Canadian thanksgiving

I was in the hospital a couple of days ago. It happened kind of by accident… but not a bad accident, I just didn’t mean to end up there. But I told myself to be open to it, so a couple of days ago, I was in the hospital.

Let me back up.

Friday, after my therapist’s scheduling service called me to cancel my first (ever) counselling session, I bottomed out. I made some questionable decisions about who to call for support, I made some bad decisions about what to share on social media. What moves the story forward, though, is that I called a crisis line at about three in the morning because I just felt numb.

Shame can’t survive being shared.

I’m glad I did and I’m kinda proud of myself for just reaching out for help. Dealing with the shame of feeling lost is a lot easier — no, it’s a lot more beneficial and healthy — when you share it. Shame can’t survive being shared.

It doesn’t evaporate right away. It’s not that kind of magic. But sharing it again and again and again takes away its power, because shame only thrives in the full shade of secrecy. It’s really the fern of feelings.

I talked. With strangers. And told my story — this is the really important part. My story is about me and taking ownership of my feelings and actions. Telling a story makes it real. Performance of accountability and awakening is the thing that helps you believe you are in control and your own best friend.

My family came. It was the day before Canadian Thanksgiving and they rallied around me. They hugged me. They let me cry. They listened. They let me tell my story and they were my witnesses. They will re-tell my story, between themselves, to themselves, to make sense of it as part of their own story.

I was vulnerable and found some of the connection I’d been missing because I was open to something that I never had been before.