Give Yourself Beauty for Lent

                                My Cup Overflows (40 inch quilted icon)

If you are looking for a quiet and artful way to experience the Lenten season, I would like to invite you to the inaugural showing of my quilted contemporary icons. The whole 23rd Psalm icon series will be part of a prayer experience at Central Lutheran Church in downtown Mpls for three days preceding Palm Sunday, Thursday March 29 4-9 PM, Friday March 30 1-5 PM, Saturday March 31 12-4 PM

Also “My Cup Overflows” icon will be displayed at the main reception desk in the office all during Lent. Free parking; directions and church hours  www.centralmpls.org   I would love to have you experience them in this lovely cathedral-like sanctuary. Janet

A Beam of Light

A Beam of Light

My brother died recently. Not a gentle death coming at the end of a life well lived but a tough death at the end of a multi-year struggle with strokes and seizures brought on by chronic drinking. The week before he died he had a major seizure followed by heart failure at his home in a rural area of our state. He was pronounced brain dead after he was airlifted to a regional trauma center but was kept on a respirator until we were ready to release him. A dramatic and sad ending to a difficult life.

My brother suffered from the untreated disease of alcoholism, a legacy from my father. Almost every family has a member with either alcoholism or mental illness that, if untreated, wreaks havoc in the family. And since there is usually shame and judgment associated with both of these maladies, we are not very open about our experiences. In my brother’s case, he did not choose treatment or other recovery options so his disease went unchecked until it killed him.

While my brother was playing out his chaotic role in the family I was almost the complete opposite. It fell to me to be the achiever, the performer, being good and doing well. While I was not conscious of this at the time, I now know that part of my motivation for success was to camouflage the family chaos. I was not much healthier than my brother because I was caught in my achievement script, which took its toll on me as well. But my life of achievement was more rewarded by the culture. Most people would say I “made good.” My brother would have called me the “goody two-shoes” of the family. Does this sound familiar to anyone?

In my brother’s final hours, I went to the hospital to be with my sister-in-law and we were exceptionally present to my brother. We rubbed his face, arms and legs with lotion, told him we loved him (things he’d never let us do when he was conscious), told each other our favorite stories about him, recited the twenty-third Psalm, and told him he could leave and we’d be fine. We did our best to soothe him and send him on his way to the other side where he would be lovingly received and would be without pain or disease.

I was able to be present to my brother at his death because seven years earlier we had a powerful reconciliation. For much of my adult life my brother’s disease caused a major rift in our relationship. Sad stories and harsh treatment were my primary memories, and for several years we had no contact because it was too stressful. But about ten years ago I felt drawn, in prayer, to make a scrapbook for him depicting the first twenty-five years of his life, before his downward spiral. It was good for my soul to do this and it softened his heart towards me as well.

Just a few years later, when he suffered his first stroke and was semi-conscious in the hospital, I visited him and whispered in his ear all the things I wanted to say by way of forgiveness and compassion for him. Miraculously he came to and for one hour he opened the door of his heart to me. We talked about our childhood, his resolve to get help and stop drinking, and about our relationship as brother and sister. It was one of the most amazing hours of my life. What a gift he gave me, that hour of reconciliation. Then his inner door closed and we never spoke of these things again. We were in contact but did not grow closer.

Thankfully, during his last hours, I was able to be present to him compassionately because of that hour we spent together seven years ago. I had a sense of peace at the time of his actual death. We had both done what we could and it was good. I can honestly say I loved my brother and will miss him and the long family history that we shared. And because I knew that he suffered from an untreated disease I could better understand his pain, even though I still had to process my lingering anger and deep sorrow about the loss of him as a brother and how his life affected mine in negative ways.

This all leaves me with deeper questions though. I understand that he chose not to get treatment for some reason and that this decision caused him and others a lot of pain. I can also see in my life the consequences of choosing not to face my pain, so I cannot judge him too harshly. But another question arises for me. How do we find meaning in a life that seems, on the surface, to be wasted? I think of the homeless, chronic addicts, alcoholics, people with untreated mental illness, and those who are incarcerated. Ironically, I’ve worked with “marginalized” people for a long time and I’ve learned some of my best life lessons from them. I’ve learned about generosity, survival, and simplicity. They’ve taught me what is more important than security or even sanity and that is love and community. They have taught me compassion for my own brokenness. So I know you do not have to be well or sane or dry to make a difference.

