Shame

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 35 of 267 · 20 per page

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  When I began to pull at his buttons, he closed his eyes.I got his cock out, and studied it: I had never seen one before, so close, and - no disrespect to the gent concerned - it seemed quite monstrous. But there are always jokes about such things in the music hall: I had a pretty good idea of how they worked. Seizing hold of it, I began - very inexpertly, I am sure, though he didn’t seem to mind - to pump it.‘How thick and long it is,’ I said then - I had heard that it was every man’s ambition to be spoken to thus, at such moments. The fellow gave a sigh, and opened his eyes.‘Oh, I do wish you would kiss me there,’ he whispered. ‘Your mouth is such a perfect one - quite like a girl’s.’I slowed my rhythm, and took another look at his straining cock; and again, when I knelt, it was as if it were someone else who was kneeling, not myself. I thought, This is how Walter tastes!Afterwards I spat his spendings out upon the cobbles, and he thanked me very graciously.‘Perhaps,’ he said, buttoning himself up, ‘perhaps I shall see you again, in the same spot?’I could not answer him - the fact was, I felt almost ready to weep. He handed me my sovereign; then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stepped to me and kissed my cheek. The gesture made me flinch; and when he felt the shudder, he misunderstood, and looked wistful.‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t like that, you soldier-boys, do you?’ His tone was strange; when I studied him, I saw that his eyes were gleaming.His excitement had stirred me to strangeness, before; his emotion, now, made me terribly thoughtful. When he turned and left the court, I remained there, trembling - not with sadness, but with a creeping kind of relish. The man had looked like Walter; I had pleasured him, in some queer way, for Kitty’s sake; and the act had made me sicken. But he was not like Walter, who might take his pleasure where he chose it. His pleasure had turned, at the last, to a kind of grief; and his love was a love so fierce and so secret it must be satisfied, with a stranger, in a reeking court like this.

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  68 However, practicing self-compassion, something that may not come easy for many of us, yields a wealth of positive benefits. Simply put: self-compassion is when we give ourselves permission to be a friend to ourselves. This improves our overall mental health while increasing our sense of resilience. 69 It’s one of the best things we can do and yet so many of us withhold it from ourselves. It was hard for Colleen to tap into self-compassion, as she didn’t even have a great friend or family member to set an example for how she should be treated. Worse yet, she feared that if she was kind to herself, she would really fall apart. She thought her internal meanness was the only thing holding her up. You too may worry that if you’re compassionate with yourself, you’ll become lazy, foolish, or incapable. Others may have made you believe this through the years. Trust me, the wheels will not fall off the cart if you’re kind to yourself. In fact, thousands of studies have shown that practicing self-compassion contributes to more fruitful relationships, less fear of failure, increased motivation to fix mistakes, and improved body image, among other benefits. 70 And if you’re hesitant to try, practice self-compassion for a day. I realize it’s a mindset shift that can feel insurmountable when you’ve been used to mentally beating yourself up for years. So instead, dip a toe. Try it on and see what happens. When you notice that your world doesn’t fall apart as that cruel inner voice would like you to believe it will, you might want to be kinder to yourself on a long-term basis. Let’s practice this shift together. It’s hard to reframe our thoughts if we don’t know what they are to begin with. Start by identifying what your negative inner critic tells you. If you’re having trouble homing in on it, listen for the bully in your brain that intimidates you, insults you, and makes you feel inadequate. Next, we’ll practice shifting our response. This isn’t necessarily about completely changing your mind-set (which can feel impossible at first). Instead, it’s about reframing your perspective to include a broader, more realistic approach that allows for possibility rather than certainty. Remember that while we can’t control the inner critic that pops up automatically, we do get to decide how we respond to it. We can choose kindness to ourselves in these moments. Be the loving parent to yourself that you may have wished you had. A NEW WAVE TO RIDE: Do you find that you struggle with self-compassion? What are some ways that you can practice being kinder to yourself?

