I’m not sure why we like to trace the origin of our sick and ask who gave it to us. It’s often phrased as active, the dank gift pressed upon us, or something we brought upon ourselves “she gave me the flu” or “I picked up a cold” rather than the reality of a random connection between germ and body in any open space.

I picked up my three-year-old grandson from day care the other day and thought I am walking into a miasma of germs right now, all those small, adorable Petri dishes with their Disney movie t shirts and runny noses. I was sick a few days later.

I’m a Car Seat Grandmother, one of those lucky grandparents who spend enough time with her grandkids to warrant car seats in the back of my car. It’s not a full-time gig by any means, just the odd pick up or evening, but it’s joyful for all involved. But it does mean signing up for more head colds. The shadow side of the gift.

Which brings me, to segue with the lyrical grace of a gear-grinding downshift, to what I wanted to talk about – shame. Specifically, the shame spiral that can come with achieving some modicum of success or acclaim. The shadow side of the gift.

Like many of us, I was taught shame early. We learn it from our parents or family, our culture or church. Appropriate socialization of children says, “this behavior is not acceptable, we don’t hit, bite, or poop on the kitchen floor.” In a shame-based system the message is that we ourselves, innately, are wrong, a mistake, bad, unlovable.

If we are taught shame early we are more susceptible to the cultural messages that are quick to point out how we are wrong. Social media is full of shame-based hectoring. I am regularly told how my older body is all wrong, I don’t support the right causes in the right ways, etc etc. It’s a great way to get me to spend money, to engage in the content, to read and buy and learn my way to not being a mistake.

A shame spiral is a wave of shame that doesn’t stop, that continues to gain momentum, like an avalanche. It is not connected to reality, it’s not guilt over a bad act, it’s shame at full volume. You fall down the spiral, like a psychic black hole. I experience a shame spiral with the somatic intensity of a panic attack – my stomach feels the drop as if my body were actually losing altitude precipitously. My chest gets tight, and my lungs clamor as if they are deprived of oxygen.

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