The Cloak of Shame

Guilt and shame are worthless emotions. They siphon energy into a spiraling, self-wallowing pool, that fills and fills until you're either submerged and drowning in it, or you're smart enough to dive down and open the drain. I've given up on both options, and tend to let go of my mistakes more quickly than I ever used to. It's not that I don't feel the sensation of shame. I'm just not going to let it ruin my day.

In general, as a rule, I try to live my life by this principal: I try not to do anything that I can't be completely honest about - with myself or others. I journal everyday, and if I weren't able to write something down (for fear that it might eventually be discovered), well, that's a huge sign I seriously fucked up. By the same token, I write this blog, and have regular and open conversations with my friends about my life and journey, the lessons I'm learning, and my spiritual growth. If there were something which I had to hide from them or from my readers, again, it must have been bad. Those occurrences are very few and far between, but, I am not perfect. I sometimes screw up living by my own standards. I, at times, am a huge hypocrite. It is at these moments when I feel I am "Cloaked In Shame."

I can't remember from which incident I first coined that term, but several come to mind. Like the time when my band, Mad Love, was playing at a local VFW. Low pressure show, no huge audience or anything... there to hone our chops and have fun. One of my bandmates and I decided on a shot and a beer before the show. Tequila, was our choice that night. The bartender poured, and I thought it looked like a pretty tall shot... but my friend swilled hers down without blinking, and so I followed suit. I was debuting a cover song that night - a rap, thick with words and articulation - that I had been wanting to perform for years. We were saving it for a later set.

By the time that song came up, I was all the way in the bag. I'm not sure how I was still standing - maybe because I was able to sway from side to side, the drunkard's ditty, and keep my balance that way. Regardless, I was FAR from being able to sing - let alone rap, fast-paced, spitting out all those consonants. The performance TANKED! Big time - definitely the worst show of my life. In fact, it was so bad, that most of the band members left that night without even saying anything to me - a first, and a last (thank God). To make matters worse, I somehow decided to drive myself home, bawling hysterically the whole way. When I got home (by the good graces of angels above), I ran to the bathroom, blinded by my own tears. My then-husband heard me crying, hurried to the bathroom, took one look at me and said, horrified, "Oh my God, Emily! What happened to your face?? Did someone punch you??" I turned to the mirror, confused... and saw that I had been crying so hard, I had a massive bloody nose running down my chin. Cloaked-In-Shame.

Another famous episode was Halloween Eve, 2006. I had suffered a brutal breakup that fall, and was completely out of my mind, body and spirit. I had lost tons of weight from my already small frame. I was in the deepest depths of depression, after being cheated on and lied to and manipulated by my ex. I had to be hospitalized, and on suicide watch. As hard as it is for me to write that, ironically enough, that's not the shameful part of this story. It was, again, at a show - a pre-Halloween show which I performed at only a day or two out of the loony bin. It took some energy to feign normality, but everyone knew I was just not well. I had a drink or two that night, but nothing in excess. Yet, still, somehow, I managed to pass out on stage - falling backwards into the drum riser. Horrified and humiliated, I ran to the green room, laid down on the couch there, crying, and covering my face like a child. I was driven home by our two new back-up singers, who had only just recently met me. Lord, what they must have thought? I hid, lying down on the way-back seat in my new friend's minivan, crying the whole way home. Cloaked-In-Shame.

There are so many other stories that keep rushing to mind: fights with family members, sexcapades with men in relationships, my thieving episodes from teenage-hood, lies I've told... I have many things to feel ashamed about. Sometimes, these memories come out of nowhere, and I find that I start talking or singing out loud to myself when they do - a defense mechanism to sort of drown-out the thoughts. I don't know that shame ever really goes away entirely. We just compartmentalize, and move on as best as we can, knowing there's no way to go back and erase those things from the history books. And, even if we could, would we? Aren't our mistakes also a valuable part of our personal evolutions? I can try to look at it that way, and give thanks for the lessons I've learned... but for some other incidences, even years later, the sting of guilt still has a sharp bite on my soul.

I liken the Cloak of Shame to Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. A massively huge cape that encircles your entire being - but no one can see it, except for you. No one really knows these scars I wear and bear throughout my life. As I "slap on the happy," I brilliantly disguise the terrible embarrassment with terrific accomplishments, self-confidence and an eagerness to repent for these unsung sins by helping others, trying my best to have a more positive effect on the world and lives around me.

And when I commit these grand lapses in judgments, betraying myself and my values, and causing direct or indirect harm on others, while I don the Cloak, I know that the best course of action is to reflect upon how I could have done things differently, and strive always to make better choices in the future. No need to wallow. No need to spin on it. Acknowledge, bless and let it go, as best as you can. After all, everyone - and I mean every one - makes mistakes.

(But let's try to make less and less from here on out, 'kay?)