Edible Shame

There are moments where everything I’ve ever done wrong replays through my mind like a film that won’t stop rolling. Every mistake, every word I let slip out of anger or fear or pain. Every time I reacted instead of responded.

And when it happens, I can’t seem to catch a full breath. It’s like shame sits heavy on my chest, pressing down until it hurts to even look in the mirror. I know logically that who I am isn’t defined by those moments, that I am more than my reactions, more than my worst stretch of time…but when it floods back, it’s hard to believe that.

There’s a four-month window of my life that I keep revisiting in my mind, wishing I could rewrite it. I know the version of me then was hurting and scared. I know I was trying to protect myself in all the wrong ways. But still, I can’t shake the guilt.

I’m trying to learn what self-forgiveness actually looks like. Not the kind that erases what happened, but the kind that lets me keep moving without dragging it like a chain behind me. Maybe it’s about seeing myself with more truth. I was human. I was learning. I was in pain. I didn’t always know what to do with it.

And here’s the thing, the guilt and shame don’t just come when they’re justified. They show up when I stand up for myself too. When I try to speak up or advocate for my own needs. Especially when I have to do it from a place that’s easy for others to dismiss because of the stigma around mental health, even within the mental health community itself.

It’s like the client always has to be the one in the wrong, the one who overreacted, while the therapist gets to stay in the role of “the helper.” But let’s be honest, most situations involve mistakes from both people. There’s side one, side two, and somewhere in between lies the truth. I try to share with that in mind, to stay as close to the truth as I can get. Knowing my lens shapes it, and that no one person’s perspective can ever hold the full, unbiased story.

But still, I’m hurting. Hurting from the lack of accountability on the professional’s end. Hurting from being blamed when I was already breaking. It puts me in loops, questioning whether it really was my fault. Even when I know deep down it wasn’t, the loop finds its way back, over and over. And I end up exhausted from the crying, from the mental Olympics, from the anger I don’t want to feel.

And then comes the question that wrecks me the most:

Am I a monster trying to convince myself I’m a good person, or a good person trapped in the feeling of being a monster?

I don’t know. Some days it feels like I’m on a merry-go-round that won’t stop spinning. Shame, guilt, self-doubt, round and round they go. And right now, I hate myself. I hate that I can’t find solid ground inside of me. I hate that it feels like nobody will ever believe me, even when I’m speaking the truth as best as I can.

Maybe that’s the cruelest part, feeling unseen and unworthy at the same time.

Author’s Note:

This one hurts to post. It’s messy and I don’t have clarity yet. But maybe that’s what healing actually looks like sometimes, not the clean version, just the honest one.