Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

INTRODUCTION

ONE - Understanding Shame

TWO - Shame Resilience and the Power of Empathy

THREE - The First Element: Recognizing Shame and Understanding Our Triggers

FOUR - The Second Element: Practicing Critical Awareness

FIVE - The Third Element: Reaching Out

SIX - The Fourth Element: Speaking Shame

SEVEN - Practicing Courage in a Culture of Fear

EIGHT - Practicing Compassion in a Culture of Blame

NINE - Practicing Connection in a Culture of Disconnection

TEN - Creating a Culture of Connection

RECOMMENDATIONS, RESOURCES AND REFERENCES

INDEX

About the Author

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Published by Gotham Books, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 
First printing, February 2007

 
Copyright © 2007 by Brené Brown

 
All rights reserved

 
“Shame” © 1988 by Vern Rutsala is reprinted with permission of the author.

 
Gotham Books and the skyscraper logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Brown, C. Brené
I thought it was just me : women reclaiming power and courage in a culture of shame /
Brené Brown.
p. cm.

ISBN: 9781440622229

1. Women—Psychology. 2. Shame. I. Title.
HQ1206.B765 2007
152.4’4082—dc22 2006026945

 
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FOR THE WOMEN WHO INSPIRE ME

 
my mom
my sisters
my daughter
my friends
my teachers
my students
my sister social workers
the artists and activists
the researchers and writers
the women who shared their stories to make this work possible

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing this book has fundamentally changed my life. Every time it became too hard, I thought about the research participants who contributed to this book and to my understanding of shame. They courageously shared their experiences based only on their faith in my promise to be honest and accurate with their stories. Each and every one willingly embraced their fears in order for us to learn. I cannot thank them enough. I sincerely hope they find that this book honors the spirit of their contributions, their work and their wisdom.

In addition to the women who shared their stories with me, I owe an extraordinary debt to the people who both personally and professionally supported me through this process and helped me bring this work to life. Personally, I could not have done this without the love, support and courage of my husband, Steve. I was absolutely sustained by his faith in my ability, his respect for my work and his commitment to our family. I’m equally grateful for what a wonderful father he is and for his ability to make me laugh.

My children, Ellen and Charlie, fill my life with love and laughter. They inspire me, keep me grounded and make it very difficult for me to take myself too seriously.

In many different ways, this work would not be possible without my parents. Their greatest gifts have been what they have taught me and continue to teach me. From my mother, Deanne Rogers, I’ve learned about courage, strength and perseverance. Chuck Brown, my father, gave me the gifts of critical thinking, debate and activism. These lessons helped me realize my dream of finishing my Ph.D. and writing this book. To my mother’s partner David and my dad’s partner Molly, I thank you for your willingness to embrace our family and share your lives with us. I also want to acknowledge my grandmother, Ellen, who was also an inspiration to me. I try to carry her spirit and kindness with me.

To my brother, Jason, and my sisters, Ashley and Barrett, we are on a special journey together and I’m so grateful to be sharing it with you. Our history, love and laughter are important forces in my life. To Mike, Ashley’s husband, and Amaya, my beautiful niece, thank you for bringing so much joy to our family. To Audrey, Jason’s wife, we’re glad you’re here—you’ve always felt like family.

When I married Steve I inherited a wonderful family. To Corky and Jack, Bill and Jacobina, Memo, Bebo and David, it is impossible for me to think of my life without you—you are my family.

I have had the extraordinary fortune of working with people who are both colleagues and good friends. I am forever indebted to my dear friend, Charles Kiley, who has generously walked every step of this journey with me. I couldn’t have done it without him. I also owe special thanks to my friends, colleagues and sister social workers, Dawn Fey Hedgepeth, Cheryl Dunn and Beverly McPhail. Their willingness to share their expertise and experiences contributed greatly to this book. I want to thank illustrator David Robinson and graphic designer Doni Hieronymus, for their artistic contributions. I also want to acknowledge Cole Schweikhardt of Squidz Ink Design and Daniel Levine and Marian Mankin of DMLCo for their support and help with my Web site.

I am so lucky to be surrounded by wonderful friends and mentors. I wish there was some way, beyond a simple thank you, to let the following women know how much they’ve touched my life: Angela Blanchard, Margarita Flores, Karen Holmes, Jean Latting, Ann McFarland, Barb Nowak, Susan Robbins, Ruth Rubio, Karen Stout, Susan Turell, Jody Williams and Laura Williams.

I am also fortunate to be affiliated with two outstanding organizations. First, I want to thank the faculty, staff and students at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social Work. It is a true privilege to be a social worker and part of this learning community. Second, I want to acknowledge the Nobel Women’s Initiative. I am grateful for the opportunity to work with such wise and wonderful activists, scholars and peace-builders.

