What a shame

Originally posted May 25th 2023

cat asleep on my lap while i read the new Caleb Azumah Nelson book as Lomelda’s Hannah vinyl plays, texted a friend a love song, another asking about albums that always put them in a good mood, another about jokingly manifesting a stable life as artists, about to reply to friend’s email, I’m not alone and summer is beginning-16:52, 22/05/23

A good friend pointed out, early into my time living in London, that I had “lost enthusiasm”, he was concerned for me, as our idyllic summer turned to winter, and I retreated into myself. I think my 20s has been primarily me lacking in enthusiasm, and now perhaps is the time to find it again.

I’m trying to write more, paint more, read more, watch more. Trying to tap into an enthusiasm that seemed to vacate the premises the moment I turned 20. The light shone through here and there, but for some reason I carry a whole lot of shame for it. Am I being too loud? I worry my interests and desires are too much, that the joy brought by indulging in these things will only push me and others further apart. Perhaps you are confused, why would things that cause joy push me from others? I’m not sure of the answer, but I know I learned at some point that the things I liked were stupid and a waste of time (and even if that’s true, what’s it matter?). That at no point would these interests of mine be useful to myself or others, even if that turned out not the case.

There is shame in wanting so I decided I didn’t want anything. I didn’t want to be an artist, but if it worked out it worked out. I didn’t want friends or romance, but if it happened it happened. I had made a choice that I would make a choice before there was none to be made. If I rid myself of enthusiasm for life, then I would not feel tricked when things didn’t work out. If you don’t try you can’t fail, you know the drill. But even after doing this, I am still disappointed because it turns out you cannot turn off your wants. Without enthusiasm, you just become a grump who’s mad at the world when you didn’t even try.

Shame kills ethusiasm and shame has been coming up in therapy a lot. I never really saw myself as someone who was “ashamed”, I thought I saw the world through a critical but rational lense. I thought my cynicism was just being practical. Then my therapists says something along of the lines of “What if you’re wrong?” after saying something very presumptuous about how others sees me and I’m at a loss for words because all that “rational” thought was actually just a fortress I’d built around myself and I forgot to put in doors. I wear a cone of shame.

I figured I was a fairly open person, despite numerous people pointing out that I am the opposite. Turns out, telling people about all your mental illness diagnosis does not count as intimacy. I thought, and to some degree still think, that in order to be close to people I cannot risk being misunderstood so you must know all the darkness. All the ways I am bad and unworthy, because if I don’t then I am being deceptive. To be close with people is for them to know all about my trauma and vice versa, that if they aren’t sharing theirs with me, then we are not close friends. It’s not the most fun way to live, I’ll be honest. But I avoid showing people when I am happy. When I am excited. Because why would they care to hear about that? Why would friends want to hear from me? Shame is back, ethusiasm locked up somewhere.

My therapist doesn’t like that I refer to myself as “agoraphobic”. She understands why, but she has asked me why must I define myself this way? That we, as humans, like to catagorise things but we are all so complex nothing will match up 100%. So why trap myself in a box that is not helpful? I am wearing the shame bucket on my head. I am ashamed of my feelings so I must put lables on them because then they are no longer mine. They are imposed on me, I am not in control of how I respond to them. They demand to be overcomplicated, that I am not allowed to just be because something bad will happen. Shame takes away enthusiasm because something bad will happen if I encourage it. Like a boisterous child, a parent just waiting for them to hurt themselves. But my emotions are not children, I don’t need to parent them. In trying to regain my enthusiasm, I am trying to let go of shame. Although, it doesn’t feel like an emotion that lets you drop it.

Letting go of shame sounds in theory easy enough: aknowledge it and move on. Similar to intrusive thoughts, another weapon of shame. You can’t pretend it’s not there, but you can’t dwell on it either. You are nodding to a neighbour walking down the street. Something I’ve been doing lately is not finding my shameful thoughts all that interesting. I’m treating them like a very boring person. Because the person I want to talk to, want to get to know, is my enthusiasm. My enthusiasm for art, friends, love, talking, reading, everything everything. I am going to be tended to by my inspirations.

I said before that this is a practice in earnestness. I am still figuring it out what it exactly means. But I’m trying not to hold it against me, that to know something is to continously learn. I cannot set my ideas in stone, even stone is shaped and broken down by water. So the ideas I have about myself, who I am, whether or not I’m a good person, is changable. I have to allow that possibility.

Thank you for reading,

-Enya xx

To end, a nice song I had not thought of in a long time: