Shame

Shame is an intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging. It’s an emotion that affects all of us and profoundly shapes the way we interact in the world.

Brené Brown

Last night I decided to look for the title to my Jeep. I opened the first shoe box filled with important paperwork . Half way through the box, I see the folder with my Medical Evaluation Board (MEB) paperwork. Instead of setting the folder aside, I started to read the letters, emails, and evaluations. Reading the words, I felt a mixture of shame and intense anger.

The various letters seemed to have a running theme about my behavior after my deployment. I was combative, fearful, paranoid, confused, withdrawn, unable to preform my duties, and tearful. These are all signs that an individual is experiencing some sort of mental health crisis. If I was so dysfunctional, why did my Commander make it so difficult to receive the proper medical treatment? I know there were times that my reactions were unwarranted. I was afraid. I was traumatized. I’m still angry that I had to fight to be heard. I’m still angry that I was not believed. I’m still angry that no one took the time to ask me one simple question: what happened in Germany?

Underneath the anger, there is so much shame. Almost two years ago, I was celebrating New Year’s eve with friends downtown. Across from us were two individuals from my old unit. One of the individuals saw me at my very lowest point. Initially, I wanted to pretend I hadn’t noticed him. Instead I decided to acknowledge him and shake his hand. As I shook his hand, I found myself apologizing. While I don’t remember ever being disrespectful to him, I apologized for not being “okay” when I was assigned to Headquarters. He nodded his head and said that he understood. I wonder, why did I feel the need to apologize? Why do I still feel the need to hide when I see someone from my unit? Why am I still so embarrassed?

I tried to nicely ask for help. When that failed, I screamed for help. Was it my anger outbursts which pushed people away from me? Anger took over when it became obvious that I was not getting help. I’m not proud that I told my Section Supervisor to “fuck off.” I’m not proud that I told my trainer that if I was not removed from an upcoming deployment, I would “kill the next motherfucker who sexually harassed me.” I’m not proud that I used to go into the restroom to cry because I was so scared. I’m not proud that I learned how to sit in a room full of people and not hear a single word. I’m not proud that I was not strong enough to put it all behind me. I’m not proud that it broke me. I’m not proud that I had to walk away from an organization I once loved. I’m not proud that I quit.

As I read the letters, I was full of shame. As I write this, I’m full of compassion. I did not ask to be raped in Tennessee. I did not ask to be sexually harassed and retaliated against in Germany. My brain and body reacted to the trauma(s.) At the time, I did not have a cognitive choice in my reaction. I was in survival mode. How can I be ashamed of surviving?

I do wish I could explain to the people who may still see me as “crazy” that I was not crazy. I was just finding my way back from a trauma. Perhaps if they knew the whole story, they would be able to understand my reaction. Perhaps then it would be easier to let go of this heavy burden named shame.