But these “teachers” of mine were someone else’s brother, daughter or son, not my own brother. I didn’t see the make-a-difference things in my own brother.

In my grieving process, though, I began to open myself to a wider vision of my brother’s life and I asked God to help me see the meaning of his life. I listed my positive memories of him. I asked his best friend from childhood to tell me some good stories of his early years. At his funeral, I saw his colleagues in the military and the police force honor his thirty-four years of public service in which he continually put his life on the line. And from comments people made to the on-line obituary I saw a side of my brother I had not experienced–a humorous and generous people person.

Now I think of each life as incredibly complex, wounded and in various stages of healing, some healing accomplished here but total healing only completed on the other side. I also affirm that God gives each life worth, even if we don’t see it, and that there are beams of light that shine from each life, no matter how these lives may appear on the surface. And I know that love and community come in unexpected and unusual ways.

I may never know the full effect my brother’s life had on others. I do know our reconciliation had a profound effect on me. But I did find another beam of light in his life, a beam that helped me to be grateful that he lived. Despite not being able to save himself, my brother saved the lives of three other people; my father, who had collapsed in the water at our lake cabin, a man who had a heart attack at a party, and a man my brother dragged out of the Mississippi River after he had jumped from a bridge in a suicide attempt.

I consider that a beam of light.

Janet O. Hagberg, 2011. All rights reserved. This essay is appearing in the online journal Conversations in Spring, 2012.

Reflections on this essay

Which of your siblings or parents are you most estranged from or at odds with?

How does this effect you?

Who have you known who is like them in some way that you respect?

What one thing is redeeming about your sibling or parent?

What is one beam of light that you see shining out from your life?

How are you healing with your relationship or how do you cope with the estrangement?

Healing From Intimidation

Healing From Intimidation

 When any kind of healing occurs; spiritual, physical, emotional or mental, I consider it a gift from God. It is a cause for celebration and gratitude. I want healing yet sometimes I am fearful of it as well. So when I am aware that God gifts me with the grace of healing, I can trust it and be glad.

Healing happens in a wide variety of ways, some subtle and small, others grand. God uses the way that makes the most sense for our souls. It’s as if God tailor makes the healing once we are open to it. One of my dear friends had a healing with her dead father who had died on her third birthday. No one ever talked about him after his death and it left a large void in her life. My friend took a big risk to find out from family members about her dad, even though it was very difficult for her. Eventually she was able to go to his graveside and talk with him, leaving flowers for him as a final amen. She felt healed, and sensed mutual love and forgiveness. When I did a similar thing, visiting my mother’s grave, the first words her spirit said to me warmed my heart.  “Thanks for coming here. I’ve been waiting for you for ten years.”

Healing is hard even though it is freeing. Sometimes we have to release a lot of baggage in order to receive even the possibility for healing. We may be holding onto fear, anger, injustice, bitterness, victim hood, resentment, vindication, revenge, guilt or a host of other debilitating emotions. So our call is to do the work on our side of the issue in ways that are healing for us, even if it doesn’t always occur overtly with the other person. I believe, though, that when we truly heal, the other person can feel it on some level even if they are not fully conscious of it.

I had what felt like a spontaneous healing experience that gave me confidence that I was making progress in my inner life. I have a history of allowing intimidating people into my life and then not being able to detach from them (a story that began in childhood). In this case I had been invited to a lunch with a woman who was interested in working with me on some projects. Over the course of the lunch it became apparent to me that she was very intense and quite opinionated. She was also charismatic and persuasive. I was feeling myself being taken in by her confidence and her way of enveloping the space around us. But then I began to feel a sense of suffocation that was familiar to me. When I gave a suggestion or voiced my ideas, she didn’t acknowledge them and didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t heard me. I’ve been there before. I tried a few more times to interject some of my ideas but to no avail. I knew she would ask me to meet again and to endorse her work by joining her. I could also sense that this was a test for me. So at the end of the lunch I said, clearly but gently, that I felt her ideas were really good and that she would go a long way but that I would have to work too hard for my voice to be heard if I worked with her. I said I wasn’t up for that effort. We left our lunch and I never heard from her again. I felt free.