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  “Last week he said he was going to be a rap artist,” she would report. “Today he tells me he’s going to the Air Force Academy to be a fighter pilot. When I ask him why, he just says ‘So I can fly.’ Like I was stupid. I swear, Barack, sometimes I don’t know whether to hug him or beat his skinny behind.” “Try both,” I would tell her. One day just before Christmas, I asked Ruby to stop by my office so I could give her a present for Kyle. I was on the phone when she walked in, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something different about her, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Only after I had hung up and she turned toward me did I realize that her eyes, normally a warm, dark brown that matched the color of her skin, had turned an opaque shade of blue, as if someone had glued plastic buttons over her irises. She asked me if something was wrong. “What did you do to your eyes?” “Oh, these.” Ruby shook her head and laughed. “They’re just contacts, Barack. The company I work for makes cosmetic lenses, and I get them at a discount. You like them?” “Your eyes looked just fine the way they were.” “It’s just for fun,” she said, looking down. “Something different, you know.” I stood there, not knowing what to say. Finally I remembered Kyle’s gift and handed it to her. “For Kyle,” I said. “A book on airplanes … I thought he might like it.” Ruby nodded and put the book inside her purse. “That’s nice of you, Barack. I’m sure he will.” Then, abruptly, she stood up and straightened her skirt. “Well, I better get going,” she said, and hurried out the door. For the rest of the day and into the next, I thought about Ruby’s eyes. I had handled the moment badly, I told myself, made her feel ashamed for a small vanity in a life that could afford few vanities. I realized that a part of me expected her and the other leaders to possess some sort of immunity from the onslaught of images that feed every American’s insecurities—the slender models in the fashion magazines, the square-jawed men in fast cars—images to which I myself was vulnerable and from which I had sought protection. When I mentioned the incident to a black woman friend of mine, she stated the issue more bluntly. “What are you surprised about?” my friend said impatiently. “That black people still hate themselves?”

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  Tron adj.m. kind, pious (so, as denoting active practice of 101, kindness, Thes MV De and most, cf. Y32, TPB etc.; >Hup on w 4* RVm who expl. as passive reception of "'8 TON, cf. שָכִיר‎ DS 660.; its use as attribute of God Je 3” ץ‎ 145”, and the context ~ 12’ Mi 7? etc., favour active sense) —ny4'+ot.; TPO Dt33°y89"; Pron 16; pl.OMPON ץ‎ 149"; sf. ‘DM y 50°; ron 18 2°+15 +. kind: a. of man עם ח' תתחסד‎ with the kind thow shewest thyself kind 28 22%=wW 18%. b. of wing of ostrich חַסִירֶה‎ 718 OS Jb 39” zs 4 a kindly pinion? poss. with play on TDN nf. stork (is the ostrich kind like the stork?). 6. of God, only 163 ~145". 2. pious, godly, either as exhibition of ‘duteous love’ toward God (Che°’**), or (in view of rarity of such passages as Ho 6*° Je 2 and their possible ambiguity) because kindness, as prominent in the godly, comes to imply other attributes, and to be a designation of the godly character, piety: @ as adj—T dn לא‎ 3 ₪ nation, not pious,=ungodly 43%. b. elsewh. as subst.: sing., a pious man, the godly ?ו‎ 4* 127 32° 86°, |W Miy?; (thy) pious one(s) +16" (Kt pl.), 1S 2°(Qr pl.) Pr2’, JON איש‎ men of thy pious one Dt 33° (Moses, v. Di; others, the man, thy godly one, i.e. Levi); pl. the pious, godly, those of the people who were faithful, devoted to God’s service, only in Psalter and chiefly, if not entirely, in late Psalms /ו‎ 149'°; his pious ones yy 30° 317 37 859 97 116" 148" 149°; thy pious ones 52" 79° 89” 132° = 2 Ch 6%, 145"; my pious ones W 50°, her (Zion’s) pious wv 132°.—(In 1186082. age, cvvaywy? ’Acidaiar denoted, technically, the party of the pious, who opposed the Hellenization of Judaea, v. I Mace 2” 4 2 Macc 14° and Che? *™: so perhaps y 116” 149'°*.) +. .מ רְְסִידה‎ stork (so called as kind and affectionate to its young)—Ly 11% Dt ז‎ 4% ~ 104" Je 8’ 20 5°. n.pr.m. (Yah is kind) son of‏ חסדִיה1 Zerubbabel 1 Ch 3”.‏ Z2 TOM qa [TD [ח‎ vb. be reproached, ashamed (Aramaism, v. "ל ת‎ Arama. חפל‎ be put to shame, ,מ‎ 150 reproach, revile ; NTBN, Joan shame, reproach, oft. in TS for 7B) ;— only Pi. Jmpf. JIBS Pr 25” lest he reproach thee, expose thee to shame. yu. חסד‎ n.m. shame, reproach, only abs.:—S3 “0 Ly 20” (H) it is ₪ shame (shame- ful thing); לאָמִּים חַטָאת‎ T 4%נעק‎ sin ts a reproach to peoples.

