Episode 36 - The Space in between Shame and Blame

The Space Between Shame and Blame

The House I've Been Living In

Have you ever noticed how quickly we judge ourselves when we're struggling?

We tell ourselves we're doing life wrong.

We should be happier.
We should be stronger.
We should have figured this out by now.

Or we move in the opposite direction and start blaming someone else.

If only they had changed.
If only life had been different.
If only circumstances had worked out another way.

When we are hurting, our mind naturally wants an explanation.

Blame points outward.

Shame points inward.

But there is a third place we can stand.

A place right in the middle.

And that place is curiosity.

In the middle, we still take ownership of our choices, but we stop making ourselves the problem.

We set ourselves free.

Because there is nothing wrong with you as a person.

There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely.

Nothing wrong with feeling exhausted.

Nothing wrong with feeling disappointed.

Nothing wrong with feeling afraid.

Your feelings are not evidence that you are failing.

They are information.

They are invitations to pay attention.

Most of us learned ways of thinking, reacting, coping, protecting, pleasing, achieving, withdrawing, controlling, or caretaking because those things served us.

The way you've been doing life has been useful.

It has gotten you this far.

It has protected you.

It has helped you survive difficult seasons.

So when you begin noticing patterns that no longer serve you, there is no need to attack yourself.

You don't need more shame.

You don't need another self-improvement project.

You don't need another thing on your to-do list.

The invitation is simply to become curious.

Instead of asking:

"What's wrong with me?"

Ask:

"What story am I living from right now?"

That's a very different question.

Because now we are not looking for a problem.

We are looking for understanding.

I often think about it this way.

I love the woman I have been up until now.

She has carried me through difficult seasons.

She has shown up when things were hard.

She has done the best she could with what she knew.

But life changes.

Seasons change.

Needs change.

And eventually we have to ask:

Who do I want to become now?

Not because who I've been is wrong.

But because life is inviting me into something new.

And that's where fear often shows up.

Because the version of you that has gotten you this far has worked very hard.

She has protected you.

She has developed habits and ways of thinking that have served you well.

And she will be afraid to let go.

The challenge isn't becoming a completely different person.

The challenge is letting go of the parts that no longer fit.

Not all of her.

Just parts of her.

And that's scary.

Which is why observation is so important.

Instead of saying:

"I'm doing this wrong."

Try saying:

"I see that I've done it this way in the past."

"I wonder what would happen if I tried something different."

Do you feel the difference?

One creates shame.

The other creates possibility.

One closes the door.

The other opens it.

So rather than becoming the judge of your life, become the observer of your life.

Become curious.

Become the detective.

Like Sherlock Holmes, begin gathering clues.

Observe your thoughts.

Observe your reactions.

Observe your feelings.

Ask yourself:

What am I believing right now?

What am I afraid might happen?

What am I trying to protect?

What need am I trying to meet?

Because underneath every reaction is usually a story.

And stories are discovered in layers.

Not all at once.

Layer by layer.

Which is why creativity can be such a beautiful companion in this process.

Creative Exercise:

The House I've Been Living In

This isn't a project to finish.

This isn't a project to do perfectly.

This is an ongoing conversation with yourself.

Begin with a journal page, watercolor paper, or mixed media paper.

Start by adding a layer.

Torn paper.
Paint.
Tissue paper.
Book pages.

Anything you like.

Then draw several horizontal lines across your page.

Let them gently rise and fall like rolling hills.

Imagine they are pathways moving through your life.

Choose one line.

Somewhere along that path draw a simple house.

Nothing fancy.

Just a roof.
A door.
A few windows.

This house represents the person you have been up until now.

The house you've been living in.

Around the house, write words that describe who you've been.

Caretaker.

Strong.

Responsible.

Independent.

People pleaser.

Helper.

Provider.

Creative.

Anxious.

Organized.

Whatever feels true.

As you look at the house, remember:

This is not a house to criticize.

This is a house to honor.

It got you here.

It served a purpose.

It provided shelter.

It protected you.

Then continue drawing along your path.

Add trees.

Lots of trees.

Tall trees.
Short trees.
Skinny trees.
Crooked trees.
Strong trees.

Place them all along your rolling hills.

As you draw each tree, simply pause.

Take a breath.

Listen.

Notice what thought, memory, feeling, or word comes to mind.

Then write it beside the tree.

Don't overthink it.

One word is enough.

A phrase is enough.

A question is enough.

Maybe a tree says:

Fear.

Maybe another says:

Lonely.

Maybe another says:

Loved.

Maybe one says:

Tired of carrying everything.

Maybe another says:

What do I want now?

There is no right answer.

The trees simply become markers along the path.

Moments of awareness.

Moments of observation.

Moments of pause.

And here's the important part:

You do not need to finish the page.

In fact, I hope you don't.

Leave room.

Come back tomorrow.

Add another tree.

Add another word.

Add another path.

Add another layer.

Because the story isn't discovered all at once.

The story reveals itself slowly.

Just like life.

One layer at a time.

One tree at a time.

One question at a time.

And as you walk this creative path, notice that you are no longer standing in the boxing ring of shame and blame.

You are standing in curiosity.

You are standing in compassion.

You are standing in grace.

And from that place, you can begin creating the next version of yourself—not because there is something wrong with you, but because there is still more of you waiting to be discovered.

This would pair beautifully with your closing thought:

"Art gives us a place to observe our story without having to defend it. It calms our nerves and allows the deepest changes to happen.