Earlier this month I announced I would write on the topic of shame. Little did I know that we would be walking through this together. I uncovered a new layer of trauma in counseling and I can’t stop going over the tendrils of shame that still try to sink their way into my thought life, my relationships, and my daily outlook.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to write a Biblical, grounded way to define shame but I can’t quite craft a succinct definition that captures it. Instead let me tell you what it feels like (maybe you can relate).
It’s heavy. Pervasive. Dark.
It feels like an erupting volcano that spills its hot breath and messy lava over everything in its path.
It feels like piles and piles of laundry I can’t quite stay on top of, so I succumb to the pile and just lay there in the mess.
It feels like a knotted ball of string in the core of my gut, growing and getting more tangled as I try to ignore it.
It feels like treading water in the middle of deep ocean waters, with tired arms and legs and no land in sight.
It’s chaotic. Suffocating. Toxic.
While I’ve been wrestling through this place, I’ve thought of you many times, friend. I’ve thought of you wading through the lava mess, trying to untangle yourself, on the other side of this very same ocean. I want to call out to you and say, “we’re in this together.”
Shame doesn’t want us to link arms. It isolates us and keeps us in fear, secrecy, blame, and judgment.
But here’s what Brene Brown says about shame:
“If we’re going to find our way back to each other, we have to understand and know empathy, because empathy’s the antidote to shame…The two most powerful words when we’re in struggle: me too. If we’re going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path.”
Ann Voskamp’s words echo Brene’s:
“Shame dies when stories are told in safe places.”
So that’s what I’m doing this week. I’m telling my stories in safe places. I sit in my counselor’s office and tell her these new revelations to my past. She says, “Now it’s not a secret anymore.” We’re unknotting the ball and laying it down string by string.
I cry to my husband about my overwhelm, and then we dig into the laundry pile together (this is actually literal- I can’t stay on top of the dirty laundry ha).
I call my best friend and leave her a long voicemail filling her in, as I step out of isolation and the lava cools at my feet. She responds and says that she hears me and she loves me.
Friend, I may not have a perfect path forward for you to get rid of your shame. I’m just figuring it out myself right now, too. But what I can do is shout to you from my side of the ocean.
You’re not alone. We’re in this together.
“As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us.” -Psalm 103:12
When we wrestle with shame, we feel like our brokenness is the whole story. Shame says, “Your past defines you. You are too broken to be loved. You will never be whole or healed.” Shame tries to keep us trapped in the dark.
Years ago, after I experienced the most painful parts of my story, I felt like the main character in The Scarlet Letter. I was stuck in that darkness, and thought everyone around me could see my sin, shame, and trauma on display. It made me want to hide from others, and I didn’t feel welcome in God’s presence or with other Christians who seemed to have it all together. I thought I was destined to wear a “V” for victim, a “D” for divorce, and an “A” for anxiety for the rest of my life.
But friend, shame does not tell the whole story.
Your wounds and scars and baggage do not define you. The present struggle you are wrestling does not define you. The biggest brokenness you feel when you think of yourself? THAT does not define you.
As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us. He binds up the brokenhearted. He restores the years the locusts have eaten. He brings beauty from ash and brokenness. He proclaims freedom. He sets the captives free.
There is nothing too dark or too heavy or too broken for Him that He cannot redeem. The Bible is full of real people God re-defined instead of letting their brokenness tell the whole story.
We get to be like Jacob with his sinful past who was newly named “Israel” and blessed by God as the father of a nation. God re-defined Jacob and used him as the foundation of a favored people.
We are able to stand firm like Joseph, who said “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives” (Gen. 50:20). God sustained Joseph and rescued others through him.
We can comfort those who mourn and stand by their side, like Ruth did for Naomi. God restored Ruth’s broken heart and brought her a sweet redeemer in the form of Boaz, and even used her in the lineage of Jesus, a true Redeemer for the rest of us.
We can cry out to God in our shame, our pain, our brokenness like David throughout the Psalms. God forgave David in his repentance, and still used David’s story and his heart to show others how to walk through the light days and the dark.
We can be like Paul, who stepped into humility after he met the Lord and brought truth to others. God transformed Paul’s heart and gave him a powerful testimony that allowed him to speak to others from a place of true awareness of his need for a redeemer.
What if instead of hiding from God in our brokenness, we instead prayed that He would meet us there and transform the way we see the hard parts of our story? What if we prayed for Him to use our brokenness, however He can, to bring hope to others and bring glory to HIS greatness? What if instead of covering up those parts of our story, we shared with others to let them know that they’re not alone? In your honesty and vulnerability with yourself, God, and others, I pray that you might be released from shame, darkness, and feeling like you will never be free from those heavy burdens. Because, dear heart, when you set those things into the light, the darkness cannot have as much power here.
