Embodying Soul: A Return to Wholeness
Section 2: Chapters 15 & 16
Dear Reader: For these last two chapters of Section 2, I’d like to introduce you to Shame—first from the Soul Realm perspective, and then the Earth Realm.
Shame is very different from Guilt, and I share my (my soul’s) musings on that here.
In the next section, we’ll be moving on to Wound Healing and Regrowth–another critical function of human skin.
Chapter 15: The Story of Shame
Rasa opens her tote bag and digs around inside. After taking out chalices, recipe cards, tissues, divining tools, and a few bottles of wine, she pulls out a fat book with gold lettering on the binder and holds it out for me to see. “Another emotion is ready to greet you, my dear. He is in this storybook I checked out from the Museum of Universal Truth and Cosmic Knowledge entitled Astonishing Soul Stories Through the Eons: An Anthology,” she explains.
Flipping through the pages, she adds, “Inside this book lie courageous stories of overcoming obstacles, inspiring stories of starting anew, and humble stories about seeking support. And here is a story of a young adult woman who, after traveling a long way from home, finds herself flattened beneath the influence of Shame. For a while, it seems as if she may never escape his weight, but she takes a chance and — ” She stops to look at me, my head tilted.
“Well, I’ll let you read at your own pace,” she says, handing the book to me.
“This is my story,” I acknowledge, noting goosebumps rising along my arm. I shake my head with a mixture of awe and dread at the picture of Shame, a whalelike snake, gazing at me through hooded eyes from the page. “Shame is something of a legend in the Earth Realm, is he not?” I ask.
“A legend, to be sure,” Rasa says, nodding. “He is the ancient master that makes the mighty fall under the weight of their own egos. He has long taken joy in exposing an emperor’s underlying nakedness. He roams the underbelly of society from the pettiness of gossip and hearsay to the more dangerous aspects of crime and corruption. He revels in highlighting human weaknesses, after which he can dissuade further acts of courage, creativity, or curiosity.” She lowers her voice and adds, “He’s adventure-averse, you see.”
“How does he differ from Guilt?” I ask.
“There definitely is some connection between Shame and Guilt,” she answers. “They both, for instance, have an acute sense of right and wrong. But much of Guilt’s work is private and internal, resulting in small corrections and a deepening sense of integrity. He invokes feelings of remorse, which usually prompts humans to apologize and make amends. Though it may not always seem like it, he has an eye toward personal improvement. Once his energy is properly understood, he can be put to good use.”
“And Shame?” I ask, as he blinks his cloudy gray eyes at me.
“Shame is often imposed from the outside, as others become witnesses to our wrong actions. Having been caught doing or saying something wrong amplifies the mistake. And Shame goes further than simply judging the action as wrong and then seeking improvement like Guilt. He judges the whole self as good or bad, worthy or unworthy. As a result, Shame can trigger a disappearing act that lasts for days, years, or even lifetimes.”
“Guilt is a reminder, a tap on the shoulder, while Shame is a face-first shove into the mud,” I mumble.
“Indeed. And yet, Sëri, Shame also needs an advocate for his role in human life. Try to understand his messages without letting him stop you from living your life. Ultimately, though it may sound paradoxical, Shame can help develop your inner moral compass and guiding self-respect.”
“But how is that possible since he clearly seeks to break those things down?” I question.
“Anything that gets broken down leaves room for something stronger to be built in its place. And to be without Shame, let us note for the record, is not any soul’s goal,” explains Rasa, shivering at the thought.
I scan the story in the book, seeking an approach to Shame that could work for me in the coming Earth Realm life.
“There is no happy ending to that chapter, at least not the happy ending you’re hoping for,” Rasa advises, “but there are ways to heal the wounds that arise. And that is what we must discuss next.” She then pops open a bottle of the pinkest rosé I have ever seen, pours some into a large white tulip, hands it to me, shrugs, and adds, “This could take a while.”
Chapter 16: Planting Strength
One day Steve asked us all to come to the conference room for a meeting. Because of his foul demeanor of late, the mood around the oval table, the site of our usually jovial lunch discussions, was heavy with dread. He shared the news that the company planned to centralize its administrative functions in Los Angeles — at the home office. Those of us in administration, more than half of us, had the option to relocate or leave the job. At the mention of California, my belly fluttered, and my fingers tingled, an unmistakable yes from my body.
