67. bad day

Today was one of those terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days. Not because of anything that happened on the outside, but because of how things felt on the inside. 

I woke up grumpy, having not slept well. It may have been due to a late night at school and being in class until midnight, or perhaps due to the content of class which was mildly troubling. The class is called “Civilization: Shadow to Soul,” and, as it sounds, it’s a deep dive into shadow work at the individual and societal levels. Last night we did some digging into inherited shadows, familial and ancestral areas which have been exiled to the unconscious realms. I noticed myself feeling spacey and distracted in class, and (I’m shaking my head at this now), thought it was because the conversation maybe wasn’t super relevant for me. 

I can see in hindsight that it was a mild form of self-numbing avoidance, a way to distance myself from the opening of a portal which would, today, demand my attention. I’m going to spare myself the discomfort of unpacking the details of my shadows here (because frankly, they’re taking me by surprise, and I’ve got enough work to do trying to sort them on my own without rehashing them as a creative commodity) but I will say this: today the shadow erupted in my relationship, rearing its ugly head and confirming that there is indeed plenty of material to excavate in terms of what I’d rather not acknowledge in my marriage and family dynamics. 

Here’s the gross oversimplification: there was an argument today, a marital spat, following a morning of premenstrual rage in which I felt anxious, angsty, and an overwhelming sense that the only way I’d make it through the day was with some big screams into a pillow or a massive ugly cry. The conflict started innocently enough, with good intentions on both sides (the road to hell is paved with those things, I’ve heard), but it gradually made its way around to a thorny, sticky snarl - a shadowy area and danger zone. 

Things went sideways. Mutual efforts toward understanding tilted and swayed and tightened and frayed and voices got sharper and laced with the tense tone that speaks of emotional injury. We were trying to hold it together, but failing. The pattern warped and we found ourselves tumbling into no-man’s land, the place of confusion and disorientation where both parties feel they don’t belong, they’re not being heard or seen or cared for. 

It seems like the arrival to no-man's land should be a clear sign to turn back, to pause, take a break, and call for a ceasefire. But by the time we get there, I’ve locked my jaws and I’m seeing red - well, in this case today I’d locked my heart and was not seeing much at all because my eyes were so blurry with tears. 

Flash forward: we worked out the core of the conflict, but doing so shone a spotlight on a new (old) shadow that is a bit of a doozy. It’s connected to daddy issues, fear of abandonment, undiagnosed neurodivergence in childhood, and a sometimes totalizing shame response that deftly maneuvers between strategic commands of attack self, withdraw, avoid, and attack other. It sent me down a research rabbit hole in which I realized that some of my trickiest shadow bits - defensiveness, perfectionism, procrastination - are also connected to a deep and pervasive shame response. 

Sigh. I’m not surprised, but I’m not enthusiastic either. The shame wound is deeply woven into my bloodline, a tightly knotted thread stretching back towards my ancestors and forward into my descendants. I can see it, but unknotting it, untying it, untethering myself from it is another story. 

The body is so incredible. Right now, as I type (it’s 9:01pm), my eyelids are drooping and I feel exhausted, foggy, and drained. The body would like to protect me from this exploration of shame, because it suspects that to push further in this moment will bring pain or discomfort; it is skillfully trying to avoid, deflect, and distract me with sleep. 

And that’s okay, because we aren’t gonna sort this out tonight. Honestly, I thought I’d done the shame-busting, cracked this code and stepped into an illuminated reclamation of wholeness years ago. Oh, my adorable and naïve past self, to think the process of becoming whole could ever be complete. 

The questions I’m most interested in answering for myself tonight are these: 

How do I give myself love in the aftermath of a massive shame spiral? 

How do I treat myself gently when the crushing, crippling and critical gaze of my inner judge is fixed upon my shortcomings and inadequacies? 

How do I trust that it’s okay for me to receive grace and compassion from others, and not always be in the seat of counselor? 

How do I stop attacking myself for mistakes that I couldn’t see then, but can see now, and will do my best to watch for in the future? 

How can I soften and surrender to this discomfort as an essential part of the process of growth, and becoming more of who I am called to be? 

I must learn to hold my whole, imperfect, messy self with a light enough touch to dance with this heavy cloak of shame, even if it is a family heirloom…

because while it’s kept me safe in the past, there’s only room for one cloak in my legacy, and I’d rather leave the one of light instead of shadow - it’s the only one that comes in my favorite color… rainbow.