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  Pt. OND Is 57%;—crushed, fig. = contrite ones. Pi. Pf N37 143°; 2 ms. OND 89"; Impf. S21) ש‎ 72‘; 2 ms. SDI Pr 22” (juss.); NPT ץ‎ 94°, WIV 33"; sf USS Jb 6%, יְדכְּאוּם‎ Jb 459; 2mpl. 2288373 Tb 19? (so Baer, v. his ed. p. 44, ef. Norzi); Inf. N37) La 3%; sf ISD Is 53";—crush, (fig.) c. ace. one’s life to the earth p 143°, Egypt ץש‎ 89" (cf. De Che ; “ subj.), servant of Yahweh Is 53" ( subj.), Jb6? “1 אל אלה‎ oppressor לו‎ 2% God’s people ,(יענו|) *94 ש‎ Is 3°, ef. Pr 22” illegally in tribunal, La 3** ד' תחת רגליו‎ (in all human oppressor subj.); crush me 0°22 Jh 19° (Job's friends, subj.; | (תונְיוּן כפש'‎ ; never lit., not even Jb 4° (DNDN, with indef. subj.), for suff. ref. not to W2N-NA, but rather to *22¥, i.e. men inhabiting the clay houses, bodies, ef. Di. Pu. Pf. 3831 Je 44"; Impf. 831 Jb 22°; Pt. N27 Is 53°, DXDT Is 19°;—crushed, broken in pieces, shattered Jb 22° 0. obj. fem. זרועות‎ ; Is 19" subj. שתות‎ (here metaphor. for nobles); fig. of servant of " 18 53%; made humble, con- trite 1644". Hithp. Impf. 3837) Jb5*, NDT Jb 34”;—must let themselves be crushed, i.e. maltreated Jb 5* (in court ,בשער‎ cf. Pi. Pr 22”): are crushed Jb 34” (the mighty, by God). Ji. NDT adj. contrite (crushed)—N31 Is ;ל‎ NPT ¥-34!—contrite Is 57% (|| (שפל"רוח‎ ; ד' רוח‎ 34" (|| 22°73). jm. NDI n[m.] dust (as pulverized), NDTTY WAIN AWA ץש‎ go% (on form cf. BaX?™), 1 [TIT] vb.ia. (only y);—Qal dub; ודכה‎ (ישח)‎ y 10” Kt is rd. as Qal Pf. 727) consec. by RobGes O1 De al., i.e. and he is crushed, or and he croucheth (Qr 127 Impf. so AV RV he croucheth); others rd. י שח‎ 127) (adj. intrans. or passive) and crushed he sinketh down, cf. VB Che; possible wd. be 137° Niph. (|| שח‎ and 5p»). Niph. Pf. dT) ץ‎ 38°; Pt. M31) y 51'°;—be crushed, broken, of physical distress y 38° (||"0952); be contrite (373 (לב‎ .שר |) "51 ש‎ Pi. 2 שי ית‎ 51; sf. BNP צ‎ 44”; crush down, of divine wrath; c. acc. ש‎ 44%, and crush to pieces, obj. ref. to ,עצמות‎ in metaph. y 51.399 Nu 11° v. .דוך‎ 1 הכר‎ n.[{m. | (crushing), crashing, dash- ing, sf. D337 ישאו נהרות‎ yf-9 3° of ocean (waves). foll.; cf. Ar. J5, Aram. 92%,‏ /+) דכ .)737 ,דכא NH in deriy.; y. also‏ 194 דליות +7 ד‎ adj. crushed, דף---06פפסינקק0‎ / 74", "פץ דף‎ 10%; pl. 81. על דכו‎ 26% (Baer; edd. al. (דּכָּיו‎ -- 2066. ; always fig., oppressed, distressed yo", 10" (|| עני |) "742 (יתום‎ and aye); Br 26% 131 = those crushed by it (a lying tongue). Tas n.f. crushing, NIT YB Dt 23° one wounded by crushing (viz. of testicles). bs, דל‎ n. door, v. sub .דלה‎ דל‎ adj. v. sub .דלל‎