Let’s not give shame the final say.
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” -Romans 8:1 ⠀
When I wrestle with the weight of shame, my past says to hide. It says “you are not welcome here.” It chokes and stifles. It makes me feel like I’m covered in grime and stains that cannot be scrubbed clean. Shame says my baggage will prevent me from moving forward or getting through the door. It says, “this is who you are; this is the whole story.”⠀
I want to refute that, in the name of Jesus. ⠀
Because we are in Christ, shame is no longer part of the equation. ⠀
Where shame stifles and chokes, God’s Truth breathes life into us. Where shame whispers lonely, God says loved. Where shame hides our secrets in the darkness, God tells us to talk them over in the light. And freedom is found there.⠀
Will you join me in throwing off that cloak of shame? He already washed us clean, so we can stop rolling around in old dirt. He calls us to new life- the shame of the past died with our old selves. He calls us redeemed, so we can re-claim our stories in Him.⠀
Friend, I am praying that we would know that freedom, all the way down to our toes and in the marrow of our bones. If you’re anything like me, and you’re still dragging around the baggage and chains of the past can this be the month where we drop them at the door, once and for all? ⠀
As much as shame wants us to think we’re too broken, this is not the whole story. But we have to let go of the shame first. Because if anything, the SHAME is holding us back. ⠀
Your story is welcome here, and I can’t wait to see how the rest of it unfolds. Together, let’s step through the door into freedom, friend.
Yesterday was one of those days where I viewed most of my interactions through the lens of past hurts. A work email, a misunderstanding with a friend, a rejection in my writing, a trigger to my trauma. I started wrestling with old lies that rear their ugly heads sometimes: “You’re not qualified, you’re not welcome, you’re a burden.”
There wasn’t anything in particular wrong or deeply concerning, but a wash of pain just colored my day. For how much I hurt, I wanted to curl into a ball and wait until it all felt better in the morning.
Instead, I asked God to speak truth over me. I recognized why a few things made me feel rejected and let myself cry. I reached out to the friend and we worked our way through the hurt in love. And when I covered my head with blankets in the dark last night waiting for Ryan to come to bed, I knew that I could easily fall asleep without telling him that my heart hurt. But I didn’t.
I pulled the covers down below my chin and he listened quietly as I said, “I feel like a burden and a broken record.” He responded:
“No, you’re human… and besides records are made of plastic.”
We laughed, I cried, and we prayed. And I felt closer to him because I stayed open, instead of shutting down.
Sometimes vulnerability has nothing to do with the words we share, but everything to do with the posture of our hearts.
If we’re used to being the strong ones, it can be hard to feel weak. But God meets us and strengthens us there, when we’re willing to offer up our weakness and surrender our hard days. If we’re used to covering up or pushing past our hurts, it can be tough to let ourselves sit in the pain. If we’re used to helping others, it can be challenging to receive support ourselves. If we’re used to wrestling through our hurts on our own, it can be hard to receive the words of, “You’re wanted here. I love you. I’m listening.”
But that is the posture that brings deeper connection, and that is the posture that ultimately brings freedom.
“Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.” -Proverbs 4:23
Remember yesterday I shared about the fence versus the open field? While an open field sounds beautiful, a fence is a necessary and healthy boundary created to keep the safe things inside the unsafe things out. It is a property line that says, “here’s where I end and you begin” (read Cloud and Townsend’s Boundaries for more on this).
Here’s why I think this is important in our discussion of vulnerability:
Vulnerability must go hand in hand with wisdom. We must use wisdom with who and how we share our stories, our time, and our hearts. If someone proves over and over again that they are untrustworthy, it would not be wise to continue sharing our deepest hurts or secrets with them. However, when someone has spent time cultivating safety with us by earning our trust, we can open the gate and let them into the fence.
My raw vulnerability that comes with fresh pain is best shared with those three people who have earned my deepest trust and are closest to my fence. Some of the things I am just now sharing about in my writing happened 10 years ago. I needed the safety of a closed fence, plenty of time, and safe people to process/heal before I shared more vulnerably with wider circles. I’ve spent the past 6 years particularly in private with a very small group of loved ones/mentors as God moved those raw wounds to healed scars.
