Shame

I have lived with shame since I was 7 years old.

I broke the unspoken rule in our home and reached out for a physical expression of love.

My father's cousin came to visit and I was running through the house with my brothers and sisters. Every time I ran to the kitchen, I got to run into his open arms and receive a hug. I still recall the innocent delight I took in the freedom I felt.

He invited me to go for a ride to the store with him and, with my mother's permission, I went. He stopped and bought me some candy and then took me to a deserted spot and sexually molested me.

I returned home filled with such shame, I couldn't look anybody in the eyes. I always felt separate from other children after that, different from them. I had lost my innocence.

That shame became incorporated into my Being. It would be thirty years before I would tell even one person the shameful secret I carried.

To this day it gets in my way of giving and receiving affection. That one-time incident puts me "on guard" in every interaction with other people.

It shows up even in my heightened need to be in control of what's happening around me.

It shows up in feeling more comfortable when it's me initiating the hug or at least being aware that it is going to happen so I can prepare myself.

It shows up in having to have my route all mapped out before going anywhere, and having to know in advance any changes to the plans.

It shows up in my heightened anxiety in new surroundings or with new people.

It shows up when I sternly reprimand my daughter, niece, granddaughters for wearing clothing that reveals their beautiful young bodies.

It shows up in my need to bury my feminine body under pounds of flesh disguising it so it will not be found inviting.

It shows up in my need to do my welcoming in my kitchen and at my table where it is much safer to connect with people.

It shows up in my feeling vulnerable in church - not worthy.

It shows up in me having too much body shame to fully integrate my spirit with it.

It shows up in me watching my boss' beautiful secretary blush as a delivery man becomes tongue-tied in her presence, and I think to myself what a handicap physical beauty is in this world.

Having said all that, I feel compelled to add that I consider myself fortunate. If my life was impacted that much by a one-time abusive incident from a distant relative, how much more difficult is it for children coping with repeated abuses not only from someone in their home but the very someone who is supposed to be their PROTECTOR.