t change, even in dreams.  Besides, I was getting a stomach ache from all that food.

It can’t be a coincidence I had a dream like this, now, when I’ve been lower than I’ve been in years, reliving a lot of shame and anger, feeling voiceless and exhaustion.  Especially when I never, EVER, have dreams so full of nice things and nice people. Is it some kind of sign I need to let go of the shame and spend more time reflecting on the good I have done, rather than on all the things I haven’t been able to do?  

Of course, I know the answer to this question.  So does everyone who’s reading this.  Except it’s not enough to know the answers.  You have to feel them as well.

I have more work to do on myself.  But I think I’m finally ready to drop the latest bundle of shame.