There’s a certain kind of shame that rarely makes it into the stories we tell. Not because it’s unusual, but because it goes quiet. It doesn’t get posted online, slipped into a joke, or even spoken in the safety of a therapy room.
It’s the kind that says, I knew better, and I did it anyway.
This shame bites harder than most because it leaves no soft landing. You can’t tell yourself you didn’t know. You can’t hide behind being too young or trying your best. The voice in your head says, No. You knew. And you still did it.
That part of you, the one who knew and still crossed the line, gets shoved into the farthest corner of your mind. No chair at the table. No name. Definitely no compassion.
Here’s the strange thing though. Almost everyone has a version of this. We just don’t talk about it.
You might think no one has ever admitted to something like what you did. Maybe that’s true on the surface. But if you listen closely, people are telling pieces of this story all the time. They just aren’t naming it. They say things like, I don’t know why I did that. Or, That wasn’t even who I am. Or, I hurt someone I care about and I can’t stop replaying it. Or, I was aware, and I still did it.
Underneath all of it is this: There’s a part of me I don’t know how to live with.
When we don’t know how to live with that part, we try to outrun it. One of the most common ways is by over-correcting. We say yes when we mean no. We help when we have nothing left to give. We take responsibility for things that were never ours. We try to earn back our goodness with service, sacrifice, or disappearing into other people’s needs. Not because it’s generous, but because it’s penance.
It can look like integrity, but it’s actually self-punishment.
It can look like kindness, but it’s really please let this make up for who I was.
And that’s the trap. Trying to fix what we did by erasing who we are.
But what if the way forward isn’t about explaining it away or earning redemption?
What if it’s about letting that part exist? Not as the villain in your story, but as someone who hasn’t been held yet.
Not forgiven.
Not fixed.
Just… not exiled anymore.
It might start by noticing when that part shows up. The stomach flip. The mental replay. The instinct to say, God, I’m the worst.
And instead of flinching or shoving it down, maybe you say, I see you. I remember.
That was hard.
You don’t have to hide.
You don’t have to tell the story out loud. You don’t have to confess.
But you can stop banishing yourself for being human.
And maybe that is the first real act of doing better.
Embracing Shadows, Illuminating Hope,
Chelsey Fjeldheim, LCSW
Empowering Souls on the Path of Healing
Copyright © 2025 Chelsey Fjeldheim, Courage Speaks Counseling