The fact that our little family was being broken up was sad for me on some level, but I also felt a sense of relief because the more Steve saw of me, the more I feared he’d soon sense my deepest insecurities, and realize I didn’t really understand this business or, worse, didn’t care about it. I believed he was already close to discovering these things, if he hadn’t already, and that it was only a matter of time until everyone would see that I was as incompetent and unworthy as I felt that I was.
Just as motivating was the urge to break out of the routine I sensed that I was settling into. The more I settled into a routine, the more of a reputation I would create for myself and the more potential for exposure. As long as I kept zigging and zagging, no one could truly know me, and I couldn’t really hurt or disappoint anyone. This job transfer was just the right zig at just the right time, while the going was good.
***
Though my body was still stuck in a cubby in downtown Minneapolis, my mind and heart were already on the beaches of California. Before we transferred there, though, I received a new client, a vote of confidence from Steve. It was my job to input data and run summary reports. The year before, this job had been completed by a co-worker, and the reports worked fine. But I thought they could use some fine-tuning, paying no attention to the adage “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Driven by both Curiosa and perhaps a bit of friendly competition, I set out to enhance and automate the system.
Soon, though, calls from the client reminding me about deadlines added to my stress. Sure that I had tested the new system well enough, I imported the data and stuffed a FedEx Envelope with the reports. Wanting to prove myself competent, I had not asked anyone to review them first.
When my client called the next afternoon to tell me that one of her executives had said that his statement was incorrect, I promised to investigate and call her back that day. Upon this closer investigation, many of the statements I checked were incorrect.
“How could this have happened? What did you do? Oh, what a disaster!” Fear roared.
My stomach began to turn, my heart to pound, and I began to sweat in an office where the thermostat was set at sixty-eight degrees. Like a runner gunning for that final home stretch, I felt the familiar shift of my adrenals into high gear. This time, though, there was nowhere to run.
What is there to do with a body full of adrenaline if neither fight nor flight is available, if there’s no car to lift, no bear to run from, no race to run? That afternoon I remained glued to my chair, tapping my temples, considering my very limited options. I couldn’t sweep the mistake under the corporate carpet. I couldn’t tell the client to toss the statements and let me begin again; it would take time to more fully investigate what had gone wrong and redo them, and I had new projects with their own due dates. At 5:00 p.m., no closer to an answer, I went home to my apartment.
***
Sitting cross-legged on my bed next to a much-subdued Curiosa, I called my dad for advice. After I explained what had happened, my dad suggested that I not wait until the next day to tell Steve, but to call him at home.
I hung up and forced myself to dial Steve’s home number. The phone rang. I twisted and untwisted the phone cord around my index finger.
“Hello?” Steve answered.
“Steve, it’s Keri.”
“Hi, Keri. What’s up?” he replied.
His warm voice made it all the harder to reveal the truth. I imagined him munching on popcorn with his gorgeous girlfriend under his arm as they watched Seinfeld. But as I told him the story I could almost see him sit up straighter and click off the TV.
With a hint of hope in his voice, he said, “Just tell me the CEO’s and president’s statements are correct. Tell me you checked and double-checked those.”
I would’ve given anything to tell him that at least one of those was correct but had to admit, “No, I didn’t check them indiv — ”
“Dammit!” he shouted.
Dreadful silent seconds ticked by. I covered the mouthpiece to muffle my sobs.
Steve’s voice was a monotone when he came back on the line and said, “Figure out what happened. I don’t care how late you have to work. Then come to my office and explain how something like this could’ve happened. And you can kick yourself all the way to California.”
I interpreted this comment to mean he was angry but too busy to punish me himself so he was delegating that task to me, which, of course, I was more than capable of. I also interpreted it to mean I wasn’t fired, probably because it was too difficult to fire me now that the paperwork for my transfer to Los Angeles had been submitted. Back then I wished he had, but he wasn’t going to give me the easy way out.
After we hung up, I stopped trying to hold back the sobs, which came in painful waves.
“Lock her up,” hissed Guilt.
“What?” I asked, looking through red eyes.
