As stated in my previous blog, EMDR is bringing up a lot of strange trauma. Last night I had so much shame come over me - and I think I might first feel shame as hunger. Literal hunger. I think hunger is the “gateway” trick that shame uses to live as a parasite through in body. I know it sounds nuts to talk about shame as if it has a will of it’s own, but it helps me see the boogeyman better.
There’s this really good line in the Yellow Spiral Workbook of ACA that touches on the emotional craving trauma survivors experience; a longing for a “hit” of shame in the same way a cocaine addict needs drugs or an alcoholic needs a drink. That really made sense to me when I read it - it’s like a pulling in the body, a sensation beyond choice, a longing for familiarity that feels like home even though it destroys the home inside us.
Although it’s not worded this way exactly, the book talks about abandonment and shame as the primary drugs fed to us growing up (they may come from alcoholic parent, religious dogma, threats from a school bully, or otherwise). We develop an appetite for these feelings even though they hurt; we become addicted. And as we enter adulthood, we seek out these intoxicating yet familiar abuses by reframing (or recreating) the content of our lives to fit a story of victumhood and self-hate.
My life has gotten so good (circumstantially) that I have to do this with calories. I don’t use dysfunctional relationships, mind-altering substances, or vomiting to recreate feelings of shame or self-neglect. I don’t gamble, pick fights, or lie to the people I love. I don’t harm myself or move to other countries when things get good. These are all evidences of astronomical healing. Miracles, really. But there is still some wounding there, some shame and hate that plays hide-and-seek with my heart. And despite my efforts to find it or solve it or ignore it or therapize it, it wins. I try to fake-it-till-I-make-it, push through it, and dissolve it, but it still wins. It’s been winning. It beats me every time.
To be real, I think it’s the by-product of being born into evangelicalism; even my parents confirmed that all humans deserve Hell without the pity of a God figure who - based on the Bible - was sometimes merciful, sometimes destructively vengeful, showed favorites, and abandoned his own son. I mean, you get this stuff in your head before you’re old enough to read. Sleep tight, little Rachel.
This Shame-Drug-Thing, it uses calories as weapon because it’s the only one left. Actually, I just lied. The last few years, it has also used what I like to call WTFAMBLS (where the fuck are my basic life skills). Examples include procrastination and tardiness, letting laundry pile to the ceiling, agoraphobic weirdness around errands, and not finishing important tasks (like dropping out of your master’s program because you’re too busy not having a job).
Most of these other things I can push myself through. I will invite a friend over for lunch and fold my clothes while they watch TV. I will pump myself up for errands I hate by pretending my husband will divorce me if I don’t go to Costco. I have finally followed through with my masters program by walking through the fear of being an enormous failure...and I absolutely love the philosophy classes. But the calories? This insane hunger that takes over when all is well? The hate that follows the hunger? The hiding that follows the hate? It’s shame. It’s the pervasive feeling of being embodied by everything that is bad and disobedient and wrong and disgusting and the color black. Hunger - that’s my kryptonite.
I suppose that’s why I started this blog...because I can’t hide all this weird shit, but I don’t want to pollute myself by drowning in it either. Writing seems to be a safe container. A way to acknowledge it without empowering it. I got a shame issue, people, and it’s fucking with my food.
Thanks for listening.
Sidenote: The 12-Step programs have transformed my life, but I don’t know if I will ever be completely “binge-free” forever. Even people without eating disorders overeat sometimes. I may always have slips every month or so. I have to view this life-long journey of recovery as slow, progressive, wholistic improvement, as opposed to a dogmatic, all-or-nothing accomplishment.