Falling with shame

and the courage and compassion to stand again

I have been wanting to write here for some time - wanting to reach out and say Hi, I’m still here, how are you? Wanting to update you on my writings and makings. Wanting to share what I’ve been going through and learning.

But the words haven’t come.

Which has scared me a little. What if they’re gone - the words? What if I can’t do this anymore? But what has scared me more is the voice that answers I don’t care.

Yesterday while listening to Brene Brown on an old favourite podcast episode of We Can Do hard Things, I realised that the fall I took after Find Your Way was published was harder on me than I dared admit: to myself or anyone else. When the book didn’t spread as far and sell as many copies as I’d hoped it knocked me sideways and I never really got back up.

A snap statewide lockdown 3 days out from my FYW launch party in May 2021 kicked off my descent. I remember fearing at the time this was a sign - the kind that every writer dreads. I was devastated we weren’t able to publicly announce and celebrate the birth of my book. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the social ban made it hard for me to get books onto shelves and be seen, but the stores weren’t open anyway so buying online meant my website was the only portal.

My lack of marketing nous and budget didn’t do much to help, as I scrambled to make posts and emails that would sell my self-published book. Was publishing this book myself a mistake? Was writing this book an even bigger mistake? I couldn’t help but wonder.

By September my old pals self-doubt and fear were wreaking havoc on my self-worth and I reached out with great hope and trepidation to a book distributor in Sydney to see if they would carry my book. Surely once they saw it and read it they’d say yes…

But on a Friday late in October I had my answer. The only book distributor in Australia had declined to accept and stock my book. In their words:

“The assessment found that the size of the book itself is not an ideal size, that bookstores would not purchase the title because there is no easy way to display the book. Please note that this feedback is from trusted and experienced bookstore buyers.”

Woah. Talk about a kick in the guts. Not only was the size ‘wrong’ and therefore difficult to display, the book would likely not be purchased. And this valuable feedback was from the so-called book-gods: trusted and experienced bookstore buyers.

My book, according to them, didn’t have a hope in hell of being stocked let alone sold.

Even though my logical rational experienced book-reading mind knows that books come in all sizes and thicknesses - I happen to have at least 30 books on my beloved bookcase that share the same dimensions as FYW - the damage was done.

My worst fear and greatest nightmare had come true: this book that had come through years of suffering and struggling with physical pain, breast cancer and all the usual challenges of being human, that I had spent hours and weeks and months putting into heartfelt words and coherent chapters - a work that I hoped would encourage and support many - was destined to remain a dream.

I felt foolish. Stupid. And wrong - for trying and for holding the dream in the first place.

Since then I made various attempts to pick myself up - pages of raw journaled emotion followed by the applied wisdom from FYW helped me to regroup and keep posting and keep celebrating the sales I did make through my website and the beautiful support of local stockist Elle of Organise My. But the feelings of disappointment, failure and shame grew.

Even putting my energy and enthusiasm toward the other love of my life - journaling and encouraging people to practice - didn’t revive me.

As you know I took a break from social media back in September last year. My initial apprehension turned into relief and the much-needed space to explore what I wanted to do with my words and my work has given me some clarity and time to spend writing - working on a book about journaling as an antidote to self-abandonment.

But the stain of shame and fear of a repeat performance has all but immobilised me. No wonder the words haven’t come - here or easily to my manuscript.

I now recognise thanks to Brene Brown and her brilliant book Rising Strong that I may have partially risen after the fall from FYW but my stance was wobbly at best.

In Chapter 10 she shares a personal story of a monumental moment in her career that brought her to face and address the very thing she’d been researching and speaking about for the past ten years. A moment that brought up feelings of embarrassment, rage, fear, smallness and the dreaded shame she had invested so much time studying in others.

She realised while sharing her reaction with her therapist that her proposed calculated response to a shame-inducing email was self-harming, bridge-burning and not at all in line with what her research had taught her.

As she admits on page 231:

A decade of studying shame had taught me the value of doing the one thing that felt scariest and most counterintuitive - I had to speak shame. I had to say this out loud…

Starting with the words “I have such shame about”, Brene reveals the honest truth about what she felt as a result of the email in which her professionality was attacked.

Reading Brene’s words and recognising the courage it took to ‘speak shame’ has brought me back to Substack and to wanting to find the words to share with you here.

My version of speaking shame goes like this:

I have such shame about wanting to write and publish self-help books. Who am I to be a writer? What do I know? I’m not a counsellor, or psychologist or therapist! Who cares about my experiences and what I’ve learnt from them? There are plenty of legitimate voices out there already doing this work so why would I bother? It’s all been said before. My work has no value. My voice is not worth listening to. So why don’t I just cut my losses and find something else to do with my time and energy!

And…let’s breathe. In…and then slowly out.

