I stared in horror at the box full of miscellaneous crap that I had shoved into the twins’ room.  My sister-in law and husband were searching it for baby Tylenol.  I was mortified at the sight of my box of shame exposed.  I failed to advocate for myself.  I didn’t voice aloud what I should have.  I’m exhausted.  I stayed up all night cleaning.  I baked two cakes this morning.  I had to give up in the eleventh hour.  I swept everything on the counter into this box.  But the shame overtook me.  How do we not have baby Tylenol?  I’m a horrible mother, and I’ve now been exposed as a slob.  Ugh.

When we’re judging others, we are experiencing shame about ourselves.  Think about it.  I have, and when I catch myself judging, it has seemed to ring true.  This awareness certainly hasn’t cured me.  But, it has caused me to think about what I’m experiencing and why, when I find myself judging others.  It truly is a wicked thing to do, yet it seems part of human nature.  In the reverse, when I experience shame, I perceive judgement from others based solely on my feelings of shame.

On the first birthday of my twins, I stared into the glossy eyes of my youngest, Max, and felt shame that I hadn’t noticed something that significant until the moment I was putting him into his high chair to receive his first birthday cake.  How had I missed it? Looking at the entire picture, including all events leading up to that moment, I understand why I hadn’t noticed, and then I let go of that shame a little bit each time.

Of course, someone ran and got baby Tylenol.  Max completed his photo-op, after which, I scooped him up and comforted him.  Shame persisted through years of mothering five children.  I became depressed, and then was diagnosed with clinical depression.  Prozac was the answer, right?  Everything would get better.  I would be better.  At times I was better, and then that overwhelming despair would envelop me.  And then I would feel that shame all over again.  When I was better, I was spot on…