Relinquishing shame

"The truth is these things I say to myself are born out of shame. I recognise this shame in my day-to-day life over the last thirty years. I am no stranger to its acidic nature."

Dear fellow human,

Today’s letter is a story of acceptance. Acceptance of who we are, actually. Underneath the stories we tell ourselves. Beyond the expectations we have of ourselves. On the other side of what we wish we were.

I struggle to share this story because it means admitting that I find it difficult to accept parts of who I am. That is sad because if anyone is going to accept me in this life it should be me. I am the only person I can rely on to see myself for who I am.

Yet after a lifetime of subconsciously masking who I am from myself and those around me it is no surprise that I find myself here: yearning to accept who I am whilst living through shame buried so deep I sometimes don’t recognise it.

After coming back from Norfolk with Andrew and Alfie last week I decided to use my positive momentum to prepare for another solo trip. After taking a few days to rest and recover I did the shopping I needed, packed up the van, and headed out to the south coast of England on my own.

It was the first time I have been solo walking and camping since my most recent burnout, so I was filled with nervous excitement. Buoyed with the success of my trip to Norfolk, I felt like I was proving myself to myself: that I am capable and that I can do hard things.

Of this I am now sure. After a long walk during which I got lost several times, setting up camp on my own, cooking a nutritious meal for myself, and endeavouring but failing to have breakfast on the beach the next day I returned home with a strong sense of achievement.

I had overcome issues that presented themselves with a strength I didn’t realise I had. It felt deeply reassuring to know that with careful preparation and a keen interest in looking after myself I could. It wasn’t as if I was ignoring my needs. I was balancing my desire for exploration, independence, and newness, with my need for comfort, rest, and sameness.

Truly, I had a magical time. Joy, peace, love. I made a video that I feel encapsulates this.

When I returned home my energy shifted. I couldn’t sleep but felt exhausted. I rested for a day, but by day two of feeling like this my mind started to race.

I can’t believe you’re so exhausted, this is ridiculous.

How on earth is it taking you this long to recover.

Why are you forgetting to eat, shower, and respond to text messages? You’re so lazy.

The voices were getting louder and louder yet I couldn’t change my behaviour. I was quite frankly a little burned out. Being beaten up by my internal monologue was not helping.

It’s now day five after returning from my solo adventure and I’m just about starting to feel like I can get up and do things again. This is not a surprise. It is a reality I expected to experience after a night away in the van on my own. And yet actually experiencing it still catapults me into inner turmoil. It’s one thing to know and another thing to accept.

The truth is these things I say to myself are born out of shame. I recognise this shame in my day-to-day life over the last thirty years. I am no stranger to its acidic nature. It has permeated me and thrives deep inside.

Shame makes me believe that the version of myself in the countryside surviving on my own is acceptable and the version of myself wrapped up on the sofa needing help from my husband is not. The latter is the version of myself that for so long has been hidden, disguised, shut away in the shadows. I still struggle to accept that she is who I am just as much as the girl who thrives in the light.

Sometimes I question myself: what if I just didn’t do the things that I love? What if I just accepted that I can’t go on solo adventures? At least then I wouldn’t experience these ups and downs in my energy.

I wish it was this simple, but it’s not. I can’t just turn off my desire to do the things I love. They bring me so much joy, and that’s what life is about. I don’t want my internalised shame to dictate what I do and don’t do. I want to make an active choice and accept the impact that choice has on me without shame.

In my experience, this means that days of adventure will be followed by days of deep rest. Days of independence will be followed by days of being supported. Days of immersion will be followed by days of isolation.

I don’t know, I’m still learning about who I am, but perhaps this is how it is for me. It doesn’t look like the version of me that my shame wants to create, but it’s true and real and who I am.

I don’t want to shame her anymore.

Sending you so much love,

Charlie ♡

P.s. I can’t resist sharing some more pictures from this trip!