I know how self-deprecating that reads and feels. Its hard to admit to it and speak it. And equally hard to hear from another. But that’s the nature of shame.

As Brene says on p275:

Shame derives its power from being unspeakable. That’s why it loves perfectionists- we’re so easy to keep quiet. If we cultivate enough awareness about shame to name it and speak to it, we’ve basically cut it off at the knees. Just the way exposure to light was deadly for Gremlins, language and story bring light to shame and destroy it.

So that’s what I’m doing here - bringing my shame to the light through language and the telling of my story so that I can destroy it. It has done way to much damage to self-worth, self-belief and self-confidence this past couple of years.

I know there will still be fear as I work on this next project, but it is different to shame, and we converse often: the fear knows it is welcome but it is not at liberty to make creative decisions. I accept it is a part of me and know it will speak the loudest when I am about to take a risk - whether that’s in being vulnerable* by sharing with you here, or taking steps to fulfil my big picture dream of publishing my own signature journal series.

The fear wants to keep me safe - an honourable plight. But the shame wants me believe and feel I am small, bad, wrong, unwanted, unworthy and isolated.

In her most recent book, Atlas of the Heart, Brene confirms on page138 what I had been feeling and practicing for some time:

Self-compassion is often the first step to healing shame - we need to be kind to ourselves before we can share our stories with someone else.

This is what happens when I journal. I take my emotional pain to the page and along comes the voice of compassion soothing me with the gifts of acknowledgement, unconditional acceptance and the kindness that comes from the universal heart of humanity and the lifeforce that is love.

What’s so interesting to note is that even though my self-compassion has increased a great deal over this past two years, I knew there was still a deficit and the growing need to apply it to my ongoing chronic gut issue and the suffering I experience with it pretty much every day.

I use the word ‘suffering’ very deliberately: I am aware of what my mind does with the information that I am bloated again, distended again, in pain again, constipated again. I suffer due to the wishing for it to be different and better than what it is. I am arguing with the present and the reality, rather than accepting the truth of the present circumstance. It doesn’t mean I have to like it - it means I stop denying it, resisting it or pretending it’s not happening.

Self-compassion is the way to accept it and myself as I am.

What has ensued is my enrolment and just this week completion of an 8 week online Mindful Self-Compassion course run by the beautifully wise, kind and skilled retreat leader and teacher Maggie O’Shea. The timing of which I couldn’t have orchestrated any better if I tried.

We went deep for two and a half hours each week, plus a half day retreat, learning, practicing, experiencing and sharing on the science, physiology, pathways and process of mindful self-compassion. It was hard and wonderful and painful and enlightening. Powerful. And instrumental in bringing me back to myself where true belonging and unconditional love naturally reside.

All that I gained from this course and have learnt with Maggie on her retreats would take up a whole other post - or five. But one thing that really struck me was this:

Compassion is not an emotion - it is a motive and orientation to being wise and kind.

And that self-compassion is not practiced to change the suffering or make the difficult feelings go away: it’s an allowing. A moving closer to what is hard and painful, kindly accepting it, giving it the space and presence it deserves - just like we do with a friend in despair.

This depth of understanding and recent experience of mindful self-compassion, coupled with what I now know about shame and shame resilience from Brene Brown, has helped me find my voice and my words, and ultimately the healing I didn’t realise I desperately needed in order to dust myself off, stand up and get back in the arena - with my whole heart.

As Brene says in her introduction:

The truth is that falling hurts. The dare is to keep being brave and feel your way back up.

And what I want to say here, now, is that with compassion and courage I can look back and see the path FYW has taken and the journey it took me on, and know that my worth is not based on how many books I have sold; my creativity is not bad or wrong for making a book that size; and my value is in who I am not what I do or produce.

The struggle to feel worthy of love and belonging is a universal human theme.

Shame will try to knock us all down and keep us there. But if we can find the courage to speak up to it and the compassion to give to ourselves then we can find our way to standing strong again.

*As you probably know Brene Brown has researched and written extensively about vulnerability - see her many books, Ted talks, or listen to her podcast called Unlocking Us, or any of her great interviews. She says that vulnerability is not weakness but our most accurate measure of courage. But I feel compelled to also share this from her:

Our stories are not meant for everyone. Hearing them is a privilege, and we should always ask ourselves this before we share: "Who has earned the right to hear my story?"

I have decided to share my story with you here because of the work I am dedicated to and the way I move through life: as someone who sees life as a journey to learn from who then wants to help others with their journey - the seeker and the sage in action.

I know this is a somewhat public forum but it is contained and consists of new and old family and friends and readers of FYW - a community which I believe is based on mutual respect and shared humanity. A community I trust my stories with. So thank you, with all my heart for being here.

Love and gratitude,

Gena x