How Shame Left Me Feeling Completely Worthless and Unlovable

Guilt and shame do not have the same meaning, although many believe they do. According to Annette Kammerer, a psychologist and professor emerita at the Institute of Psychology at Heidelberg University in Germany, guilt occurs where there is “a transgression of moral, ethical or religious norms and we criticize ourselves for it.” 

Shame, guilt’s cousin, is a response to how we view ourselves for having done the action. My mother’s way of punishing me was to shame me — not the action. I was responsible for hurting my dad and I was a bad girl. The feeling of absolute shame I felt hurt my heart much worse than any spanking would have my bottom. Each time I did wrong and was shamed, I felt worthless and unlovable.

I spent many years feeling embarrassed, for many reasons. I was ashamed of my childhood home, usually a kid’s safe and comfortable haven. My parents bought a nice house in a newer neighborhood, brimming with young families. It was of adequate size for the five of us until baby brother was born. One more meant less space and more housework. The idea of spouses sharing duties, at least in my family, was a ridiculous notion. Our house became an insurmountable disaster, so my frazzled Mom gave up. The assignment and enforcement of chores were tasks too cumbersome for her to manage. No friends came over to watch television or spend the night; the mere thought was mortifying.

Growing up in a distasteful environment propelled me to maintain a spotless room, a sanctuary to which I regularly escaped. I was guilty of not offering to help Mom more and considered myself a lazy daughter.

I was ashamed I had chosen early marriage over an education. I was the first in my family to attend college and the first to drop out, a decision that devastated my parents. My excuses for not finishing a degree were money, time and children. The real reason: I was scared I would fail, which was just too humiliating a prospect to attempt a return to school.

I was ashamed of my somewhat boisterous personality. I have always been one who is first heard, then seen. I talk and laugh loudly. Attendance at social events would prompt my former spouse to sternly warn, “Don’t embarrass me.” I was terrified of speaking publicly and flatly refused any invitation to do so. I feared meeting new people. I rehearsed introducing myself. I was cautious, avoiding situations that placed me in a position of humiliating myself or my husband. I manifested a classic sign of one who feels constant shame: the desire to hide.

Guilt, remorse and regret — most people experience these emotions. We analyze what we did wrong, admit fault and apologize. We should be able to get past uncomfortable experiences and move on, but as a grown woman, I could not complete the process. Women are especially susceptible to feeling shame for a past over which they had no control, according to author Brené Brown, who has spoken extensively on shame, vulnerability and empathy. Talking about the shame we experience brings a sense of control that gives us the strength to overcome our feelings and move forward with our lives.

My 40s ushered in the evolution of a new outlook. After decades of believing I had been a bad daughter, wife and mom, I made a conscious decision to be grateful for things I had done right: finally marrying a man who actually adores my loud laugh, raising children who grew up to be fine adults despite my many parental blunders, and accepting myself for who I am. I realized I was not a failure. As I aged, I became more tolerant, empathetic and less critical of myself.

Soon after entering my 50s, I made the terrifying but exciting decision to complete the education I had abandoned. Instead of beating myself up over years of procrastination, I embraced the belief that my timing was perfect. I was ready to finish what I’d started and worked hard, hoping only for a finish. My walk across that stage after three years of perfect grades became a pivotal step in my journey out of blame and shame.

In my 60s, I am still on that journey but traveling with lighter luggage because I refuse to drag along a fat suitcase of past mistakes. The younger voice inside my head that still occasionally whispers, “You should be ashamed,” has been drowned out by an older, louder and stronger one that shouts, “You should be proud!”

That voice is mine.