What if our mistakes, flaws, imperfections and mess aren’t our biggest problem? What if our biggest problem is the story we tell ourselves about them? And what if there was a place where we could go, to hear a different story?
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The to-do list when you’re launching a therapy practice is a mile long.
For many months, I’ve shared that list with my friend and co-founder of Artisan Clinical, David Clinton. Together, doggedly and determinedly, we’ve been whittling it down. Several weeks ago, on a Monday night, I had one thing left on my list.
Program the thermostat in the new office.
I tried and failed, over and over again. So, impulsively, I went out, bought a new thermostat, opened it, and was promptly reminded to turn off power to the furnace before installation. I don’t have access to the fuse box in our rented suite. There would be no quick start for this thermostat. So I gave up. Then, a week later, on another Monday night, a client suggested I simply download the instructions for the old thermostat.
Oh. Yeah.
Wisdom goes both ways in a therapeutic relationship.
Later that evening, it took about ten minutes to download the owner’s manual and to program the old thermostat. The temperature in our new office was now officially under control.
But something inside of me wasn’t.
I felt embarrassed I hadn’t come up with the solution on my own. I felt guilty I’d wasted money on a new thermostat we didn’t need. That I’m-not-good-enough feeling can visit upon us in many guises and, this time, it had returned in the shape of an unnecessary thermostat. So, this is what I texted David:
“I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first? Okay, the good news. I found a manual on-line and figured out how to program the thermostat. It was every bit as asinine as it seemed to be. The bad news is, I wasted $20 on a thermostat (I already opened the package like a dummy).”
I called it a night and went to bed.
But I wasn’t alone. My shame was there with me.
Shame can take many forms.
It’s the rush of color to our face after a joke made at our expense. It’s the rush of adrenaline when asked to speak up, to reveal a bit of our imperfect inner space. It’s the subtle exaggeration of our successes and the subtle masking of our mistakes. It’s a dark depression, telling us to stay in bed, because we don’t add anything of value to the world. It’s a sweeping panic, convincing us no one and nothing is safe enough to trust with who we are. It’s a deep loneliness that takes us by the shoulders, looks us in the eye, and tells us we’re alone because we’re not interesting enough, not successful enough, not attractive enough, not funny enough, not smart enough, not strong enough, and quite simply, not good enough.
But more than anything, shame is a voice.
And it is constantly murmuring at the edges of our mind. Telling us a story about who we are. Shame is a creative author. A fiction writer. It uses lies and half-truths to weave a tale about our insufficiency, about the importance of other peoples’ opinions, and about a world in which love is scarce and belonging is an endangered species.
The night of the thermostat, I went to sleep with my shame. It was telling me I’m not handy enough and not manly enough. Not wise enough and not flawless enough.
Fortunately, in the morning, I awoke to another voice.
David had responded with this:
“The bad news: you are in danger of wasting precious life feeling bad about a cheap piece of plastic. The good news: there is a dumpster in the parking lot. Once the cheap plastic thing is inside of said dumpster, you are free to never think about it again.”
He didn’t try to convince me I hadn’t made a mistake. That would just be more shame, subtly implying I have to be perfect to be okay. He also didn’t tell me my mistake didn’t matter. Again, that would come with an unspoken implication: your mess is okay as long as it doesn’t impact me. No, he bypassed my error altogether.
By telling me I could let go of it.
David’s a great friend, and he’s also a great therapist. Because he helps everyone tell a different story—a better story—with their lives. That’s what therapy is all about. Most of the time, our biggest problem in life isn’t the mistakes we’ve made; it’s the story we tell ourselves about them.
We need new voices, reminding us there are other stories we can tell ourselves about our brokenness, flaws, imperfection, and mess.
We need a fresh voice, reminding us we are enough, just the way we are.
We need a voice like love, telling us we aren’t wasting our one precious life with mistakes; we’re wasting our life rehearsing them, over and over again.
We need a voice of grace, pointing us toward the dumpster, reminding us we can toss out the old, crummy narratives our shame has been repeating for most of our lives.
We need a new story, but we have to throw out the old one first.
Therapy reminds us that we can.
