Every week, my husband and I have date night in the comforts of our living room. The lighting is just right, the busyness of the day has begun to quiet, and we are totally immersed in the moment. I could want for nothing more, spending time with my one and only, snuggled up with my favorite red and white fleece blanket. The black iron-on numbers, 2014, barely still attached after all these years, signifying the graduating year and a gift from my former seniors. It’s more than a warm blanket, carrying the memories of times when I absolutely loved my personal and professional worlds, truly oblivious to the shake up my life would deliver later that same year, kicking off a journey lasting over a decade.
We both knew something simply didn’t feel right Thursday evening. It was evident in the weeks before, but nothing ever surfaced to share between us, or perhaps, we didn’t want to talk about it and chose not to engage, too tired to give it attention after a long day. Instead, we watched it all unfold. The scowling looks, short-tempered reactions, outlandish demands, the dismissive comments…they all stung, which is what she wanted. We saw it in the way she talked, behaved, how she carried herself with a sharp edge, even when she couldn’t see it herself, blind to the efforts she projected on everyone else, and deepening the shame embedded in her heart.
We weren’t the only ones noticing the destruction she was causing, and in our defense, my husband and I couldn’t intervene even if we wanted to. It’s painful, to say the least, when you watch someone spiral and can’t do anything to help. Luckily, it wasn’t the case with Alice.
During halftime, Ted stood in front of the Lady Greyhounds in the Richmond locker room, inviting them to accept a tough situation they found themselves in during the match. Recognizing a hidden truth had spread like wildfire to everyone on the team, but originated with one single person, Ted knew exactly what to say. “Embarrassed. An emotion so useless, it should be embarrassed of itself. And yet, it can trap any of us. Keep us small, scared, till we bust out of it, you know. It’s like that quote. What is it? Um… ‘When the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom'” Ted Lasso, “Riches of Embarrassment.” While Ted spoke, the camera cut to Alice, the assistant coach who was battling her own story of humiliation, masked by anger, jealousy, and bitterness. One might argue Ted’s speech was really for her, but Alice wasn’t alone in receiving his message. It pierced my heart, too, as if arrows of loving truth were aimed for my own secrets.
I’ve undergone years of training to hide what’s bubbling beneath the surface. Sitting there, with the soft brown fabric of our recliner holding my body safely, my internal world felt like a wrecking ball had swung directly at my soul, demanding it to finally take control of the situation, just as Ted had invited Alice to do with her own. I fought back tears, so hard it felt as if my body could spasm with the emotional energy embarrassment was gripping onto to keep inside. Fear had won yet again in the living room that night. I escaped our weekly date night without letting on how the episode cracked open something hidden within, but the damage had been done. Embarrassment no longer held its strength, and after 45 years of protection shielding me, I finally felt ready to unfasten the leather straps to loosen the armor I’d been wearing for years.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” – Elizabeth Appell
The next morning, I slipped downstairs with my journal in hand. I needed 30 minutes with embarrassment all to myself, no distractions, no interruptions. My long blue lighter fueled the flame to light my sage, and I quietly prayed, setting intentions to welcome in a greater power of unconditional love, Divine guidance, and support. I sat down with my new journal wide open, my favorite pen in hand, listening to a meditation to meet me exactly where the hurt and pain were hiding.
Normally I listen, then journal, reflecting on what came up and how I felt during meditation. This time was different. I reflected and wrote, pouring it all out across the pages while listening to the guiding voice. The truth was raw. The tightness in my throat exposed deeper beliefs I held against myself over the years.
Embarrassment. Masked by anger, resentment, distrust of those in my circles, bitter silence, comparison, all the red flags appearing, asking for my curiosity to engage, but never the courage to until now. As the ink flowed, so did my tears, a release of energy stuck in my body for decades. Memories surfacing from childhood to recently, giving life to how embarrassment has run the show for years, keeping me from truly feeling safe to be me.
Embarrassment for believing I wasn’t a good mother until I was 45.
Embarrassment for letting my spark for being an art teacher slowly burn out.
Embarrassment for proving my worth through achievement, status, and credentials.
Embarrassment for beliefs I passed onto my children when I was ridden with worry, anxiety, and not enoughness.
Embarrassment for years of wanting to fix my relationship with my mom, then feeling like a failure when she died without resolution.
Embarrassment for taking an hour to write the first paragraph of anything I’ve ever written.
Embarrassment for losing myself in relationships or being too intense, too much for others.
Embarrassment for the grief I experienced when my mom’s house blew up, not because of the tragedy, but because a painful chapter went up in flames.
Embarrassment for times I felt stupid and less than in front of those who were “smarter.”
Embarrassment for the times I had to shrink, settle, lie, or be someone I’m not, simply to feel loved and accepted.
Not good enough disguised as embarrassment.
Validation opened the door to freedom that morning. The tears began the process towards peace. Writing about it helps me process and integrate. Hitting publish exposes my shadow and weakens the power embarrassment and not good enough have in my life. Sharing it so anyone who feels called to read this holds me accountable to showing up for myself. Doing it despite it might be “off brand” and more like a diary entry, invites me to open up to giving myself the compassion embarrassment worked so well at pushing away.
The last time I truly wrote like this, I was deep in grief and healing from losing my mom, losing the chance to have a relationship I always wanted, but never had. Writing became therapuetic. And so it begins a new chapter.
How have embarrassment, shame, or feelings of less than run your life?
I’m dying to know – are you also a fan of Ted Lasso? (if not, what are you waiting for?!) What life lessons have you gleaned from the Lasso Way?