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Today some­one who knows me well sent me an email. I was going to say she out­lined my faults and sins, but that would be kind. She delved in to the shame as only some­one who has been there her­self can know. The net was wide and the hooks were pre­cise. I have turned my back to her. Sounds sim­ple, but it wasn’t and it was the only way to take the next step with integrity, for me. This is hard, because I know her well, like fam­ily, in a way. The details don’t mat­ter, but that is what happened.

I have been down some of the dark alleys she painted for me. I lived in them, took peo­ple I cared about down them, even. But I have also been back to those alleys, as best as I can, and I have cleaned up where I can. I have not made my past dis­ap­pear, but I have let go of the shame. I made poor deci­sions. If she had said that, she would have been right, but she didn’t. She said I was marred and mis-wrought, even though she held me as a baby and said she loved me first and best and she is not my mother. She said she knew I was wrong, in spite of the care she gave me as an infant. She is right about hold­ing me – she did – but she is not right about my fun­da­men­tal bad­ness. I am like you, fun­da­men­tally good. (!) I have made choices and I have repaired what I can and I have healed and I have owned all I can. The more I own the more I can own, and I am not injured in the own­ing of my impact of the world. It is heal­ing as long as I have first done the impor­tant work of let­ting go of shame. Hav­ing some­one who held me as a baby tell me that I am fun­da­men­tally mis-made would have sent me reel­ing into dark places before I for­gave myself. Now I don’t believe the hype, the story, the lies.

Shame is tricky, sticky, relent­less and as close as my skin. How did I let go of the false belief that I was made wrong? I did four things. I told my truth when I came to know it. I set bound­aries so that I con­tained my impact and I con­tained the world’s impact on me. I asked you for help so that the isolation’s whis­pers had a coun­ter­point of love from you – I got con­nected. I for­gave myself. That last word needs def­i­n­i­tion. For­give­ness means that I stop hold­ing the energy of the thing that hurt me. I let it go and get free. It has noth­ing to do with absolv­ing respon­si­bil­ity, only tear­ing down the destruc­tive lies that are the mor­tar of the house of shame.

Lastly, fifthly, I make art from shame: hon­est beauty heals.