It's a Shame

Like a pit in the stomach, shame constricts the breath.
A dagger of criticism lodged in the solar plexus.
A low hum of doubt directed at the simple fact of being.

Shame is resistance to ourselves.
An expectation of perfection.
An intolerance for learning.
An unfamiliarity with grit.

It comes swiftly for the critical.
External or internal, the attachment runs deep.
Shame blooms in the fertile ground of the unsurprised.

In a world of unpredictability,
when love feels conditional,
shame becomes the backbone of experience.

But like all things, shame is a teacher.
Quietly it turns our attention inward.
Subtly it exposes the source of the critique.

Again and again it reminds us
of the poison we swallowed to survive.
That we lost our way only in the direction of our love.

That fear is a misplacement of affection,
turned upside down,
aimed at the very thing we needed most.

Shame is a hidden soul left behind.
A part of us we failed to carry forward.
Abandoned in a moment when love was needed
but felt too overwhelming to remain with,
so we turned away instead.

If you have felt shame, you understand perfection.
If you have felt shame, you understand expectation.
If you have felt shame, you learned self-criticism
because you believed it was the price of love.