Shame on Me
The first time I remember feeling publicly humiliated I was standing in line at the grocery store and my mother was very calmly urinating on the floor next to me. She stood there with no real expression on her face at first; becoming increasingly agitated as I began to react and the people around us started to disperse in varying degrees of disgust and pity. My face was hot with embarrassment as I apologized to the clerk and I started dragging my mom toward the restroom. She was usually fairly compliant when we were out but now she jerked her hand out of mine and hurried out of the store. My shame turned to anger and no small amount of fear as I ran after her into the parking lot. She stood in the middle of the road with her back to me and her face in her hands. When I spun her around by the shoulders I remember very clearly prying her hands away and saying the words, “Why do you have to be this way? You make me sick.” Her eyes snapped wide open and she looked at me. Right at me. Crystal clear. For the first time in months she seemed to know exactly who I was and exactly what I said. She started sobbing, uncontrollable, heart wrenching sobs for about a minute and then it was over. She sniffed a few times and pulled away. Her nose was running and her face was still red from crying but I could tell that she was already gone again. There were still people watching but I didn’t care anymore. The shame was back but it was all on me. One of her final truly lucid moments and to this day my behavior haunts me.
My mother suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s disease throughout most of my childhood. By the time this specific public episode occurred I was no stranger to feeling a little embarrassed and isolated. You tend to draw the curtains and retreat when the stares get long and the whispering starts. Friends didn’t come over much because our house made people uncomfortable. We had a real live ghost traipsing through our halls wearing a stiletto heel on one foot and a fuzzy slipper on the other. We had a constant dinner companion that needed a bib and ate her soup with a fork. She mumbled and moaned more than she talked, wandering incessantly and pawing through drawers in search of some unknown treasure. And none of that was her fault, none of it portrayed who she really was, it was just her disease slowly erasing her from our lives. She was beautiful, compassionate, quiet and very private, the most ladylike and loving person I have ever known and yet I was ashamed of her. For years I fought that shame and for decades to follow I was horribly guilty and angry with myself for the way I treated her at times. While that day at the grocery store is certainly the incident that bothers me most it was not the only time that my shame had spilled out onto her.
In my previous post, No Longer Anonymous, I touched on subject of shame being lifted but I think it’s also important to address the fact that while you’re actually stuck in the middle of that cycle it can feel like it will never end. Even after my mom passed away I carried it, along with the guilt and a whole lot of fear. Throughout most of my adult life I have been very much afraid of mental illness. The thought of it, the memories and the idea that something like that could happen to anyone, that it could happen to me, to my husband or my children can still bring choking fear to the surface at times. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else or looking into blank eyes ever again. So I held on to my people tight. I loved my family as fiercely as I could. I managed to function and thrive as a wife and mother because raising healthy well adjusted children and having a happy home meant everything to me. My husband and I worked hard to keep it that way. In that respect I still believe that we were successful. Both of our kids agree that it was in fact a very happy place where they always felt safe and loved.
And yet somehow it happened. Somehow heroin still found its way into our lives and took them. My greatest fear had come to fruition, just in a different package now. This time they left one lie at a time and their eyes went blank in waves and phases with the drug. When we finally realized just exactly what we were dealing with my husband and I were crushed. Completely bowled over and shocked. It seemed impossible. I was terrified but I didn’t say a word to anyone. The fear was overwhelming and the shame was oppressive. How could you reach out to anyone for help? How would you even know where to begin? What would you say? What would they say? And what would people think? What would the neighbors think? What about the people we worked with and went to church with? Everyone loved our kids and I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want people to see them differently. I didn’t want people to stare or whisper. I didn’t want anyone’s judgment, or their disgust or their pity. So we kept our secrets as best we could until we couldn’t keep them anymore. At some point you get so desperate that you just don’t care. Exactly like that day in the grocery store parking lot, all of the sudden the rest of the world can look all they want. It doesn’t matter what they think. All that matters is that it feels like the person you love is disappearing. When the shame fades you realize that they are still in there somewhere. Even if you only see it for a moment, even if that light of recognition is fleeting, you remember who they are and that’s all that matters. This is my daughter, my son, my mother, my father, my spouse, my sibling, my friend… What I’m seeing right now isn’t them, it’s just the disease.
My daughter was recently interviewed by Cronkite News as a follow-up for a documentary they did on the heroin epidemic in Arizona. The tagline they chose for her story was, “Recovering heroin addict says she’s not ashamed anymore.” Oh how I thank God for lifting that shame from her shoulders. She is a shining example of what the human spirit can overcome and I couldn’t be more proud. There is no more shame on her, or me, or you, or your loved ones. Hear me when I say that there is nothing to be ashamed of! There is no shame in acknowledging our pain. There is no shame in reaching out for help and there is no shame in sharing our experiences. Since our family has come out into the open countless strangers (and some people that we have known very well for years) poured out of the woodwork looking for support. Don’t let shame or guilt or fear keep you from seeking the help you need or from sharing the hope that you have found. Recovery takes a lot of courage. It is a truly heroic effort to step out of the shadows but sometimes that is exactly what it takes for healing to happen. Once I finally let go of the shame I realized that there’s a hero inside every one of us just waiting for our permission to walk out into the light and shine.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iq7BC_mRR_s
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