Hi Friends,

Before we dive into today’s newsletter, I want to remind you that my Coming Home to Yourself workshop is this Saturday, June 25th, so be sure to register soon if you’re planning on joining me for an expansive, heart-opening and joyful immersion into the power of self-discovery and self-love. I hope to see you there! Details and registration HERE.

The Detroit Free Press used to highlight a high school "standout" student once a week, and I was selected my junior year at Lakeview High. My uncle Ken, unbeknownst to me, nominated me for the honor.As is evident in the write-up, I was obsessed with tennis. I was the best player in my school, which was about the same as being the best singer in an all tone-deaf chorus. (sorry, Huskies.) I did have, and still have, a wicked forehand, though. Apparently, at least according to a former teacher, I was also very forceful, but in a friendly way. It’s funny to see me quoted as saying I like a lot of pressure (silly boy) and that I was planning to major in college in business law, as I’m sure I didn’t even know what business law was. I still don’t. When the journalist interviewed me, he kept asking questions about my parents, who had been shot to death two years earlier. I didn't want to talk about my parents to anyone, and certainly not to a journalist. I definitely didn't want them mentioned in the story. Still, he pressed on with his questions, and though I felt uncomfortable, I couldn’t just ignore them.A few months after my parents had died, I’d moved in with my eldest sister Rose and her husband Joe and son Joey, and had transferred to Lakeview High in the middle of my freshman year. It was 1985, my hair was a swooping feather a la Flock of Seagulls and my pants were safety pinned tight at the ankles. I was a rabid fan of Duran Duran, Tears for Fears and Eurythmics, and rocking my best interpretation of New Wave.

Prior to the journalist arriving my junior year, I’d managed to keep my parent’s murder a secret (at least as far as I knew), except to my closest friends who would eventually ask me why I was living with my sister. I dreaded telling anyone my parents were dead, and especially dreaded sharing how they died. I felt like a freak for being an orphan (and in such a gruesome way), and I hated the overwhelm and pity I felt from people when they found out. I had become a master at manipulating conversations with my fellow students away from anything having to do with family. It was exhausting to be on guard all the time, but worth it to avoid having to tell my story.

It’s strange to think about how alien I felt because of my parents’ murder when I look at our country today, when I consider how common the horror of gun violence has become. Far from unusual, it’s estimated that 58% of American adults, or someone they care for, have experienced gun violence in their lifetime. As devastating and unnecessary as gun violence is in our country, it hasn’t been honestly shocking for a long time.I didn't understand the whole reason I had been selected as the student standout was because of what happened to my mom and dad. There were plenty of all-A class presidents in the Detroit metro area, but not many with murdered parents. I wasn’t being celebrated for my scholarly aptitude, or my forceful but friendly nature, as much as for my personal resilience in the face of tragedy. When I realized this, I felt pitiful rather than exemplary.I walked into school the day the profile came out, and it had already been posted on the bulletin board outside the main office. Dead center. There was no way not to notice it. My face flushed and stomach churned with nausea. I felt terrified to imagine the whole school knowing about my parents, to think of the somber looks I'd be getting in the halls. Poor Scott, the orphan boy. All the foreseen pity was almost too much to bear.

I don’t, however, remember being overwhelmed by sympathetic expressions or awkward condolences. My friends thought the write-up was great, my teachers raved to me about it, and several of my classmates offered their congratulations. Some even acknowledged my loss. What I couldn't have guessed was how relieved I would feel knowing the entire school knew about my parents. Knowing I wouldn't have to manipulate conversations away from family to avoid revealing my orphan status. I wouldn't have to keep their death a secret anymore. What freedom there is in no longer feeling compelled to deceive.

Of course, being an orphan was not my biggest secret in high school. It didn’t even come close to the secret of my sexuality. That was something I had never planned on revealing, until I couldn’t imagine keeping it a secret anymore. And that sense of relief that came with being outed as an orphan in high school? It paled in comparison to the freedom I felt when I began to come out as gay in my twenties. When I decided to be no longer ruled by my shame.

It’s almost always shame, and the fear it instills in us, that keeps us from expressing who we really are in the world, that keeps us from living in our truth. I’d like to end with some words I wrote in my book Big Love, in the chapter entitled The Cougher.

Shame snakes its way into all areas of our lives, telling us that how we look or what we’ve done or what’s been done to us needs to stay a secret. Yet the real secret about shame is that it can’t survive being revealed. The moment we speak of the things we’re ashamed of — to a friend, to a support group, in a book (hello!) — shame’s reins loosen, and its power dissipates within an air of honesty and ownership and acceptance. The truth is, we have nothing to be ashamed of, none of us. No matter how we look, or who we love, or what we’ve done. We’ve all made mistakes, we’ve all done wrong, and we all have reasons to ask for forgiveness. But not from a place of shame. Shame only suffocates any possible growth, any lessons we can learn from our circumstances and our actions. It doesn’t allow us to acknowledge our truth. To silence shame, we must announce it. We must speak of those things about ourselves that make us sweaty and nauseous to consider, the things we spend too much energy trying to hide…Because what’s the big deal, anyway? Nobody is perfect. But we can all do our best to be brave.Wishing us all the courage to be honest about who we are, and brave enough to share our truth. Wishing us all the gift of freedom that comes from living beyond our shame.

Big and Bigger Love,

Scott

Bigger Love is a reader-supported newsletter, and one of the ways in which I earn my living. If you’re loving it, and have the means, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Thank you!

Get full access to Bigger Love with Scott Stabile at scottstabile.substack.com/subscribe