My programming from childhood still equates blame with shame

By David McElroy · June 12, 2019

I try to be blameless as much as I can. I struggle to do everything perfectly. I work hard to make others happy with me. It’s because I’m still running an old childhood script — one that makes me feel deep shame when anyone blames me for anything. So I’m constantly in fear of anyone thinking I’ve done something wrong.

It happened again Tuesday in a work situation. Something went wrong on a project which I’m overseeing. It wasn’t anything I caused. It wasn’t anything I could have prevented. I had no fault in the matter.

But someone was upset that he was inconvenienced in a small way. Because I was the bearer of the bad news — and because it’s my project — I could feel his blame. I could feel his unhappiness with me.

And I immediately felt a deep sense of shame — like a small boy whose angry father was blaming him for something he couldn’t control.

I haven’t been able to shake that feeling all day. Although it’s bedtime, I can’t let the shame go and just relax and end my day.

It’s not a rational thing. I don’t fear punishment. Nothing bad is going to happen to me as a result of the situation. My project will still be done. Everybody will be happy with it. In fact, nobody will even remember this little glitch when it’s over.

But I will feel tense and shamed along the way, even though I did nothing wrong, because there is an old element of childhood programming which tells me that I have to keep everybody else happy with me — or else I’ve obviously done something wrong.

I don’t want to live with this, but it does serve one useful purpose in my life. It reminds me that we can’t always tell how we’re affecting others.

You see, if you dealt with me in business or in normal social interactions, you would never see this side of me. I hide the way I feel and get on with the job at hand. If anything, I double down on getting things right. I’m willing to take responsibility even if I didn’t cause the problem and I’m prone to pushing harder to please whoever is upset with me. And such a person will never know I’m upset.

So this reminds me that others are running their own scripts that I’m not aware of. They’re getting upset about things I might do or say — and if they haven’t done a lot of work on themselves, they might not even know why they feel as they do. They might transfer all of their inner feelings — anger, shame, embarrassment, whatever — onto other people, maybe even me.

So when people lash out at me irrationally or act in ways which don’t make sense to me, they’re probably just acting out their own unconscious programming, too. I try to remember that.

Understanding this about myself — and about the people around me — makes me even more committed to raising children in emotionally healthy ways. I don’t want the children who I help raise to carry with them the shame and guilt and blame that so many of us carry from unhealthy childhoods.

I don’t think there’s any role we have that’s more important — or more sacred — than guarding the hearts and minds of children to becoming psychologically healthy adults. A lot of people are unconsciously doing to their children exactly what was done to them. And that’s not right.

In the meantime, I’ll feel this terrible shame when I know someone blames me for something, whether I’ve done anything wrong or not. I hope I’ll slowly be able to let more and more of it go. I’ll keep working on it.

But the programming you and I received as children — for both good and bad — is incredibly difficult to eliminate entirely.

Share on Social Networks

There was a time when I was idealistic enough to believe that if a writer expressed his thoughts clearly and simply enough, any bright and honest person would understand his point. I know better now. We all bring so many unconscious assumptions to the things we read that we often see what we expect to see instead of what the writer intended. This is incredibly frustrating to me as a writer, but I’m trying more and more to just say what I need to say — as clearly as I know how — and then ignore the inevitable responses which show that others perceived something which was not intended. I have to write for those who “get” where I’m coming from, not for those who see my words through personal filters that change my meaning. I hope my intentions are clear to you and I hope what I write can be useful to you, but if not, maybe my work just isn’t right for you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I found out this evening that someone I casually knew killed himself last Wednesday. I didn’t know him well — and I never found him personable — but he had started work a couple of months ago at a restaurant where I go. He was a 26-year-old who struck me as a confused and unhappy person, but I didn’t think much about it since he stayed to himself and resisted my efforts to chat with him. It turns out that he had a history of depression and had a lot of gender confusion. He seemed very androgynous to me and I learned today that he presented himself as female in some situations. He was rejected by a romantic interest last week, so he went to the woods and killed himself. His body wasn’t found for three days. It’s tragic how miserable people around us can be and how we so rarely know the truth about things they struggle with.

I’ve been with people for most of this day, but I feel lonely tonight. I’ve had things on my mind for the last few days that I feel the strong need to talk about. I need someone to share my thoughts with — someone who’s interested in ideas and how they affect us. Someone who gets excited to discover new things and can find joy in seeing new ways those things might change our lives. I feel lonely tonight because I painfully remember what it feels like to have that — and I’m craving that sort of connection. I miss having someone I can call and say, “I’ve been reading something and it’s sparked some thoughts I want to share with you.” Those sorts of conversations have lasted for hours for me in the past — or for thousands of words if it’s an exchange of mail — and it feels wrong that there is nobody who wants to hear such things from me tonight. I used to think being lonely was about being alone, but I understand now it’s a longing for one particular person. The loneliest place to be when you need one person is in a crowd composed of people who cannot be who you need.

I don’t agree with everything the late Neil Postman wrote, but I would argue that no other recent scholar gives coherent structure to the last few hundred years in the way his books do. I’m currently re-reading his book, “Technopoly,” and I’m comforted to have a scholar give structure and definitions to things which I’ve observed and barely understood. I was enough of a technophile when I first read this book that I bristled at much of what it said. I didn’t want him to be right and it was easier to dismiss him as a Luddite. But as I see technology continue to enable an information glut which is changing society for the worse, I find comfort in his explanations for how we got here. I don’t yet know the solutions, but I finally understand the problems more clearly. I suspect that much of what we need to make life more meaningful can be found in things we accidentally threw away in the past to make room for technologies. I strongly urge you to read the book and think about its implications.

I’d like to write a modern version of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” — a more cynical one — with a realistic ending for today’s audience. In this new version, the little boy points out on social media that the emperor is naked but nobody listens to him. Instead, everybody keeps posting grander and grander praise for the emperor’s non-existent clothes. The cognitive dissonance makes the people unable to hear the child who tells them the truth, because they’re getting social media praise — likes and so forth — for their lies. The confused child eventually feels so defeated that he shuts up and walks away. He’s so hurt and disappointed by this that he withdraws from the world and spends years in therapy, trying to figure out whether the rest of the world is crazy or if he’s the crazy one. Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be that little boy, but few want to hear the truth today. Either I’m crazy or else our culture has gone insane.

Related Posts