“Get rid of that dangerous animal. I’ve been saying so for years,” insisted Guilt.
“But she’s my companion, my friend. Without her, who will I become?” I argued, defending Curiosa. “Do you just want me to become some automaton who can’t think creatively? So I made one mistake — !”
“This was not just any mistake, Keri,” Fear corrected me. “This was a Great Mistake.”
“There was no need to reinvent the wheel,” Guilt added. “Creativity only leads to trouble.”
I looked at my wolf, snuggled up on my bed with so much untapped adventure yet in her bones. Feeling my gaze on her, she curled her lips up into an innocent smile. But I now acknowledged the real risk of keeping her around. Fear and Guilt were right: The corporate world — like schools, like churches — was no place for a wild creature like Curiosa.
“C’mon, Curiosa, let’s go outside,” I said, reluctantly.
She stretched and jumped off the bed, excited about where we might be going this time of night. I walked her outside, where Guilt had conveniently set up a kennel. She looked at the kennel and then back at me. Her head down, her steps slow and painful, Curiosa walked into the kennel. I locked it and walked away.
“Good job, young lady. Doesn’t that feel better?” asked Guilt when I returned without my childhood companion.
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Well, that’s called retribution. I bet your client doesn’t feel too good, either,” said Guilt.
My dad was wrong. Whatever sleep I got that night was fitful. I was anxious about the call I’d have to make to the client the next day, and the moment I would have to walk into Steve’s office to tell him what I’d begun to realize: there was no mistake in the systems and no one to blame but myself.
The next morning, a new emotion arrived. “Why are you here?” Guilt asked. “I took care of the problem already by locking up Curiosa.”
Shame oozed through my body, making me feel like vomiting. “I don’t want you here,” I said, looking at my swollen eyes in the mirror. “You’re too heavy.”
“You don’t have to like me, dear. But you’ll grow used to me,” insisted Shame, saliva dripping from his mouth as he spoke.
Shame circled a few key points in my file. Then he said in a syrupy voice, “I see the problem. Your arrogance level is far too high. And your risk-taking level is off the charts! You want too much; you’re reaching too high, thinking you are the star of one of your childish adventure books! But you’re just a scared little girl. Now I’m going to have to give you a very poor job review indeed.”
“I know I made a mistake, but I wanted to try something new, and if I just apologize — ” I sputtered.
“If you don’t quiet down,” he interrupted, “I will expose you further. Everyone will see through you to the naked truth: you are nothing but a fraud and a hypocrite. You have wasted everybody’s time and betrayed their trust. You should go back to running, where you only hurt yourself.”
Shame succeeded in lowering my self-esteem significantly during those last weeks before my official relocation in February. I stopped eating lunch with my work family and couldn’t look them in the eye anymore. Nor did anyone reach out to me in a conciliatory way — whether they knew what had happened or not. The feeling I’d had of being part of a new family disappeared, and I was once again an outsider. When I finally flew to California, I obeyed Steve’s command and kicked myself the whole way. The lesson I took from this experience proved my childhood motto from Fear correct and likely pushed it deeper into the tissues of my body: without constant and careful monitoring of my behavior, thoughts, and emotions I would be neglected, discarded and forgotten.
I fully acknowledge that Steve had every right to be angry with me. But now that I am in the stage of life that he was then, I see that he could’ve used my Great Mistake as an opportunity not to shame me but to teach me. He could’ve talked to me about how easy it is to make mistakes when we’re distracted or rushed, and how we need to ask for a second set of eyes even when we feel confident in our work. I was a first-time employee, while he had years of experience. I had little power or voice. He had both. So I did fail him, but looking back I see that he failed me, too.
But underneath their important titles, authority figures and mentors are regular human beings, susceptible to the same forces of anger or fear that all of us are — a valuable lesson I had to learn. This experience triggered a dark and lonely period of shame, which temporarily stunted my growth and discouraged me from undertaking anything innovative. But also, this incident was a powerfully transformative one, like taking a combine to a wheat field: it looked as though everything I’d worked for was gone in an instant, but it gave me clean, rich soil in which I could plant some inner strength for myself. In other words, when the answers, approval, permission, and validation we seek do not exist in any one person or out in the world, we begin looking inward, seeking a higher personal authority.
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