A more recent healing from my history of intimidation came to me in a waking dream state near an anniversary date of a sad but freeing event in my life. It was the anniversary of one of the most crucial times in my life, when I had the courage to say no to personal intimidation even though it cost me a great deal. In this recent waking dream a man had invited me to take his class, on a subject that I was not really interested in. I said I appreciated his invitation but “No, thanks.” He pursued me several times to persuade me to come. Each time I said no, that the class just didn’t fit for me right now. Again, in the dream, I saw this man at a professional event and he told my friends who were standing with me that perhaps now that I’d bumped into him I would finally be able to make a commitment to his class since I had been unable to make that commitment so far. I immediately felt intimidated, like my disinterest in his class had strangely become an issue, and that he was falsely suggesting that I was not willing to be committed.

But then there was a shift inside of me. Right there in the dream, right there in the moment, I took the time to go inside my own psyche, in front of the people standing around us. I knew that intimidating me in public was a way to up the ante, to deepen the control, because it is harder for me to disagree in public. When I went inside I found a different version of the story; my version, my truth about his intimidation. So I told my version of the story to the people around us and to him directly. In my version he would not take no for an answer even when I repeated it respectfully several times. So when he saw me in public he took the chance to shame me and to intimidate me into taking his class, thus gaining more power over me. I said I was not interested in his class and that it had nothing to do with fear of commitment. It had to do with my truth. I was clear, respectful and honest. He was shocked and he literally melted away, fading from the scene, leaving me with my friends.

I was quite amazed by this dream, particularly because I took the time, right in the moment, to go inside. My version of the story was so clear when I listened to my inner voice. I had clarity and courage right in the moment. It was another confirmation that I would recognize intimidation in the future when I experienced it and that I would not be as vulnerable to it as I had been in the past. I might be confronted with intimidating people but I knew I could trust my truth and my story—and take care of my needs. I felt as if I had been given an invisible gift of freedom from the tyranny of control. Since then I’ve had a chance to try out that newfound freedom whenever an intimidating person enters my life. I usually orchestrate an early exit or establish very clear boundaries. It works. What an incredible gift.

I wonder what other invisible gifts God has in store for me?

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

When have you experienced a spontaneous thawing or reconciliation of a conflict?

What work had you done on your side of the issue in advance if any?

How have dreams had an impact on your relationships or your work?

How do you deal with intimidation or control, either yours or others?

What is a chronic vulnerability you are working on healing?

What impact does this healing have on your life?

Weeping May Tarry for the Night, but Joy Comes With the Morning

Weeping May Tarry for the Night, but Joy Comes With the Morning. Psalm 30:5

This is one of my favorite icon images. It feels like the story of my life! An icon is like a window to God. We are drawn in by the image or color or meaning. As we move more deeply into the image we come closer to God. Indulge in this image and let God find you in it. If you are drawn to this verse and icon I am now selling these six inch icons (each made differently in the choice of two color families, blue/green/purple or red/orange/yellow). They take me six hours to create and are hand quilted so they are a work of love. If you are interested contact me at Janet@janethagberg.com  They are $48.00 plus tax and shipping, which includes a 20% discount for readers of this blog…

Reflections on this icon image:

What wakes you up in the night and brings you to tears or the thought of tears?

What sweet ways has God been present to you during the night in difficult times?

What meaning does the word tarry (or linger or endure) have for you?

What joy has come for you in the morning light?

Where do you find God in the joys of your life?

Forgiveness is a Process

Forgiveness Is a Process

Forgiving may be the most difficult task in our lives. To forgive, we have to let go of our resentments, our need to be right or to be vindicated or to see justice done. Forgiveness moves us from justice to mercy. But once we have been wronged, our hurt urges us to seek revenge, or at least vindication. It is the human response. Only when we approach forgiveness as a calling, as a holy process that heals our souls, do we find an approach that really heals us.

Writing about forgiveness reminds me of South Africa in the aftermath of apartheid, when Bishop Desmond Tutu launched a process that helped heal an entire nation, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The commission’s first step was to listen to the stories of those who had been hurt, even tortured, and to the stories of those who had done the torturing. In any process of healing and forgiveness, this step is essential so we don’t inadvertently skip over the pain in an effort to forgive.

Forgiving too soon or too easily doesn’t work. It just reinforces passiveness. And for some people, passiveness may have some connection to being hurt in the first place.

Telling Our Stories, but Not Getting Stuck in Them

Grief psychologists suggest that we need to tell our grief story many times before we are ready to move on. Grief and hurt are similar, and it is equally important to tell the story of what has hurt us and then to affirm with certainty that we did not deserve it. These are central truths in the healing process.

Sometimes our hurt is from a specific event or a careless word, a slight or a deliberate act of unkindness. Other times our hurt is deeper, as are the debilitating hurts from childhood, divorce, sexual assault, abuse or criminal acts perpetrated against us. Coming to see the truth of what has hurt us can take years, since enormous fear and denial are involved, and we tend to surround our hurts with silence. This process of uncovering our pain most often begins at a time of change in our lives or at midlife, when some seemingly unconnected event surprises us and we start to unravel our secrecy.

I remember watching my own family silence unravel and seeing for the first time the dark side of my family. My first inkling that something was amiss came when I separated from a business partner because of his addictive behaviors, only to see in therapy that his behavior was familiar to me. I traced my history back to other addicted bosses and ultimately back to my father. In my family, I learned to live with addicted men, to apologize for them, to cover for them, to keep the silence and to suffer alone.

A lunch conversation with my cousin left a lasting impression on me and changed the way I viewed my family. He told me that my father was an alcoholic and that he had a religious conversion the year I was born. This explained why there was no liquor in our home throughout my childhood, and it explained his anger and unpredictability—the behavior of the unhealed addict. It was a truth that had been missing from my family story, and without that truth I had no way to heal. The truth will set us free, but finding the truth can be painful.

As important as telling our story is, it is equally important to know when we have told our story enough and are ready to move forward. It is easy to get stuck in the storytelling stage because of the relief we feel when someone will listen. We can become so identified with our stories that we cannot move beyond them and become victims or martyrs, getting our energy from the sympathy our story elicits. We can even get comfortable in that victim place. Our culture seems to feed victimization, even sensationalize it. And being a victim saves us from having to take responsibility for our lives.

Taking Responsibility for Our Part of the Story

Personal responsibility is vital to the forgiveness process, yet it is a delicate endeavor, and it is particularly difficult to write about because asking a person to take responsibility can easily be confused with blaming the victim. Yet we will never gain back our power if we do not see how we could have acted differently on our own behalf.

Claiming our power is central to the healing and the forgiveness process. Let me give an example to illustrate the fine line between blaming oneself and taking responsibility. As a child living with a dry drunk, I could not confront him or ask my mother for help. I did not know enough, nor was I assertive enough to do either, and the culture in those days offered very few resources I could have drawn on. So I don’t blame the little girl I was for not stopping the behavior.

But now that I am grown and have been involved, on one level or another, with numerous addicted men and with a variety of abusive behavior, I do not need to repeat that pattern and then blame the people who continue to hurt me, any more than I need to blame myself for being vulnerable to them. They are repeating their own family patterns, which connect with my family pattern. They are in my life because I attract them subconsciously to play out my father’s part. The gift that having them in my life gives me is that I can now see the pattern and do the inner work of healing from the abuse (which is a lifelong venture), and then recognize and set appropriate boundaries in the future. My responsibility is to see that I am not only vulnerable to these people, but that I am drawn to them because they are so familiar.

The concepts that resonate most strongly with me in this healing process are remorse and compassion. First I need to feel remorse and then let that remorse create sincere compassion. For example, at the meeting with my addicted business partner when he invited me to work with him, he showed all the behavior I know now to be addicted behavior; he was charismatic, manipulative, controlling, suave and a little too smooth.

Today, I can imagine that meeting and stop myself at the point where I am charmed and ready to move into the partnership. So now I can let myself feel deep remorse for the decision I actually made as a younger woman. “Don’t do it,” I can say to my younger self. “Don’t do it. You’ll be so sorry.” But of course my younger self did go forward. So I sit with the remorse of that decision and feel it deeply. It is my responsibility that I said yes. No one made me do it. My intention was to get security and recognition. As it turned out, I paid a high price for those intentions.

Then I move to compassion for the young woman I was. She didn’t know enough. She was vulnerable financially. She wanted to have what he offered her. She had not healed from her family system. She is still a part of me. What I have to do is forgive myself as well as the other person, and forgiving myself first helps me make better decisions about the other person. Then, if I want to complete the healing process, I can reconstruct the scene, either in my imagination or with another person, and say what I wish I had had the courage to say the first time. In this case, I applaud his idea, thank him for his interest in me and sincerely refuse the offer.

Moving Forward through the Challenges of Forgiveness

One truth about forgiveness, which I’ve learned the hard way, is that, no matter what you do, there is no guarantee that the person you forgive will change. This means that the most important part of the process is what you do with yourself. It is the only part of the process you have any control over, and what you do for yourself makes more of an impact on your psyche and your soul than on anyone else’s. So if you are writing a letter or meeting with someone who has hurt you and you are assuming that telling your story will earn you an apology, you are likely to be disappointed. But if you do it to heal your soul and take new responsibility for your life, it will make a lasting impression on you.

I have been in the habit for the last several years of writing letters to people with whom I have unfinished business, people I need to forgive, people I want to forgive me. It is a spiritual process for me, involving prayer and soul searching. I try to write what I call clean letters, not blaming or expecting a response, not jabbing at the person, however subtly.

My letters are made up of four parts: The first part is a statement of my purpose in writing; the second part is a positive and true statement about our relationship; the third is a summary of my part in the problem or what I brought that was part of the misunderstanding; and the last part is an expression of my gratitude to the person receiving my letter and a reminder that I don’t expect a response. These letters take me quite a while to write and I usually have a friend read them to spot subtle jabs that I did not see. (see sample at the end of this essay)

I send most of these letters, but some I don’t. In those cases, it is just enough to write them. It is the process of writing alone that frees me and helps me to forgive. I’ve found that acknowledging my own part in our difficulty, even if I don’t name it directly, is a public statement of forgiveness for myself.

When I can acknowledge the good in our relationship and my own part in the difficulty, the other person’s heart is often touched and opened, and when people do respond we stand a good chance of healing, and the other person often talks about his or her part in the problem.

In the case of my business partner, I had moved through the process of forgiveness, even acknowledging my gratitude for the issues between us that had started me on a journey toward healing my family issues. Several years later, we happened to meet at a wedding. We chatted for a few minutes and he said, with a smile, “There’s been a lot of water over the dam since then.” I smiled and agreed, and in my heart I knew we had forgiven one another. We were not friends, but we didn’t need to be. I felt the issue was closed.

Forgiving Too Soon

Some people wait eons to consider forgiveness and others forgive too soon, perhaps wanting to be back in relationship, or to overcome shame or guilt. They risk their own safety or self-esteem by reaching out too soon. We can be more interested in reconciliation than in our own safety and so give up our very essence to our relationships. This seems especially true when we deal with family members.

Parents are vulnerable to the estrangement of children, and the road back from estrangement can be as difficult as the original estrangement. To heal these disconnections with our children, we have to relinquish our identity as parents only to see it resurrected in a different way as part of our new, healed identity. It takes time, support, compassion and wisdom. And it is a journey worth taking.

Relinquishing is necessary if we are to get to a healthier place. I call it offering up the relationship on the altar of God’s unconditional love. It is a deeply spiritual process in which we trust God more than we trust ourselves and we let go of what we think will make us happy or what we think will make us look good. We look carefully at our underlying intentions—and we either laugh or groan. We just ask to heal, no matter what we have to give up in the process. It is excruciating but freeing, since we have to face up to our own inner, unhealed places in the process. But it brings the healing we are seeking, and that healing sets us free.

The End Results of the Forgiveness Process

Forgiveness will not always result in full reconciliation. Sometimes when we forgive, true compassion means not being involved in each other’s lives, either for the time being or ever. It can be the healthiest thing to do, the most loving to do. At other times, we can see one another and be civil, even friendly, but not be as close as we were before. This is the level of involvement former marriage partners usually reach.

In some cases, we can be family or friends again but agree not to talk about issues that we know are painful and unlikely to mend. The best-case outcome is that we both work on our issues internally and no longer project our pain onto the other person. In that deep healing stance, we may be able to transform the old relationship into something new and mature. This takes work on the part of both people and is a long-term process. It is a miracle and a graced experience, a distinct inner change that both people feel. But forgiveness short of this is also a graced experience, and one to be cherished.

