Shame Gremlins, Isolation and the magic that is writing

A few disclosures:

TW: The following contains language which may be upsetting in nature, describes deep depression and suicidal thinking. If you or anyone you love are feeling this way, please know that there is help, you do not have to face this alone.

If you’re looking for resources, one of the incredible organizations who has helped me is To Write Love on Her Arms. They have a simple and effective Find Help Tool which you can access here: https://twloha.com/find-help/.

Yesterday, armed with the realization that May is Mental Health Awareness Month, I sat down to write about my mental health.

It had been a great morning so far, I was armed with coffee and the endorphins of an awesome morning spent in the gym, I’d picked up Jax (my neighbor’s dog/my best friend) and I was enjoying writing while the sun came up.

And then the shame gremlins arrived.

For those of you who have never met the shame gremlins, first off let me say I’m jealous, second let me explain.

The phrase comes from Goddess/Savior/Author/Shame Researcher Brené Brown (I literally cannot say enough wonderful things about this woman.)

Brown compares shame to gremlins who push two dangerous narritives.

- You're not good enough

- Who do you think you are?

Shame Gremlins love to tell you that you are unworthy and will feed you whatever narrative fits that theme. If you don't counter their lies, they take on a life of their own, developing what Brown describes as a "shame spiral." Your negative feelings compound one another until you find your self in a downward spin unable to stop the descent.

For a long time, shame gremlins ruled my life. I lived by the narratives they spun. I was scared to show anyone who I actually was because I was so convinced of my own worthlessness.

I spent years of my life telling myself that no one could possibly love me for who I am, admonishing myself for being so horrible, and falling deeper and deeper into a black hole of self-loathing.

It got to the point where I’d tell you anything, or try to be anyone that I thought would make me valuable, while simultaneously beating myself into a pulp. When my attempts to be whoever anyone could possibly want me to be failed, I’d use those failures as further evidence that I was in fact bad, un-loveable, horrible and unworthy of existing.

It’s was a doom loop that I lost years to.

The shame gremlins loved it. The shame gremlins, in case it isn't abundantly clear, are assholes.

"Wth is this?! This looks stupid, people are going to think you're stupid." - Shame Gremlin

So yesterday when I sat down to write about my mental health, the shame gremlins showed up and started feeding my thoughts like: "this is a horrible topic, you're using too many commas," and "you're overwriting."

I didn’t address them, because sometimes, early on, my shame gremlins feel like writer's block. They're sneaky like that. They start out innocently enough and then build from there.

I thought this piece just needed more editing, or some space. I decided to let it breath and walked away.

This was a mistake.

"No one wants to read about this,” the gremlins continued, “people are going to think you’re f*cking nuts.”

“Why are you even writing this blog? The only good thing that can come of it will be that someone calls the police on your psycho ass. You should just take down this page and go back to suffering in silence. ”

Seriously. The shame spiral escalates that quickly.

I thought I was fine, but in reality I was defeated by the shame gremlins and seriously considering unpublishing this entire website and moving to the middle of nowhere where no one could ever find me or it again, but I didn't know it yet. I went about my day.

I took Jax out, showered, and we headed in to work. But it was like a dark cloud had settled in. My anxiety crept up, I started questioning who I thought I was thinking my writing was worth actually publishing? I started worrying whether I was a good employee/girlfriend/friend/human, oh my god, I thought, does Blake actually love me?

Before I could identify what the f*ck had just happened, I was walking around in a full on shame spiral. At a loss for what was going on, I texted one of my best friends and sober buddies.

“I suddenly just started feeling really sad and just irrationally anxious,” I told her. “Like the dark and stormies just settled in out of nowhere.”

“Aww well I’m here for you always…” she wrote.

I’ve never seen the movie The Gremlins, but from Googling it enough to understand it while trying to avoid a picture that will give me nightmares, I now understand that they die when exposed to light.

Which is exactly what happened when I stated my feelings out loud to my friend, she let the sun in.

Good-bye Gremlins.

I cannot tell you how many times I rewrote this piece prior to realizing that the shame gremlins had hijacked my brain.

It’s the perfect demonstration of the complexity of my mental illness. Here I am, writing about how dangerous it is for me to stay with my own thoughts and how I need to shine the light on them while I am literally being silenced by my own distorted thinking.

In the recovery program I practice, it’s called stinking thinking, in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy it’s called Distorted Thoughts. Shame Gremlins. Regardless of what you call it, the solution is the same: you cannot, under any circumstance let it get you alone. If they get you alone they will try to kill you.

That’s why the National Alliance on Mental Illness is using the hashtag #notalone to mark this month and encourage people to share how they stay connected.

Writing is that connection for me.

From a young age whenever I’ve grappled with emotions or confusion or darkness, the pages of a journal have been my safe space to flesh out my feelings and work through them. Often times I find I’m able to write something out before it gets corrupted by my negative thinking. In other words, writing has been my best defense against the dark voices in my head.

It wasn’t until I started getting sober that I found out there’s a cognitive behavioral approach that explains what I’m doing when I write. It’s called cognitive restructuring. The activity, according to Therapist Aid, is designed to help a person examine their irrational thoughts.

At the risk of oversimplifying, I think of it as a machine. My malicious, slightly evil thoughts go in, and through writing they are stripped of their poison before they can kill me. To put it another way, writing helps me use my powers for good, not evil. Writing is the sunlight to my shame gremlins.

In the time since I’ve learned to use my writing like this, it has become like breathing for me. It is my lifeline and since getting sober and mastering these practices I have been breathing so much easier.

They say the truth will set you free, and writing mine has done that for me. To be able to stand up and write openly about my alcoholism and mental health and be accepted for who I am, struggles and all has been such an unbelievable blessing.

It feels like exhaling after decades of holding my breath and suffocating.

I know I’ve said it before, but I can’t say it enough. The support and encouragement I’ve had since I started sharing my writing has brought me to tears. Thank you for showing me that I’m #notalone.

Take that, shame gremlins.