When shame comes over me, I often don’t recognize it. Not at first, anyway.
I often find myself feeling angry and hurt over some small thing. Someone might have insulted me. Someone might have simply disagreed with me. A person might have been rude or belittled me in some way. Maybe some tiny way.
And something in me feels ready to explode. I’m furious. I’m hurt. I feel the need to strike out and hurt whoever is hurting me. I just want the hurting and humiliation to go away. And that’s about the time — if I’m lucky — that I’ll realize I’m dealing with shame.
Someone has pushed one of my buttons. Maybe it was an intentional slight. Maybe not. Either way, I feel shame. Before long, the shame has morphed into a passive form of self-directed aggression. I’m not good enough. I’ll never be loved or understood.
Then my harsh and brutal superego — the imagined channeling of my childhood father’s voice — tells me to stop whining. To stop feeling anything.
“Just get over it,” the voice screams.
And then I hate myself for having needs. I hate myself for hurting. I hate myself for feeling anything. As I simmer in this toxic stew of shame and hurt, I realize I’m not as close as I’d thought to the emotional health which I’ve been seeking for decades.

For all my life, I’ve hidden anger in order to be ‘perfect’ to others
Even when we’re right, criticism stems from our own insecurities
Epiphany: My message changed when I selected a new audience
Why do tax dollars fund lavish lifestyles for bureaucrats?
Like an alien, I move through a world I can see but never touch
Angry reactions to others can make us wrong even when we’re right
This is why people are confused about what anarchists really are
Beauty and love are all around us if our eyes and hearts are open to them