Kate Troyer - Shame Off You: an Invitation to Let Go of Shame & Discover the Truth of Who You Are

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AN INVITATION TO LET GO OF SHAME & DISCOVER THE TRUTH OF WHO YOU ARE

By Kate Troyer

Copyright 2018 Kate Troyer. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the author.

Disclaimer: Some names and details were changed to retain anonymity and some characters are fictional yet based on different personality types the author has observed in relationships throughout her life.

Published by:

PO BOX 1072

Pinehurst, TX 77362

LifeWiseBooks.com

Cover Design and Interior Layout and Design | Yvonne Parks | PearCreative.ca

To contact the author:

KateTroyer.me

ISBN (Print): 978-1-947279-44-5

ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-947279-45-2

To young Kate:

You couldnt have known what life would look like now, but I think youd be proud of the person you are today and of the life you created. Im glad you never stopped dreaming.

With gratitude: to my parents, for the difficult choices you made into uncharted waters that provided me the freedom to choose the life I live. Knowing you were raised without affirmation, you still developed the ability to tell me youre proud of me and the life Im living is an incredible gift. Im proud of both of you.

Charity Bradshaw and the team at Lifewise Books: Thank you for your dedication and efforts to ensure the words from my heart to paper are presented in a polished form.

CHAPTER 1

A few years ago, after finding my daughters room a pigsty yet again, I told her in no uncertain terms, This is as nasty as a vacated house by one of our tenants! ThereI vented and felt much better. Well, for a minute, until I stopped and replayed what Id just said. Why did I choose to place shame on my daughter for having a messy room? Why didnt I choose to say, It really upsets me that youve let your room get so messy. Ive told you many times how it bothers me when a room in our home is such a disaster?

From the earliest age I can remember, I wanted to be loved. My parents did the best they could to express their love to me. It came with simply being held, talked to, and fed. It also came with being yelled at or spanked when I did something I shouldnt have, but most importantly, it came with the emotion that clouded every fiber of my being: shame. Its an emotion that wrestles you to your knees when youd otherwise brush the lint off your shoulders and purpose to do better. Shame demands that you bow to it, cover yourself in its muck, and punish yourself until youve deemed enough time has passed. With its remnants still clinging to your back like a staticfilled sweater, you stand up and limp along.

The culture I grew up in dictated that the ins and outs of everyday life must be orchestrated according to what others think is appropriate. Each act committed was met with, What would so and so think?

How many times have you heard the phrase, Shame on you? How many times have you bowed your head as its invasive tentacles wrapped themselves around your heart?

Ive lived with the constant awareness of other peoples opinion regarding the choices I made from a very early age. I was in second grade when my younger preschool aged sister was allowed to go to school with me for the day. The first-grade boy who sat directly behind me began pestering my little sister by tapping her shoulder and whispering things to her. I have no clue what possessed me, but in reply to one of the things he said, I told my sister to say in German, You still nurse from your moms nipple!

He started to laugh. Since it was the noon story hour in our one-room Amish schoolhouse, everyone but the teacher was quietly and intently listening to the next part of the story, when the laugh bubbled over to a full-blown giggle. The teacher stopped reading to ask what was so funny. I froze in my seat! Mortified, red-faced, and afraid of punishment if he answered her question, I was the only person in the classroom not laughing. The teacher asked repeatedly what was so funny. I was ever so grateful that this boy was laughing too hard to answer. He may also have been too embarrassed to tell. I decided I would simply tell the teacher that my sister misunderstood me if I was forced to give account.

Even though I was taught from a young age never to tell a lie, I chose to lie at each embarrassing instance I found myself in to avoid shame. Knowing Id lied yet again, shame filled me anyway.

At the age of three, as my cousins and I played outside at my aunts house one warm summer day, I was sitting on the steps outside the kitchen window when I suddenly saw my reflection. Awareness filled my young mind. It was the first time I realized what I looked like. A few seconds later, I heard one of the ladies say, Look, shes feh spiegel-ing herself! As they all turned to look, shame filled me as I bowed my head with the realization that it was bad to spend time looking at oneself in the mirror. (Feh spiegel-ing = admiring oneself in the mirror.)

Today, I have no doubt that the woman who said it meant no harm and probably thought it was cute, but it was one of the first times I learned that shame was a close companion. Thus, began my aversion to mirrors when others could observe me looking at myself.

Were I not the shy, timid type who internalized everything, I may have grinned widely and ran off to join the other children again. Instead, the bright, sunny day suddenly became dimmer, and I made it my responsibility to do better next time.

At the age of six, I attended the funeral of a young Amish man who hadnt yet joined church. It was doubtful in the minds of those attending whether he was going to heaven, due to his lifestyle choices. Just before the procession to the cemetery began, people began to cry amid the silence. Some wailed loudly. I was so moved with compassion that, despite my best efforts, big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I turned to hide my face in my moms somber, black dress. I felt too ashamed to let others see me cry. Since I didnt know this young man, I thought I shouldnt even be crying.

I frequently questioned why I felt pain so deeply for others. It was too much for my young heart to bear when I couldnt fix things for them. With my personality, it was easy to agree with shame, and it felt like shame was a part of my genetic makeup. I carried it and felt it deeply before I knew the definition of it.

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