There is a third group of activists and scholars I’d like to thank—a group of women who have changed the way I look at myself and at the world. My mother gave me a copy of Harriet Lerner’s book, The Dance of Anger, when I was in my early twenties. It was my first nonfiction psychology book. I remember reading it and thinking, “I’m not alone!” By the third chapter, I had fallen in love with the power of books. When I started teaching, I carried bell hooks’s book, Teaching to Transgress, with me at all times. Jean Kilbourne’s book, Can’t Buy My Love, forever changed the way I watch TV, read magazines and listen to music. I turned to the Stone Center at Wellesley to better understand who I wanted to be in the context of my social work career. I still buy Mary Pipher’s book Reviving Ophelia for all of my friends with daughters, and her new book, Writing to Change the World, is required reading for my students. The list of authors who have changed my life is endless; however, these powerful women have certainly made the greatest impression. I thank them for making this a better world and for forging the path for what has now become my career.

Last, I want to thank the people who believed enough in this work to turn it into a book—something I don’t take for granted. I extend a heartfelt thanks to my agent, Stephanie von Hirschberg, for lending her wisdom, integrity and sense of balance to this process. To my editor, Erin Moore, I feel so fortunate to work with a woman who embodies the authenticity, courage and compassion I write about in my book—thank you. I also want to recognize the other team members at Gotham Books—Bill Shinker, Jessica Sindler, Lisa Johnson, Ashwini Ramaswamy and the great folks behind the scenes who turned my dangling modifiers into coherent sentences and my crumpled pages into a beautiful book.

INTRODUCTION

When people hear the word shame, they often have one of two responses: “I’m not sure what you mean by shame, but I know that I don’t want to talk about it,” or “Oh, shame. I know it well, but I don’t want to talk about it.” As a shame researcher, I understand our reluctance to talk about it—shame is so powerful that we sometimes feel shame just talking about shame. But after spending six years interviewing hundreds of women about their lives, here’s what I’ve learned: We all experience shame. It is an absolutely universal emotion.

The less we understand shame and how it affects our feelings, thoughts and behaviors, the more power it exerts over our lives. However, if we can find the courage to talk about shame and the compassion to listen, we can change the way we live, love, parent, work and build relationships.

People often want to believe that shame is reserved for the unfortunate few who have survived terrible traumas, but this is not true. Shame is something we all experience. And, while it feels like shame hides in our darkest corners, it actually tends to lurk in all of the familiar places, including appearance and body image, motherhood, family, parenting, money and work, mental and physical health, addiction, sex, aging and religion.

This book offers information, insight and specific strategies for understanding shame and building “shame resilience.” We can never become completely resistant to shame; however, we can develop the resilience we need to recognize shame, move through it constructively and grow from our experiences. Across the interviews, women with high levels of shame resilience shared four things in common. I refer to these factors as the four elements of shame resilience. The four elements of shame resilience are the heart of this book. As we learn more about shame resilience and start to put the elements into practice, we can start to move through the by-products of shame—fear, blame and disconnection—and move toward the courage, compassion and connection we need to live our best, authentic lives.

I’ve dedicated my career to studying shame and its impact on women, men and children. In my study with women, I’ve had the opportunity to interview over three hundred participants of all ages, races, ethnicities and life situations. I’ve also gone back and reinterviewed sixty women who have applied some of the strategies in this book to learn what strategies have been effective and what barriers they’ve faced.

If you’re not sure of shame’s impact on our own life, it may help to read some quotes from my interviews. In these quotes, you can start to see the complex weaving of shame, fear and cultural expectations.

 
“Sex is such a big issue between me and my husband. Sometimes it’s great. Other times, I’ll start thinking about my body and how much it has changed in the past ten years. I start to feel panicked. I imagine him judging me against these ideals I have in my head. In these moments, I lose it. I’ll pick a fight or do anything to escape and get my clothes back on.”

“One day I was driving down the street in our neighborhood and I stopped next to a car full of young men at a light. They were looking over and smiling. I smiled back and even blushed a bit. Then out of nowhere, my fifteen-year-old daughter, who was sitting in the backseat with her best friend, snapped, ‘Geeez, Mom, stop looking at them. What do you think—they’re flirting with you? Get real!’ I could barely hold the tears back. How could I have been so stupid?”

 
“When I look at myself in the mirror, sometimes I’m OK. But other times I just see fat and ugly. I get totally overwhelmed—like I can barely breathe. I get sick to my stomach and disgusted. I just want to hide in the house so no one sees me.”