Even now, there are things I choose to hold back, as it would not be wise for me to disclose them. This is not isolation, but is the result of prayerful discernment. I recognize that vulnerability on those topics is not safe or beneficial for me and could hurt others. So healthy vulnerability does not mean open fields and letting everyone in to the raw processing. God has taught me so much about the active process of checking my motives in my vulnerability (is it for validation, acceptance, assurance, healing, connection?). I must pray about what I share before I open my mouth to verbally vomit vs. share with others from a place of grounded healing.
I believe vulnerability is a gift in relationships, but it MUST be used in balance:
- Vulnerability with wisdom
- Tenderness within healthy bounds
- Softness with strength
- Or my favorite from Mike Foster, open heart with backbone
There is a balance to living authentically. There is actually great freedom and LIFE through using healthy boundaries and learning to tend to our fences. Is this something you’ve learned about? What are some of the ways you practice wise vulnerability in your life?
Like a field of wildflowers
Her heart was wide open
She wore it on her sleeve, for all to see
And that heart was welcoming, soft, unguarded
The trouble with her open heart is that she kept giving it away
She overshared and she over-trusted
She spilled her soul to those who would listen
And hoped they would hold her wildflower soul with gentle hands
But they trampled the flowers and broke her heart
So she built a brick wall around herself
“Now, no one can hurt me. No one can get in.”
The walls were so high, the sun couldn’t even reach her
In the shadows, her world grew smaller, colder
The grass withered and the flowers wilted
Her heart became hard like the very brick around it
After a while, she couldn’t feel anything…
Sure, the pain couldn’t enter in, but neither could the joy
She missed the warmth of the sun and the scent of the flowers
She asked for Someone stronger and wiser to help tear down the wall
Together, they removed the bricks one by one
He told her about a new way to keep her heart safe
“Let’s build you a fence,” He said
“There will still be sunshine and warmth, but you will be able to protect your heart gently.
I will guard your heart for you when you don’t know how, and this gate will help you let love in again, when you’re ready.”
She found a balance between that wide open wildflower field and the heavy brick wall.
They built a fence, and the flowers now bloomed in love and safety.
– – –
I can’t wait to share more with you this week about vulnerability with others- wisdom, healthy vs. unhealthy vulnerability, Biblical examples of the concept, and boundaries.
I’d love to hear–do you connect most with the image of the wide open field, the brick wall, or the fence?
When I was in my darkest place, my pain lied to me. It told me that I was all alone. It whispered that no one would understand my hurt. That I was a burden.
So I shoved the pain down for years until I no longer could hold it inside. I remember the day I finally opened up. My best friend and I went out to lunch. I could barely eat, sick to my stomach knowing I needed to tell her how bad things were. Saying it outloud made it real, and I had no clue how I was going to move forward from here. But I knew I had to share to get out of the pit. After lunch we sat in a parking lot until I finally felt brave enough to talk. I shared how bad things were in my relationship and the thoughts I wrestled with in the darkness. She listened. She gently cried with me, told me how much she loved me, and said she would fight with me to help me get through.
That day marked the beginning of my healing journey. While I was coming to terms with my own pain in silence for months, it still felt too big for me to carry on my own. It took opening my heart a little bit and letting someone else in to bring me out of isolation and into connection and freedom.
That friend has trekked all the way up the mountain with me. As I got braver, I linked arms with another friend or two who joined me on the journey. It made the burden lighter and the healing process easier than if I’d tried to shoulder it on my own. I added a counselor and a support group of women to my mountain climb.
If you are in that pit of darkness with your pain, please know that you don’t have to do this on your own. Start small in sharing. Vulnerability doesn’t have to be a public speech to a room full of people or a social media post to thousands about your deepest secrets. It starts with finding just one person who makes you feel seen and heard. Find just one person who makes you feel safe.
Here are some of the qualities of the people I consider “safe” in my life when I need to be vulnerable and share. A safe person:
- Listens without judgment.
- Makes space and time for me.
- Does not try to fix the problem. He/she may offer suggestions or challenge me when it’s safe to do so (after the initial sharing/if I’ve asked for it), but their initial response is just listening.
- Meets me with empathy instead of pity/sympathy.
- Proves that they are trustworthy (holds your story in confidence, does not gossip).
- Is also vulnerable with me (when appropriate; my counselor cannot be vulnerable with me about her own journey, but she is still on my list of safe people). I prefer to share my heart with close friends who are also open with their own pain, thoughts, and stories.
Do you have a safe person or people in your life? If you’re willing to share, I’d love to hear who’s trekking up the mountain with you? If not, what are some of the qualities that would make someone feel safe to share your story with?
