I guess I'm in the former camp. I believe that I am a good person. Sure, I've lied. I've cheated. I stole. But the world is like this: we break hearts and we get our heart broken. Life is about the scars and tears as well as the praise and pleasures. But somehow, when it's time to take our lumps, it easy always so easy to swallow.
I ended last week by writing a hurried email checking in with an old friend to see if I could stay with her for a few nights in Philly during my return to the USA for a conference in April. I considered the email more of a formality than a request. Of course, she'll be delighted to see me. Of course, she had an extra room; I might as well make myself at home. I didn't even think twice when it took my usually punctual friend three days to response to very simple and direct email.
When she finally replied, her response was shocking. Apparently, during my time spent at her New Years party, I acted so foolishly that offended many of her close friends. The weekend I requested to stay, the same group of friend was getting together for a housewarming party, and my dear friend told me that my presence would not be welcomed. In fact, I'd left such a bad tastes in their mouths that my presence at such an even would make everyone uncomfortable.
As I read the email, tear uncontrollably rolled down my eyes. I had no idea I had been so cruel. I had no idea I made people feel so uncomfortable. The idea of it, to be so awkward and threatening and evil as not be be accepted by a large group of like-minded individuals hit all those hot buttons inside my ego: self-doubt, insecurity, remorse, and of course - shame.
I was persona non grata as far as she was concerned, and there was very little I could do, save for apologize, that would put me back in her good graces. I tried to handle the situation with as much dignity as I could muster, but the whole ordeal left me feeling desperate, sad, and shallow for 36 hours. My mind raced with the Ghosts of Questions Past:
Could I really have done all that? I am capable of being so unliked? Why can't I just act mature and grow up? Where were my manners and self-respect that night? What did I do?
At hour 16, post-email, I read this article my husband sent me, had heeded the words of affirmation from my best friend (reassuring me that indeed, I was a great person) and had sailed roughly through the denial and anger Stages of Grief. But one emotion I just couldn't shake: shame.
This is not just some casual high school friend I see once a year. This was my former childhood best friend, who is the sister of my sister's very serious live-in boyfriend. There is a very high chance that we may one day be related to each other in some obtuse way or be aunts to the same nieces and nephews. There are a great chance I will have to deal with her again and again in the future, so my worry was: How long do I have to be stuck in this shame prison.
Unlike getting a parking ticket or returning a library book late, there was no amount of money or time or kindness I could throw at this problem to make it go away. There is no way for me to "do the time" for my crime. I could no "sorry" my way back into being a decent person. This is just a silly, stupid, drunken night that will get to haunt me in a very obtuse, subtle way for years to come. I will never be able to get out of my shame prison; I'm doing life without parole.
As I look around the concrete walls of my self-imposed shame cell, I can't help but wish I could remember what happened to land me in here.
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