Don’t Play the Shame Game

One summer day, back in 2010, I was visiting friends out in the country. Our kids played in the backyard while my two girlfriends and I sipped lemonade in the shade, talking about motherhood. My friend Liz had two kids, Sarah had three, one a newborn that slept in her lap, and I had Hannah. I was also pregnant with Zachary at the time.

“I’m totally done,” said Liz, “Two is enough for me.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah pondered, stroking the head of her tiny baby. “I could see myself having one more.”

We talked as women in control. We controlled when we got pregnant, how we would deliver, and how many kids we would have. Control…

We talked about how easy it was for us all to get pregnant, and thankfully had no complications. I felt so proud at that time, on top of the world. We were successful mothers, the three of us. We handled pregnancy gracefully (minus the odd hormone rage) and had healthy, happy children. We must be doing something right… right?

Why do I remember the discussion that day so vividly? It’s probably because the feeling of being a proud mom was so strong, thick even, like the summer heat. Yet, it was not long afterwards that I fell from the clouds of the idealistic, easy state of motherhood. Thud. I hit the ground, landing hard.

Less than a month after that visit with those girlfriends, the diagnosis that Zachary was fatally flawed permanently removed me from the idealistic, in control mommy image I had worn so well. I also become a flawed one, like Zachary; an imperfect mother. My fall from grace, or so it felt, was embarrassing. I sensed (and sometimes still feel) that people look at me differently; like a broken one. I failed at the one task that my body should perform without hiccup: the natural, inborn task of creating a new life.

I was ashamed. Embarrassed. The negative side of my thoughts took me to dark places of shame.

“What did I do wrong?”

One acquaintance offered her answer to that question: “Maybe you got pregnant too quickly after having Hannah,” she suggested. Blame. Pointing fingers.

I’m very sure she didn’t mean to hurt me with her words, but my worry that I had somehow caused Zachary’s condition only festered more strongly. When I now visit with other mothers who have lost a child, it seems they all have their speculations about what they did wrong, what they could have done differently or some speculative guess by a family member or friend. It’s hard to let these things go. Hard but necessary.

Shame. It really is a dirty word.

I am not immune to shame, but I would encourage us all: Don’t play the shame game. It’s a dangerous mental road to take. Even though it is hard to accept ourselves the way we are, flaws and all, it is important to remember that no one is perfect. Even the mothers who look like they have it all together on the outside very likely don’t. It’s an image. A mirage. We all would do well to be honest with our struggles, but that is another topic altogether.

After the death of a child, we enter into a battle of the mind. Negative thoughts fight against the encouraging words of others. For me, even though many doctors told me repeatedly that I had not caused Zachary’s condition, I still worry about it. I still worry about it to this day. (Let go, Alexis. Let go!)

Guilt is a poison. It seeps into the crevices of our thoughts, our beliefs, and our very identity calling into question those things about ourselves that are good and true.

It is a mind game: you vs. yourself.

I liken my mind to a tennis court. On one side is my positivity, on the other side are my negative thoughts. These extremes serve an idea back and forth with each other constantly and I try not to keep score. It is too easy to listen to my negativity; she is often louder, more in my face and persuasive. Yet, I recognize that I have the choice who I cheer for; which side I will ultimately listen to.

Maybe I will always remember that time of motherhood pride back in the summer of 2010; my time of ignorant bliss. I must also remember that I have the power to say no to shame. What others think of me only matters if I choose to care. Excuse the lame pun, but the ball really is in our court. I am committing to myself to listen to my positive thoughts and not even entertain the shame game.

How about you: have you experienced shame? How have you overcome it?