“You can’t heal a wound by saying it’s not there,” -Jeremiah 6:14 (TLB)
When I was in middle school, I fell on my knee at a friend’s house. We were playing charades on the treadmill (questionable judgment) and she gave me the prompt, “Pretend you’re running in the park and you see a cute guy.” I stopped running upon seeing this invisible cute guy, and the treadmill threw me back into the wall. The treadmill continued to run, with my knee catching the brunt of it. We laughed about it but it really hurt, since the fall scraped off several layers of skin. I put a band-aid over it and went back to playing. Our game distracted me, but under the surface I was still embarrassed by the fall and my knee still hurt.
For the first few days, I continued to wear band-aids on my knee. The wound looked gross, so I covered it up with a fresh bandage each day. After a week, I tried to go without a bandage. My knee hurt from bumping up against my desk, and from air blowing across the wound. A classmate pointed to my knee and said how it looked like “elephant skin,” a grayish, wrinkled layer where my body was trying to heal. Because I hadn’t given it a long enough chance to sit exposed to the air, it was having a hard time healing. But I was more embarrassed by what others thought than healing properly, so I went back to wearing band-aids.
We can only ignore the discomfort for so long. I can get by with a bandage on the wound for a little while, but eventually I have to remove the band-aid and stop covering up the wound. I have to clean out the infection and expose it to air and light to let it heal properly.
It’s tempting to ignore the wounds though, isn’t it? It’s easier to stuff the feelings than to let ourselves feel them- especially when the emotions that rise up are difficult. It’s tempting to push past the hurt instead of slowing down long enough to properly heal. It’s common to numb the symptoms of the pain, rather than addressing the source of the pain. We do patch-work on our problems instead of looking at the whole picture, so that God can in turn make us whole.
It’s scary to actually look at the wound, to admit that we’re hurting, and to surrender to the healing process. But in the case of my middle school knee, that’s what it took for new cells to generate and the wound to heal. In the case of our past hurts and current discomforts, true reflection and vulnerability are important for new life to enter in.
There’s a verse in Jeremiah that’s stuck with me for the past few years in my recovery work: “You can’t heal a wound by saying it’s not there.” I’ve seen this to be true in my own life, related to healing from trauma and unhealthy relationships. If I ignored the memories or tried to avoid triggers, the wounds were still present. The longer I let the unhealed trauma stay beneath the surface unaddressed, the more room I left for unhealthy coping mechanisms or “infections” that made it worse. I carried the trauma and pain into new relationships and settings, and projected my past pain onto new people. I viewed life through the lens of my hurt, instead of the wholeness God intended for me.
In order to step towards healing, I had to finally take off the “bandages” of busyness, new relationships, and my denial of any issues. I had to make space to say, “I’m hurting. I need help.”
When we’ve spent a long time ignoring pain, it can be really uncomfortable to sit with it. But I believe feeling the pain (without numbing) is what leads us to seek healing. I had to learn to identify what I was actually feeling, what I needed, what I was scared of, and even what I hoped for as a result of healing. It took time for me to learn that those hard feelings, memories, and fears did not make me a bad person or a poor example of a Christian. They just made me human, and showed that the brokenness of this world affects all of us.
Last week, I shared about vulnerability with God, and how He wants us to bring all of our hearts to Him. When we know that there is a safe place to let down our walls and take off the bandages, it creates a safe place for us to be honest and open with ourselves.
Eventually, the wound on my knee became a scar. The skin looks a little different there, and it’s a reminder of a former hurt. But it no longer stings or burns when the air hits it. It’s no longer raw “elephant skin”- it’s just a light pink circle, barely visible to the eye.
When we make the space to sit with our wounds, we can invite God in to meet us in our pain. That willingness to be vulnerable with ourselves and others, in the safety of God’s presence, brings restoration. After we find that healing, we may carry the scars of the past, but they no longer fester in pain beneath the surface, begging for us to pay attention. They can now serve as reminders of His redemption, and remind us of His power made perfect in our weakness.
When I was in college I took a personality assessment that gave me an interesting result- it said I was 98% extroverted on the introversion/extroversion scale. A staff member reviewed my results and was surprised by my number. “It’s not a bad thing, but you may want to explore healthy ways to stretch yourself in the other direction.”
The reason I tested so high on that end of the scale is because I was terrified of being alone. In a room full of people, I could figure out how to act, what to say, and who others expected me to be. I could read the emotions of everyone around me, and knew how to answer questions to keep others happy. I knew how to define myself as long as others were around me.
