It's More about the Shame
It's 3 a.m. at the railroad tracks in Palo Alto, California. I'm a security guard responsible for insuring no one stands on the tracks to commit suicide. (the wave of suicides of Dunn High School students) An African American homeless woman walks on the sidewalk where I sit, and we start to talk. Suddenly, she said "You are so full of shame." Never have forgotten that night. How could she tell? How could she know what even I didn't know? How could my denied sense of shame be so blatant that she could feel it herself? As I write, like a flood, personal memories encompass me of shameful acts which thanks be to God did not then nor do they now define who I am. Thanks be to God for the SPAA (Sex and Porn Addicts Anonymous) member who reminded me of that during one of our ZOOM meetings. What I am is ... a child of God. For me, shame is mostly about sexual shame. That pernicious influence upon me, like ink spilled onto white paper, is that sex is sinful, even my p...