SHAME|CULTURE|WHOLENESS
Breaking the Cycle: Childhood Anxiety to Unraveling Society’s Shame-Based Culture
Good Morning Anxiety
For as far back as I can recall, waking up every morning with a sense of anxiety in the pit of my stomach is normal, albeit some days are worse than others. It all started as a child, getting up on cold, dark mornings to go to school, which I hated. I know hate is a strong word, yet it’s true to how I felt about my school years.
This morning was no exception, and even though I no longer have to go to school, I still wake up every day with mild anxiety (Age 52). Every morning, I pull up the blind to look out my window over the hills to see the sunrise. Today was a typical grey sky, damp, wet, and cold February Scottish morning with no chance of seeing any sun.
Reluctantly, I trundled downstairs to feed my dog and let him outside, and decided to skip my morning coffee and toast in order to pray. For me, prayer is more powerful in a fast state. I needed to call upon the big man upstairs and clear this anxious feeling.
I’d noticed a paradox: the harder I pursue my mission to spread joy, the more elusive it becomes. This realization led me to pause and reflect: Why am I on this path? How can I share joy when I’m not feeling it myself? Could it be that my relentless pursuit to share joy is hindering rather than helping?
Ah yes, that good ole universal law of push and pull.
Whether we know it or not, we seek the wholeness of being. A circle is a symbol of wholeness and harmony of spirit. To embody these qualities, we can shape our lives into circles. It requires a strong focus on our inner compass. I always know when it’s time to come back to center myself.
I set about calmly praying for my family, for humanity, giving gratitude for the day, and then I prayed for joy to enter my heart.
I learned never to pray for strength unless you want challenging circumstances. Praying for joy to get through difficult moments works much better — Trust me, The universe always delivers.
Through this simple act, It turned out to be a great day. I baked a delicious cake and set about writing from the heart- this piece you’re reading now, actually.
School Days
When my older sister and I were at school, we were both bullied by one of the teachers. My sister broke out with psoriasis all over her body with the stress of being constantly shamed and belittled. When I moved up the years into her same class; I was already doomed and labeled a problem child just for being the younger sister.
This teacher would pick out her three “Thickies” as she liked to call us, and make us sit on the front line of desks reserved for her stupid pupils. She would make us do humiliating things, like pretend to be dogs on the floor so the rest of the class could laugh at us.
Whenever the headmistress came into the classroom, this teacher would childishly pull out her tongue behind her back so everyone would snigger.
I was nine and recognized how disrespectful and wrong her behavior was. The final straw came one day when, for no reason, the teacher prevented me from playing outside with the other children for the week. I had no idea what I was supposed to have done wrong to warrant the punishment other than to stroke this woman’s childish ego, who got some weird kick out of bullying children to make herself feel big.
I clearly remember sitting isolated in the school dining room, distraught, confused, and crying. In the corner of the desk, there was a telephone. I recall willing myself to pick it up and call home, but I was too frightened to get into trouble.
On returning home, my parents learned about what was happening at school. They were both angry and horrified by my accounts of this teacher’s appalling behaviors. That same evening, Dad drafted a letter.
The following morning, my Dad instructed me to leave the letter on the teacher’s desk, so it was waiting for her on arrival. I can still picture her face as she breezed in smiling, then opened the letter, and the look of horror as she read it, realizing her sick little game was up. She never bothered me again after that.
Mum and Dad always taught me to stand up to bullies, but even with such sage advice, they sometimes behaved like bullies themselves, especially as we grew up.
My older sister’s psoriasis stayed with her for life, and she never really fully healed. We have both suffered ailments as a result of the dis-ease of our childhoods.
Lately, I’ve reflected on our blaming and shaming culture. We wear the effects of our undeserved shame and carry it into adulthood. Shameless adults shaming children when it was never our shame to wear. The repercussions are immense. The world we see today is a mirror reflection of that culture of shaming people into compliance.
That teacher was just one experience of many. Others disbelieved me for good work done or accused me of lying when I was innocent but punished me anyway.
Some of these memories are still clearly etched in my mind. I had only just turned four years old when I started school. Entering into a strict, no-nonsense environment felt alien and cold. For the formative years of my life, I felt frightened and anxious. Abandonment was always my greatest fear, and it eventually became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
One time, aged only four, I cut into a burnt sausage on my school lunch plate; it was so hard to cut into that it accidentally flew across the room. The teacher accused me of physically throwing it and left me to stand on the red (humiliation) mat outside of the classroom.
Sadly, they forgot about me until home time, and when they realized their error, I was found sobbing and hungry. The injustice still etched in my memory of not being believed or heard has followed me through life.
Through my writing, I can express myself knowing the right people see and hear without passing judgment.
It’s no wonder school felt like an unjust place of punishment rather than fulfilling nourishment. I would cry and plead with my Mum to keep me at home most days, feeling sick and full of anxiety every morning.
My sisters and I grew up in dysfunction, but to be fair to both our parents, our younger years were the best at home, and if anybody acted out of line, they were very good at getting issues sorted. Then again, private schools don’t come cheap, and I’m sure they wanted some bang for their money.
Many children would jump at the opportunity for a private school education, and I certainly don’t want to come across as ungrateful or spoiled. My father was a good businessman, and we were privileged kids. Our needs for clothing and food were always met, just not our emotional needs. And that’s because our parents never had their emotional needs met either, and so forth.
Culture of Shame
Abuse of power occurs everywhere, and no matter what the upbringing, a child is still an innocent child.
Shame gets passed onto us, and children learn to carry shame for the rest of their lives. Unraveling the lie is the hardest part. Taught to follow and respect authority, conform, and do as we get told early on, regardless of whether we feel aligned with it or not, we must conform.
Our families reflect society in some respects and vice-versa. The unhealthy message is “Just do as you’re told”
Though annoying for the conformists of this world, I like to question things, look at other angles that could work, and discover new ways of doing things. Healthy, functional families and environments encourage it.
I mean, why do we even have to have a box to think out of? Just ditch the box.
God, the higher power being pure love, never asks anyone to pull away from becoming the whole self. Why? Because then we cannot ever work collectively as a whole.
Shaming, blaming, and ostracising one segment of the whole for holding different views or for drug, alcohol, and homelessness is everything that is wrong with our culture.
You see, the growing use of drugs, alcohol, homelessness and unrest isn’t and never was the problem. These people are showing us in a mirror-like way that they are the symptoms of dysfunction and a generational shame-based culture, where their true natures were somehow, somewhere, crushed along the way, and now they don’t know how to circle themselves and find their inner compass.
Thank you for reading today. It is my hope that this writing piece inspires you to think a little differently. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments.
Written today in response to Liberty Forrest, Author.
It’s all about our inner compass.
Daniel Ng Thank you so much for sharing your story, being seen and heard through our writing is part of the healing process.
My favourite writer du jour Rick Allen
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