Who Invited Shame?
My joy is gone. I’ve lost it. I’ve let it be stolen from me. For the last 18 months now, I’ve been unable to gain it back. Fleeting moments of happiness, yes. Gratefulness for the few things I have in a perpetual period of lack, yes. But joy? Pure, untethered, undoctored, wonderful, beautiful JOY? That’s left the building, and I’m still waiting for it’s dramatic, prodigal son-like return, where I grasp it with all my might and say, “There you are, Joy, welcome home.”
But, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why it won’t come back. I think I’m realizing that it wants to, but it’s space in my soul is being taken up by something else. My spirit is hosting an unwelcome guest. You know, your friend’s friend’s angsty cousin who wasn’t invited to the party but you can’t just ask him to leave. What was his name again? Depression? No, you don’t THINK that’s it. You truly don’t. Oh, wait, I recognize him, that’s right, his name is Shame. You never invited Shame to the party, but he walked right through the house, into the back yard, grabbed a beer and now he’s talking to your friends and totally weirding them out. You don't notice at first, but you take a pee break and when you rejoin the party, you realize that it has taken a nosedive into the Atlantic. The house is trashed, some of your friends actually left, and the ones who stayed are cornered out by the pool by Shame, who’s just telling them how much you suck. Now, not only do you wan’t this party to be over, you wish you never through one in the first place. And where is Joy? She was supposed to be cohosting this party with you! Well, she left when Shame showed up. She told you she would if you didn’t ask him to leave, but you didn’t. Maybe you were distracted by him, or infatuated with him, or terrified of him. Either way, Joy followed through with her threat and she left you there to clean up the mess.
My house party has been taken over by shame, and I didn’t even know it. I think that’s what’s happened over the course of this last year. I’ve become entirely embarrassed of what I present to the world. When I look at my life, just about every single area is “Under Construction.” Nothing is solid enough to lean on and say, “Well, at least I’ve got this.” (Insert Christian quote of Christ being the solid rock we stand on, yes, I know, all other ground is sinking sand, I GET IT) Even, still, looking at your life and not being able to find one area that you are even proud of is heartbreaking. That’s the door that was left open and how shame got in in the first place.
Physically, I am an anomaly, and I don’t say that positively. I’m 6’4 and 340lbs. I truly feel like a monster or a sideshow attraction. Yes, I tout body positivity, but that is just armor. It’s a trick to keep people who might hurt me away. If I peacock big enough, they’ll think I’m confident and leave me alone. It’s armor. Much like my actual weight, itself. Every ounce of fat is an extra inch of thickness added to my breastplate. But I still hurt. All the time. Well, my armor must not be thick enough. And you know what has never hurt me? You know what’s never said anything mean to me? You know what never disappoints me and always cheers me up? Food. It’s always food and has always been food. It is the most constant thing in my life. The thing I can always count on. Even more so than God. I trust God, but he is completely unknown. His ways are unknown, the future he has laid out for me is unknown, the purpose for my current struggles is unknown… But I know EXACTLY how I’ll feel after eating. And it’s gonna be good.
I am absolutely embarrassed by my size. Every time I leave the house I put my armor on, but it always sneaks through. I’m embarrassed to go to work, I’m embarrassed to go to the store, certainly to eat in public, and entirely ashamed to go to the theatre. My size may be excusable for other professions, but I am a Musical Theatre actor. There is NO ONE on the stage who looks like me. No one. Yes, there may be some larger men in supporting roles, but they’re short. And anyone as tall as me is thin as a newborn tree. I have no one to look at and say, “Well if they can do it, so can I.” So, am I supposed to be the first or are people like me just not meant for the stage? How do I open the eyes of professional casting directors to see that fat people have feelings and like to sing about them too? How could I not take shame in this?
By 26, society dictates that I should have a significant other or, at the least, a substantial dating background. Yet that folder is as dry as the Sahara. I should have extensive experience in sex, both casual and meaningful, with either one, some, or all genders by now. Once again, I’ve only read the title of that text book. How could I not take shame in this?
I don’t have a family life to brag about. I don’t have any other talents or hobbies outside of my art. I live on the poverty line and can hardly make my bills. I’m unbelievably in debt. I’m low on friends. I hate my day jobs. I'm not where I hoped or dreamed I'd be artistically at this point. And over the last few months, life as thrown every possibly curve ball it could at me and I’m ready to tap out. I feel like Job. When I try to count my blessings, I struggle to come up with any, which makes me feel guilty and then we start a vicious cycle that I couldn’t possibly get into at this time. I’ve lost the hope I had that things would work out and now I’m just desperately begging for them to. How could I not take shame in all of this?
I’m embarrassed by the current standings of my life and too ashamed to see myself in any other light. I’m a mess. And for a long time that’s been the joke. “Tim’s a mess but it’s funny and endearing so it’s okay.” And we have to laugh at it! That’s okay! I attempt to turn all my misfortunes into Schadenfreude hilarity! That’s how I get through. And it’s funny because, in one way or another, we can all relate. I’m grateful for the ability to make people laugh through it all, but how come I can’t make myself laugh? How come I can bring other people joy, but I can’t get her to come back to my party?
I’m trying to love myself, but I don’t know how. It’s hard to find parts of me that I love. Most of me I just want to hide. But I’m getting braver, or at least am tricking myself that I’m brave; brave enough to march up to Shame and say, “You weren’t invited. I’d like you to leave.” I’m going to scream it if I have to! I'm counting my blessings, surrounding myself with those who love me, and reminding myself of my worth at every opportunity I can, whether I believe it at that moment or not. I’m gearing up to punch Satan in the throat and throw him behind me. This is my party. This is my life. Joy, self love, and intrinsic worth rule this kingdom. And I’m ~almost~ ready to fight for it.