 
“I’m forty-one and I just went back to school to get my degree. Half of the time I don’t know what they’re talking about—I just sit there and nod my head like an idiot. I feel like a phony—like I’m not smart enough to be there. When these feelings come over me I want to just slip away . . . really, just grab my purse, slip out the back and never go back.”

 
“My life looks pretty good on the outside. Nice husband, nice house, cute kids—the whole package. On the inside it’s another story. If we didn’t care so much about what other people think, we’d get a divorce. We barely talk to each other. Both of our kids struggle in school. We have to make these outrageous contributions to the school just to make sure they don’t get kicked out. It’s getting harder and harder to keep it all together. Every now and then I know my friends see glimpses of the truth—they have to. It literally makes me sick when I feel like they can see through it all.”

 
“I constantly feel judged as a mother; like nothing I do is right or good enough. The worst is when other mothers put you down. One disapproving look from another mother can cut me to the core.”

 
“I don’t tell anyone about the things I’ve gone through—I don’t want them to feel sorry for me or think differently about me. It’s easier to keep my past to myself. Just thinking about being blamed or judged for my past causes me to lose my breath.”

 
“No one knows how bad things are with my husband—they’d think less of him and less of me for staying with him. I’m constantly lying and making up stories to cover up. When I lie, I feel sneaky and ashamed.”

 
Sound familiar? For most of us, the answer is yes. Shame is universal. To varying degrees, we all know the struggle to feel comfortable with who we are in a society that puts so much importance on being perfect and fitting in. We also know the painful wave of emotion that washes over us when we feel judged or ridiculed about the way we look, our work, our parenting, how we spend our money, our families or even the life experiences over which we had no control. And it’s not always someone else putting us down or judging us; the most painful shaming experiences are often self-inflicted.

The constant struggle to feel accepted and worthy is unrelenting. We put so much of our time and energy into making sure that we meet everyone’s expectations and into caring about what other people think of us, that we are often left feeling angry, resentful and fearful. Sometimes we turn these emotions inward and convince ourselves that we are bad and that maybe we deserve the rejection that we so desperately fear. Other times we lash out—we scream at our partners and children for no apparent reason, or we make a cutting comment to a friend or colleague. Either way, in the end, we are left feeling exhausted, overwhelmed and alone.

We spend an extraordinary amount of time and energy tackling the surface issues, which rarely results in meaningful, lasting change. When we dig past the surface, we find that shame is often what drives us to hate our bodies, fear rejection, stop taking risks or hide the experiences and parts of our lives that we fear others might judge. This same dynamic applies to feeling attacked as a mother or feeling too stupid or uneducated to voice our opinions.

Until we start addressing the role shame plays, we may temporarily fix some of the surface problems, but we can’t silence the old tape in our head that suddenly blares some version of “something is wrong with me.” For example, that imposter or phony feeling at work or school rarely has anything to do with our abilities, but has more to do with that fearful voice inside of us that scolds and asks, “Who do you think you are?” Shame forces us to put so much value on what other people think that we lose ourselves in the process of trying to meet everyone else’s expectations.

Shame: The Silent Epidemic

When you spend years studying a topic like shame, it is easy to forget how much people dislike and fear the topic. My husband constantly reminds me not to take it personally when people make the “I just smelled something bad” face after I tell them I’m a shame researcher. A couple of years ago, I had a personal experience that taught me a lot about shame and why courage and compassion are so critical to shame resilience.

I was flying to Cleveland to give a lecture at Case Western Reserve University. As I settled into my window seat, a very energetic woman plunked down in the aisle seat on my row. I had seen her in the airport chatting up a storm with other waiting passengers and airline employees. After holding up aisle traffic for the better part of five minutes, she got her bags stuffed under the seat in front of her, turned toward me and introduced herself. We talked for a minute about the Houston weather before she asked, “So what do you do and why are you going to Cleveland?” As the plane took off, I raised my voice a bit and said, “I’m a researcher and I’m going to give a lecture at Case.” “How wonderful,” she responded. “What do you study?” Still fighting against the roar of the engines, I leaned toward her and said, “Women and shame.”

Her eyes widened and she let out an enthusiastic “Oh, wow.” She leaned so far toward me that her entire upper body was perched over the empty seat between us. “Women in chains! That’s so interesting. Tell me more about it.” By this time the airplane was quiet again. I smiled and said, “Not women in chains . . . women and shame.” “Shame?” she asked, in a shocked and disappointed voice. “Yes,” I replied. “I study shame and the various ways it affects women’s lives.”

With that, the conversation was over. She averted her eyes, then told me that she needed to get some rest. For three hours we sat silent in our seats. Every now and then I could feel her looking at me and perusing my laptop screen out of the corner of her eye. The first couple of times, I turned toward her to smile and acknowledge her, but immediately she would pretend to be sleeping. One time she even thr