Shame has almost taken my life. It has eaten me from the inside out. It has caused me to check out from my current reality into one I made up. Shame has lead me to hide in the shadows because I couldn’t look into a mirror without feeling intense disgust. Shame has caused me to rot in bed for weeks at a time. Shame has caused me to push people away that were living reminders of my mistakes.

When I realized I wanted to kill myself in 2022, I checked myself into a facility. Shame reared its ugly head and woke me up from an episode that was created to protect me from who I had become. Shame told me that I couldn’t live with myself after the choices I had made. Shame told me I would never be worthy of acceptance ever again.

When I called my family at the facility, when I told them what I had been doing, I was in one of the lowest times of my life. No one knew the secrets I was hiding. No one knew the darkness and the sickness that was living inside of me.

I honestly don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t remember even thinking about it ahead of time. I am guilty of that. Speaking my mind on the spot when sometimes maybe I should be quiet.

I remember sitting in that cold wooden chair, leaning my head against the base of the phone because the cord was so short. I called my mother and my brother. I didn’t call my sister, at least not that day. The shame of disappointing her has always been the strongest. She is the one who has believed in me for as long as I can remember. She has always trusted me, encouraged me, seen me for the person I am. Maybe I felt like it would be harder for her because she has been the only one to always see me as good, and I didn’t believe I was good anymore.

So I called my mom, I called my brother. I told them why I was there. I told them I didn’t think I could live anymore with what I had done. That the feeling of shame was too great, and I didn’t see a future anymore.

I don’t know what I thought they would say.

But what they did say has never left me.

They cried with me. They told me they were sorry I had to go through what I had gone through. They didn’t tell me that just because it was my fault, my choice, that I deserved it. They told me I wasn’t that person. That they saw me, they knew me, and I was so much more. They told me my life was still worth living. That I deserved to have a future. That I made their lives better. They told me that I was forgiveable, without hesitation.

To this day I have never had a plan to commit suicide again. Passive thoughts maybe, but never actually considered it.

And I have been LOW. Lower than I was even then.

Shame lives in the darkness of our hearts. It lives in secrets. It lives in avoidance. My whole life had been revolving around my secrets for months, and the shame was feeding on it.

But when I told the truth, when I faced what I saw as unforgivable, and I was met with grace, it genuinely changed me. I was able to begin to let go of the shame. I was able to begin to heal from that moment on.

Do I feel remorse for what I have done? More than I can say. The guilt I carry for the decisions I’ve made in my life, especially the last few years, has stolen a peaceful nights sleep for as far back as when it started. I experience moments when sometimes the weight of knowing the people I hurt, the depths that I sank, feels overwhelming. But the shame, the shame I don’t carry anymore.

If my family, the people who I want to make proud of me the most, the people who have the greatest reasons to be ashamed of my actions, didn’t hesitate about my worth…If my family who knows the depths of my heart, knows all of my mistakes, could look at me as someone who deserves love, forgiveness and peace, then I could start to look at myself like that too.

I have made decisions since then and fallen back into the shame mindset. I have hurt people that I deeply loved. I have ruined my reputation and caused people to mistrust my character. I have betrayed people who showed me nothing but loyalty. And the shame has crept back up at times. It has caused me to black out into different realities to avoid looking at its face. But I came back, because of love. I woke up because someone I loved so much showed up, even when I didn’t deserve it. Shame has almost killed me. Forgiveness has saved me.

Being seen by the people I cherish as more than my mistakes, has put shame back in its cage.

It’s not easy to talk about the things we do behind closed doors. The things that keep us up at night. The things that no one knows.

Being honest, being accountable, accepting that my decisions have consequences, that I have an obligation to face, is terrifying.

I know there are things I have broken that I can’t repair. There are people who will never believe I am good enough again.

But that’s part of facing shame. Realizing that when we make mistakes, it might not be ok anymore.

But shame does not live with me. It’s not even allowed in my house anymore. There are people in my life that I trust, that believe I am worthy even still. That I am worthy of forgiveness. That I am not the sum of my mistakes. That I am strong for trying to do better even when I have fallen so far.

I believe them.

I accept that my actions will cause things to fall apart that I can’t put back together. That some people won’t see me the same ever again. That some people will move on from me. But that’s what it looks like to accept ourselves.

I can’t be excepted by myself, or anyone else, unless it includes the worst things I have done.

I am still working on being better, and I’ve made alot of progress. I regret so many things that I have done and have been done to me.

But I won’t be ashamed. I am still good. I am good enough. With all of it. I can’t think anything less. I won’t make it.

I choose this radical acceptance because it keeps me alive. It keeps me trying.

I have done what I have done, but I am not my mistakes.

I’m just someone trying the best she can.