After getting the 98% extroversion result, I tried spending an afternoon by myself in my college dorm room. I had a panic attack after 10 minutes. I literally didn’t know how to be on my own. My people pleasing was a coping mechanism I used so that I didn’t have to look inward or deal with my own pain or discomfort. I could tell you what you liked and how you probably felt and what you needed, but I couldn’t answer those same questions about myself. It was too uncomfortable and painful.
Part of my healing journey with the Lord has been learning to sit quiet before Him. I ask Him to show me the feelings I’ve suppressed, to bring up the painful memories so we can deal with them together, and to show me the aspects of life that bring me joy so that I can be comfortable with time by myself. If we are going to be vulnerable and live authentically with others, we have to be okay with looking at our own stories. We have to pray, in the safety of God’s embrace, for Him to reveal our thoughts, feelings, and the depths of our hearts to us so that we can step into freedom. There’s no way to be free if we aren’t willing to look at and heal from the wounds that chain us down or keep us trapped.
What about you? Are you willing to ask God to search you? Do you get scared of what you will see? The final part of Psalm 139 says this searching work will lead us into the way everlasting. I pray this time of self-examination and vulnerability with the Lord will lead to freedom, sweet friend.
“Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!”
In the beginning, God designed us for connection.
Before He even formed man, God built a garden and provided all we could ever physically need. Can you imagine how glorious it must have been? A whole spectrum of bursting color, pure, untainted and joy-filled to behold. Lush plants and an array of fragrances from the fresh fruit trees. The harmonies of bright birds singing their songs in the sky, and animals running through the grass.
God knew that a beautiful earth could meet our physical needs, but He also said it wasn’t good for man to be alone. So God formed Adam from the dust of the earth, and formed Eve using one of Adam’s rib bones. God breathed His own holy breath into their lungs and created the most intimate human relationship right then and called them one flesh.
“Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.” (Genesis 2: 25)
The three of them, Adam, Eve, and God, walked through the gardens together. I wonder what God’s laugh sounded like to Adam and Eve. I picture them sitting in silence together with complete comfort as they watched the sun rise each morning. I imagine God pointing up at the night sky to name all of the stars for His children. I wonder what it was like in those beginning days, with no shame and no sin. Brokenness had not yet entered into the world, and the connection He established remained perfectly intact.
But the second they ate the fruit, shame crashed into the world. Adam and Eve covered themselves, hid from God, and blamed each other. Most of all, they were disconnected from God and one another.
“Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden.
But the Lord God called to the man, ‘Where are you?’
He answered, ‘I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.'” (Genesis 3: 7-10)
I can’t imagine how much it must have broken God’s heart to have to discipline His children, to send them out of the garden He built for them, to have to make them garments to cover up their nakedness. That original sin caused a chasm from the original connection God designed.
How does that affect us today?
Even though God designed us for connection, we push Him away in our shame. Our shame casts a shadow over the way we see ourselves and the way we see our perfect Father. We fear that He will no longer love us if we let Him see the deepest secrets we carry. We fear our sins are too big for Him to forgive. We fear that He would be disappointed if He only knew our thoughts and our quiet actions.
So we wear fig leaves to try to keep ourselves from being seen:
-Denial (I’m okay, really)
-Avoidance (busyness/not spending time with Him/closing ourselves off)
-Numbness (if I can’t feel anything or pay attention to it, it’s not really there)
-Defiance (rebellion/sin/running the other way)
-Pride (I can handle this on my own/I don’t need help)
Here’s the thing though: God ALREADY KNOWS all of our sin, thoughts, words, actions, and secrets. The fig leaves we try to use to cover ourselves are not enough of a barrier to push Him away. He still loves us even with His intimate knowledge of our brokenness.
So what if, instead of trying to hide from the One who already sees us, we stood with our hearts open to Him like an offering? What if instead of hiding behind our ceaseless striving, perfectionism, ambition, and addictions, we pulled back the layers to share it all with Him? What if we let go of the shame to say, “Here I am, Lord,” and let Him have it all?
I get that it’s scary, but to me, it’s even scarier to imagine pushing Him further away and staying hidden for the rest of my life. I want to live surrendered, in sweet intimacy and connection with the One who created me and knows all of me.
I want to be like Job, who calls out his questions to the God who has all of the answers.
I want to be like David, who wrings out his broken heart before a God who cares for our sadness.
I want to be like Jesus, who kneels before God and asks for the pain to go away, but trusts that God’s will is ultimately good.
I want to be vulnerable with my heavenly Father and hand Him all of my hurts, my fears, my doubts, my emotions, and my thoughts, because He can handle them.
I just have to let Him see me.
Related posts for further reading: