I carry the shame

Of the impoverished upbringings of my parents. Abuse and neglect. I can’t wear stained or torn of illfitting clothes when I leave the house. We don’t do that.

I carry the shame 

Of the unwanted weight on my body.

Not maintaining my appeal for men and equally, for caring what anyone thinks of me, especially men.

I carry the shame 

Of not fixing my anxiety

Of passing it on to my child

Of not being enough.

I carry the shame 

Of staying stuck

Of not rising, using my talents for more.

Of not burning brightly like they all say I can.

I live my shame within my large body 

In the darkness of pain and of blame.

It is embodied in my name.

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    1. This is why I know I need to write my most “shameful” truths. So that other people can relate and feel a little better about feeling bad. I just doubled my anti-anxiety meds yesterday because I’m worth not always feeling that way. We have eachothers backs Miss Cindy!

  1. You are an example of rising above it. You don’t, I hope, have to carry that weight forever. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You are a light for the rest of us and for the world. Stand tall – you are making it better for those behind us. XO I/we believe in you. Thank you.

    1. It is so wonderful to know that my oldest blogging friend keeps her eye on me. Yes, I am leading by example and I know it’s not my fault and I would love to escape from shame’s tendrils eventually. I remember many things you’ve said. Thank you for saying them.

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