I wanted to belong so badly that I lost myself. That’s what shame really does to a person. It coerces us to conform, which in turn causes us to forget that certain parts of us exist. Humans are predisposed to want to be in community, to belong to a tribe of people with like-minded values. Shame and guilt are instilled in us to behave in certain ways as to not threaten our belonging. As a child I didn’t want to get thrown out of the group, so I believed them. I told myself that I was wrong, and they were right.
I began to perform to fit the standards that I was given, the box that I was asked to fit myself into. That’s when the anxiety began to form. “A bodily disease, which we look upon as whole and entire within itself, may, after all, be but a symptom of some ailment in the spiritual part.” I was acting out of line with what I knew deep down was something real inside of me. I did it for years, consistently molding myself into what I (red flag) should be.
Shame brings out some of our biggest fears in humans. “What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of her gown, or the flesh of her forehead?” We have used it for centuries (probably all of eternity) to manipulate people into acting in ways that we deem right or moral, or even to remain in power. But more for me, I suppose, is that shame came into my life as a way to mold me into a good girl.
The Scarlet Letter Approach
It becomes a burden, this anxiety. It’s like my permanent record has been stamped with a giant ‘A,’ the opposite of a job well done, a mockery of the education system. “There glimmered the embroidered letter, with comfort in its unearthly ray. Elsewhere the token of sin, it was the taper of the sick-chamber. It had even thrown its gleam, in the sufferer’s hard extremity, across the verge of time.” It follows me around like a weight that I can never seem to set down.
Looking back I can see why certain things happened in my life the way they did. I can see why I was shamed for certain things, even if I don’t agree with it, even if it pisses me off sometimes. I can also see how it caused a lot of my anxiety growing up. And then there was the societal shaming of the anxiety itself. “It was the scarlet letter in another form; the scarlet letter endowed with life!” That was really the icing on the cake for me.
I probably should have started therapy at a much younger age than I did. At the time therapy was a dirty word, and I guess in some ways it still is. “It is too deeply branded. Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might endure his agony, as well as mine!” It needs to stop being demonized so much. Why do we tell ourselves that we can do it all on our own? Why do we tell ourselves that we are weak for asking for help? When have we ever done anything without help?
The Spiral of Shame
Part of the work was about breaking that false thought process. It’s breaking that societal pressure and judgement surrounding the reality of mental health being a thing. The anxiety was getting too bad, and the panic attacks were getting too frequent. “The scarlet letter burned on Hester Prynne’s bosom. Here was another ruin, the responsibility of which came partly home to her.” I came to realize that it was going to have to be my responsibility to get myself out of this. But I knew that I couldn’t do it alone. I didn’t even know where to begin. I needed guidance, insert therapy.
Here is what I learned: anxiety says that whatever is happening in your body is not okay with you. It’s reflecting back to you your shadow self, the dark parts of you that you want to hide from the world. “But still, methinks, it must needs be better for the sufferer to be free to show his pain, as this poor woman Hester is, than to cover it all up in his heart.” The hard part is if you want the suffering to go away, you have to deal with it.
Let me tell you, it sucked. It was so fucking hard at times that I wanted to quit. There were times when I wanted to scream at my therapist for calling me out on my bullshit. “But, under the leaden infliction which it was her doom to endure, she felt, at moments, as if she must needs shriek out with the full power of her lungs, and cast herself from the scaffold down upon the ground, or else go mad at once.” I sat. I ugly cried. I learned. Note: No therapists were harmed in the treating of this patient.
Branded for Life
We teach so much about IQ, but very little about EQ (emotional intelligence). It’s what I really needed to read in all those books growing up. Instead I read about how I should be a decent woman in a world dominated by men. Hester Prynne had an extramarital affair, and she was punished publicly for it. She wore a scarlet letter “fantastically embroidered with gold-thread,” a constant reminder of the shame that the church instilled onto society.
We used to think marital affairs were the most sinister of actions a person could partake in. Now it seems that the rules of the game are changing. Society is now seeing monogamy as purely a Puritanical ideal, pushed by the church. “But the point which drew all eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer,—so that both men and women, who had been familiarly acquainted with Hester Prynne, were now impressed as if they beheld her for the first time,—was that SCARLET LETTER, so fantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom. It had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations with humanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself.” Mistresses used to be idolized and given gifts equally as fancy as the wife’s, sometimes fancier.
Families have changed. People are participating in more open relationships. Maybe they always have. It’s something I am becoming more aware of as time goes on. I personally prefer a monogamous relationship, as I am selfish in that way. I’m not a good sharer, but I digress.
A Is for Anxiety
Now it seems we have a new scarlet letter in town, one that shames people for not wanting to conform to the patriarchal standards that we are pressured to abide by. We became so convinced that what is normal automatically means that it’s right, that what is normal is the truth. “Her mother, with the scarlet letter on her breast, glittering in its fantastic embroidery, had long been a familiar object to the towns-people. As is apt to be the case when a person stands out in any prominence before the community, and, at the same time, interferes neither with public nor individual interests and convenience, a species of general regard had ultimately grown up in reference to Hester Prynne.” I am hopeful that the evil stigma of mental health is coming out of the closet. If me talking about my journey helps just one person, than I am happy.
People have come to me numerous times to thank me for speaking out on my own therapy journey, because it encouraged them to start on their own path. “Individuals in private life, meanwhile, had quite forgiven Hester Prynne for her frailty; nay, more, they had begun to look upon the scarlet letter as the token, not of that one sin, for which she had borne so long and dreary a penance, but of her many good deeds since.” I don’t believe that everyone needs therapy, although I did joke about passing out free sessions like an Oprah giveaway.
Now that I am not currently in therapy anymore (although I will again if I feel I need to), it sort of feels therapeutic to talk about my past and my struggles with mental health. As I talk about it more, people open up to me, helping me to realize that it’s not just me that feels this way. “Her breast, with its badge of shame, was but the softer pillow for the head that needed one. She was self-ordained a Sister of Mercy; or, we may rather say, the world’s heavy hand had so ordained her, when neither the world nor she looked forward to this result. The letter was the symbol of her calling. Such helpfulness was found in her,—so much power to do, and power to sympathize,—that many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by its original signification. They said that it meant Able; so strong was Hester Prynne, with a woman’s strength.” I will keep talking about it, as long as I am Able.
XOXO – Jenna
*all quotes are from The Scarlet Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne
**I am not a medical professional, nor do I pretend to be one. All information are my (Jennifer Yolton) personal stories and opinions. Please seek professional help if necessary.
