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Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Boldness, Shame, and Boundaries


Just a couple weeks ago life felt amazing. I attended a Women’s Leadership Conference with 500 other women (and a few men), and felt connected to my power as a bold leader. I was ready to conquer the world. This picture, taken at the event, captured my feeling well.

Then the New York Times broke the news on the 21st of the proposal by the federal government to redefine gender strictly on the basis of birth genitalia, strictly as male or female, and strictly immutable. This move would define myself and any other transgender or gender non-conforming individual out of legal existence as far as the federal government was considered. All hell broke loose in my community, and in myself. A shitstorm of immense proportions that knocked me off my equilibrium and overwhelmed my coping mechanisms.

I spent the following Monday trying to engage in numerous conversations within my local transgender community and our allies, discussing and coordinating our response, all while trying to fulfill the responsibilities of my paid employment and process my own emotional reaction. It was too much. I couldn’t cope. Part way through the day I went into my friend’s office and, with tears running down my face, acknowledged to her that I felt overwhelmed and inadequate to handle the intensity of emotions and the demands I felt on my time and energy. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I was swimming in a sea of shame, shame that said “I’m not enough.” At a time when I most felt the need to be a leader in my community, I felt like an imposter. I felt inadequate to the task. And I felt ashamed to admit that to myself or anyone else. Shame. So much for feeling Bold AF. She gently counseled me to determine my boundaries and then hold them without shame, which I began to do.

Over the coming days I would continue to struggle with holding boundaries, balancing my engagement with my capacity in time and energy. And not adequately accounting for the impact on my own mental and emotional health. By Wednesday morning I felt defeated. Tears came as I sat at the table eating breakfast. My day had not even begun and my coping mechanisms were failing. At that point, amidst the numerous statements of support and solidarity with myself and my community on social media, only one person had actually reached out to me directly to ask how I was doing. I, on my part, had also not recognized my own need for emotional and mental support and had reached out only to one friend. The combination left me drained and feeling alone as I tried to navigate a wave of external pressure combined with my internal sense of being inadequate to deal with it. I needed to change the narrative. I rumbled with my shame and chose to reach out for the support I needed. Brené Brown in her latest book Dare to Lead reminds us that bold leadership requires vulnerability. A key aspect of vulnerability is acknowledging and naming shame, because only when we name it can we begin to address it.

“Shame,” she writes, “is the fear of disconnection—it’s the fear that something that we’ve done or failed to do, an ideal that we’ve not lived up to or a goal that we’ve not accomplished makes us unworthy of connection.”

In the context of this week, I experienced shame because I had expectations of myself and my ability to respond to the situation as a leader that were not realistic. I felt that I had an obligation to engage in every aspect of my community’s efforts to speak out against our erasure, but I failed to fulfill that obligation. I simply could not. I told myself that being bold meant demonstrating my ability to handle everything without wavering. It meant loading up on armor to prove my worthiness. But I don’t need to prove my worth, and I cannot do everything. I needed to clarify and hold my boundaries on what I could realistically do given the limits of my time and energy: physical, mental, and emotional. I needed to allow others to step up and lead. I needed to reach out and let people know what I needed from them. I needed to address the shame gremlins that said I am a failure because I couldn’t meet my own unrealistic expectations of myself.

When I reached the low point mid-week, I began to practice what Brown refers to as shame resilience. As I shared what I was experiencing with others, I was met with empathy, which began to eliminate the sense of shame I felt. As Brown writes: “If we share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive….because shame is a social concept—it happens between people—it also heals best between people. A social wound needs a social balm, and empathy is that balm.”

Acknowledging my need for support and being met with empathy, along with releasing the demands I was placing on myself to engage in everything allowed me to begin to regain my emotional and mental center. It gave me space to practice healthy self-care. I chose how and where to engage and let go of the false shame that told me I was an imposter if I didn’t step up to the plate in every situation. It enabled me to reclaim the truth that I am bold af, because being bold doesn’t mean I have to take on every challenge, and I certainly don’t have to do it alone.

By Friday, which was my birthday, I had reestablished a better balance. As I celebrated my day doing creative activities with a few close friends, my emotional and mental energy recharged. I won’t say I’m ready to take on the world, because I don’t have to. But I am ready to tackle those things I choose to focus my time and energy on, while holding better boundaries that enable me to keep going over the long haul. I read this poem by rupi kaur at precisely the right moment:


the road to changing the world

is never-ending

 -        pace yourself


In the end I was able to contribute my skill, time, and energy to one specific response to this threat. By focusing my engagement I was able to contribute in a meaningful and significant way without completely burning myself out. Today I saw some fruit from that engagement, and it felt very satisfying. I haven’t stopped this proposal, but I have contributed to a valuable conversation that I hope will ease the anxiety of a specific segment of the local transgender community, as well as promote an ongoing conversation to create a safe, more inclusive environment for the LGBTQ community at our local university. We all contribute where we are able.

The shitstorm continues to whirl around me. I still experience anxiety over the potential impact of this proposed redefinition. I feel the anxiety of my community as well, an anxiety that we find difficult to adequately convey to our cisgender allies. I believe and hope that the worst will not come, but regardless of what happens, I will strive to reject the shame of the unrealistic expectations and the fear I place upon myself of feeling that I have to prove my worth. I know my worth. And I know I have a great depth of internal strength to draw on. I also have a community of friends who stand with me and care deeply about me. I am not alone and will not be alone. In that there is amazing strength. And in that I find confidence that no matter how dark this storm gets, we will come out on the other side.  


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