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I’m a psychology graduate. I spent years finishing my degree because my husband at the time, was in the military. Soon after I enrolled in Cambridge College in Cambridge, Ma. One day at work I was called out of my classroom of autistic children, to be served divorce papers. Needless to say I had to quit after a year in the Master’s program and move in with family and a 2 yr old. She’s now 20, no word from her father but once every few months, no visits, or calls, only text. Even his parents stopped correspondence. She is now 20, flunked her senior year, hates me and new husband of 3 years, smokes weed on a continuous basis with her boyfriend of 4 years who started her down this road of destruction. I also had to put my career on hold to take care of my father who suffered from a heart attack, triple by pass and a stroke. During this time, my daughter became disgruntled and jealous that my time was full time to him even though I tried to make trips with her. She now wants to continue school, try to get pregnant and wants to move out. She can’t take care of herself let alone a child! She’s been to many therapists but nothing has helped. My father passed away last September and it’s taken a great toll on my heart. I also lost a child before I divorced. How easy it would be blame everything on someone else but I also was disowned by my sister and 3 stepsisters because they believed i cheated them out of money. I hired a lawyer and won. The only sibling I have is my brother. He’s the only one to keep in touch though not often. I feel like I’m drowning! I can’t get out of this funk that continues to drag me back under. I am on a small dose of depression meds but they just do the bare minimum. There’s no break in sight and I hate talking problems to the world. I believe the Lord doesn’t give us more than we can handle, but sometimes I wish he didn’t trust me so much.
Ive read a story not so long ago. Told by a grandfather to his grandson. There is a war going on inside every person. An evil dragon vs an good dragon, fighting this war every day. The granson replied and asked who will win this war, so the grandfather replied, the one you feed will be the one who will win this war.
I quite liked this story, and your message above relates so well to it, I just had to share. I have to admit, I dont feel this war in me and neither do I feel shame very often, maybe embarrassment sometimes, but I find it easy to shrug off and move on. Also never tend to tobb over mistakes made. Why do I think, feel and behave in this way, but other people dont? I sometimes struggle to underatand that.
Good morning, Kelly
The “I’m-not-good-enough feeling…” aka shame. I really appreciate the topic, and it is seems to be a common affliction.
I was recently listening to a podcast and a comedian was relating an epiphany he had recently That I think applies:
“When you allow your thoughts to clothe themselves, they will dress themselves in rich robes, taking on the form of a wise and trusted adviser. Remember Worm-tongue in Lord Of the Rings? How he whispered in the ear of the king and just sucked the life out of him? Well that’s what happens…
I’ve got this poodle that I love. Great dog; not too bright, but just a great mutt. So I started dressing up my thoughts in the form of my poodle. Now when the thought comes ‘Oh you suck. You’re such a dummy’, and so on. Instead of the ‘wise-and-trusted-adviser’ saying these things, it’s now the dog. That gives me the ability to say ‘oh, you’re just a dumb dog. What do you know? Go chase your tail’. It lets me see the thoughts for what they really are, without being fooled into believing they are real”
Hopefully this helps. I thought it was a fantastic approach to a very real living problem.
Thank you for this post !! It resonates with me on so many fronts 🙂 Shame is definitely a voice that gets louder everytime you hear it. I am saving this article so that I can refer to it from time to time.
If: Thank you! is not enough…then Gracias.
Yeah. This. “Shame is a creative author. A fiction writer. It uses lies and half-truths to weave a tale about our insufficiency, about the importance of other peoples’ opinions . . .” My counselor and I have been working on silencing the ugly narrative my mind keeps rehearsing over and over. I suppose it just takes time and practice.
I don’t think there is a single person who won’t benefit and be uplifted from reading this. Thank you.
Thank you! 🙂 That is all.
This is just what I needed to hear this morning. I was in a car accident a few weeks ago, and have been unable to shake feeling incredibly awful about the whole thing, including about totalling the nice car my parents gave me. This helped me reframe it. Thanks for the great post!
On point. Obviously intrinsic in the vast majority of us, what a shame it’s so common we beat ourselves up…and yes over the smallest things…but not so at the time. Oh to have that corrective voice on hand!
Kelly,
Thank you for this piece today. It reminded me that I am a mosaic of all my errors and how my life fits beautifully into another picture, made of my own hands and on my own time!!! (not the ones others think for me.)
Dear Kelly,
This is such a great illustration about knowing which things we need to ‘trash’ in our lives, and how our trusted friends and allies can help by giving us permission to do so. I have been, many times, greatly relieved by others giving me grace and permission to ‘trash’ the things I would otherwise have held against myself. I’m so thankful for those who help us in this way!
I’ve returned a million things after opening a package. And if some clerk told me I couldn’t, I’d complain higher up the ladder. Your client was probably thrilled he saved the day. This isn’t even a problem.