Any level of forgiveness is deeply satisfying and eases physical symptoms as well as mental, emotional and spiritual distress. Forgiveness is a gift that, once received, is contagious. Forgiving even once makes us want more. But forgiveness lasts longer if it includes self-forgiveness, just as compassion for ourselves allows us to feel compassion for others.

Forgiveness is a spiritual process, and praying, seeking the assistance of a friend or a spiritual mentor and listening to our own hearts will all help us know when and how to forgive.

Ó Janet O. Hagberg, 2005. All rights reserved.

Reflecting on this essay:

1. Do you have any ruptured relationships that you are drawn to heal? Who? Why now?

2. What step in the process seems the most difficult for you? Why?

3. Have you been able to tell your story, forgive yourself and feel compassion? Explain.

4. Have you ever written an amends letter? If you have, what happened for you? For the relationship?

5. What is your wish for yourself in this healing process?

6. Where is God in your healing process?

 

Sample amends letter:

Dear

I am writing to you because I think enough time has passed and enough healing has occurred since our difficult supervision experience so that we both have a broader perspective. I’m imagining that the situation was as difficult and stressful for you as it was for me.

 I am most sorry that we could not find a way to work out our issues within the supervision relationship. For my part, I know that I was quite vulnerable at the time so I did not bring my best self to the situation and for that I am sorry. I realize we may both have experienced more stress as a result. Please forgive me for that.

Within the larger context of my life, this experience and the subsequent events were an incredible learning experience and a key ingredient in my journey towards interior deepening. That is not to say that I would want to repeat the experience but that I am grateful that it precipitated a turning point on my sacred journey. And because I believe that nothing is coincidence I have come to see this experience as a God moment, or as my spiritual director would say, “it reeked of God.”

 All this to say that I am sorry for whatever pain this whole experience caused you and I pray that you felt the presence of God in the midst of the situation and God’s grace subsequently in your life.

 I am not expecting a response to this letter. It just seemed time to share these sentiments with you.

 All my regards,

Janet

Dear Subscribers

I received a strong positive response to the essay, Anatomy of Estrangement and Reconciliation. Thanks for speaking up and saying it made you feel “sane.” So for the next month or so I’m going to send essays that describe some healing processes, and to keep it from being too heavy, I’ll send along some beauty and a piece on winter calm.

I hope that you all know how much I appreciate your willingness to be with me on this journey. The two essays, the one on estrangement and this next one on forgiveness are longer than usual because they are from my e-Book called Living Into the Light that is available for download from my web site www.janethagberg.com

Janet

Dear Subscribers

A Pile of Debris, poem. OK, pilot error. It’s usually pilot error when I’m involved. In the post you got Monday I forgot to alert you to the fact that you needed to click on the title of the poem, A Pile of Debris, in your email in order to access the blog site and the audio/video of me reading the poem. If you tossed the email you can go to the blog site to hear the poem. atriversedge.wordpress.com

So here’s what I wish I would have said:-), “If you are reading this on email, you can click on the title of the poem (above) and listen to me reading the poem on my blog web page.” And thanks for your patience.

Janet

A Pile of Debris

My brother and I had a brief reconciliation in which we reconnected and talked about our early family life. We got to a point of being able to talk to one another but in truth we never found a way to really be brother and sister. We loved one another but did not “like” one another. But it was, in the end, better than the estrangement we had experienced for about fifteen years. When he died I wrote an essay about how I learned to redeem his life of chronic alcoholism–and therefore part of my own. It’s called A Beam of Light. I will share that on the blog in the future.

Reflections on this poem:
How does this poem resonate with you–recognizing any pile of debris from your family?
Where are the glimmers of hope for you in your healing of family issues?
How has God been present to you on this journey?

Taste and See

Dear Subscribers,

I am offering (with two of my friends) an afternoon of nurturing on January 30 for those of you who could use some spiritual nourishment. Here’s the announcement.  I hope to see a few of you there:-)

Taste & See

Waking Up To Shame

Waking Up to Shame

When I am going through a rough time in my life and I am vulnerable to my inner demons, their most opportune time to attack is either when I am going to sleep or when I first wake up in the morning. Usually the morning furies are the worst. I may have had a bad dream or I remember something I am afraid of or something difficult I need to do. I start feeling inadequate, hopeless or unlovable in that early morning corridor to the day. When I start down that path I am more vulnerable to depression or anxiety. It can easily spiral downward in a dangerous descent.

I’ve learned to recognize this toxic place now and call it by its name: shame. When I am in a tough place I know I am more vulnerable to attacks of shame. Shame is not just about having a bad day, it is about being a bad person. It is a mistaken belief that I am inadequate, misshapen, unlovable, or beyond repair. We all carry shame, although some of us are not conscious of it. We usually try to conceal it with false self-esteem, or by trying to please people, work harder, blame others, or control our lives.

We connect with our shame when we have experiences that remind us we are not living up to expectations or when we are compared to others. For example, we are not good enough parents, we are not loved or lovable, not smart enough, not slim enough. I felt enormous shame when I was running an organization that focused on healing people and marriages and I could not heal my own marriage. I felt I did not deserve to be leading this organization. When I left the marriage and later was asked to teach a course at a seminary, I was invited to first interview with the dean to discuss my divorce. More shame. Since I had felt that God was instrumental in leading me out of my marriage, this interview compounded my shame.

Where do we get this shame? Oh, its insidious tentacles come from many sources. Our culture prescribes who and how we are to be in order to be successful. So if we do not measure up; if we are not as healthy, athletic, or wealthy as the image projected to us, we can feel shame. If we are compared to anyone else, especially siblings, and we come up short, we can feel shame. If we are parents and our kids do not perform well or they are estranged we can feel we’ve failed. Or if we do not adequately provide for our families shame can cripple us. A quick way to connect with your shame is to observe when you or others might say, “You ought to be ashamed,” or to think of the parts of your life you would not want publicly known.

Unfortunately the church, where we might want to go for solace in our shame, many times either does not address shame or adds to it, in some instances, by harsh teachings on sin and inadequacy. My healing of this religious shame came when I experienced the Extended Ignatian Exercises, an inner journey through the life of Jesus developed by St. Ignatian in the 16th century. In his wise counsel with God, Ignatius started the exercises with the Principle and Foundation, upon which he based all of the rest of the teachings. Principle and Foundation is essentially that we were created to find ourselves in God. And God loves us unconditionally. God created us in God’s image, and knew us in the womb. We can release all else that we cling to because our souls are drawn to God.

Yes, like Adam and Eve, we have fallen from that grace; we sin, we disappoint. But God is always there to heal and reconcile us. When I began to experience that love I was fortified enough to approach my shame. I felt that deep love directly when I was in a dark time in my life and I would awaken consistently about three o’clock AM. God attended sweetly to me, gave me images of hope, brought angels to soothe me, and built up my courage to make difficult choices.

We begin to feel God’s love when we allow God to penetrate our center, our souls. We can start by noticing any moments when we are in contact with that someone beyond ourselves. Then we can let God take root in our daily lives. If I can imagine God loving me like a wise grandparent or an adult friend, I can develop the courage to come closer to my own wounds and ask God to heal me from my shame and self-neglect. It gives me hope for my despair and a new way through my shame.

This slow change, from shame to love, was difficult because I had gotten used to shame. But I found that naming and embracing shame, by speaking and writing about it, slowly turned it into honor; honor of my truths, honor from my creator, honor of my life path of healing. It no longer ruled me or controlled my life. A deeper truth prevailed.

I still feel shame and I still wake up vulnerable to it when I am in a tough place. What helps me most in those early morning hours, is to invite Jesus into the shame with me. When I embrace myself in bed and rest my hand and wrist on my sternum, near my heart, it feels like Jesus is embracing me. I ask myself, “Who loves me?” I start with God and move to those whose faces light up when I enter a room. I often hear God speaking soothingly as I finish that list. Then I slowly recite Psalm 121, which I have now memorized, so I don’t have to get out of bed to read it. By the time I’ve completed that ritual, I’m usually calm enough to get up and my demons are usually weary enough to go back to sleep.

The Psalm goes like this: “I will lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He will not let my foot be moved. He who keeps me will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is my keeper. The Lord is my shade on my right hand. The sun shall not smite me by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep me from all evil; he will keep my life. The Lord will keep my going out and my coming in from this time forth and for evermore.”

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
Psalm 121 is from the NRSV

Reflections on this essay
When are your demons most active during the day?

What issues arouse your shame?

How does this affect you?

How do you experience God’s unconditional love?

How do you counter your shame?