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  קלון Ar. ) 55, Aram.‏ קיש* n.pr.m. (prob.‏ קיש orig. n.pr.del 88 AT. | 5‏ 187 ו יצ Nig‏ קישא wh. now only in n.pr. pers. We"? 7); _K(e)is:‏ father of Saul 1S9!*3 10"! 14°! 25214 100‏ .1 (where read 1238, Be Kau Kit), "=="‏ %-8% (read as above), v 12' 26%. 2. Levites: a.‏ 1Ch 237" 24%”, b. 2Ch 29%. ) 3. ancestor of Mordecai Est 2° (Ketoaiov). T קישון‎ n.pr. of wady running טסיב \ א‎ plain of Megiddo(Esdraelon), 8 )>( 0 (‘stream of (god) Kish RS Sem. i. 155; 2nd ed. 0) ;—alw. קי‎ bmp Ju 478 5717! 83", also 1 K 18°; mgd. Nahr- el-Mukatta’; v. Bull @815209, GA Sm S08". 382, קישי‎ v. קוּשָיָהוּ‎ sub .קוש‎ קל קל‎ v. bp. (OP 0706, V. (קול‎ לוה‎ 2 8 20% Kt, v. .קהל‎ ie (7p) vb. roast, parch (NH nbdp id. (rare), קלי‎ = BH; As, kali, .דד‎ 1, 1. 1 burn, consume Meissn?*-. Sab. onxdp conflagratio, aestus Og 119-20 CI Qi-N0-74,1.20. Ay. 13 fry or roast wheat ; Eth. Aw: PAE: burn, fry, so T xp, Syr. lo);—Qal Pf. 3 ms. sf. באש‎ pop Je 29”(acc.pers.) he roasted them with fire; Pt. pass. אָבִיב לוי בּאָש‎ Ly 2'*)1?( grain parched with fire; so 2? alone, as common food, Jos 5" (P), v. °2?. Niph. P2. mbps as n. ץר‎ 38° my loins are filled with burning (Vrss Bae with contempt, 1. .(קלה‎ tp n.m,’5">" parched grain, a common food (Rob**":” Anderlind”*¥ **( ;—abs. ק'‎ 18 25% 28 17%* "ל -ך‎ (but dittogr., del. 69 G and Comm.), Lv 23" (P), Ru 24; — dp ית‎ +11. [17 , Pv». Niph.belightly esteemed, dishonoured (|| form of ;קלל‎ cf. NH קלון‎ x N20P, disgrace, shame);—Pf. 3 ms. consec. nbpn Is 16" Dt 25°; Pe. APP Is 3°42 t.;—be lightly esteemed, held of little account, Is 16" (glory of Moab); 72P2) U1 איש‎ 1 ₪ 18°; 80 (Pt. as subst.) Is 3° (opp. 7233), Pr 12° (opp. T2302) ; more positively, be dishonoured, degraded, Dt 25° (TYP). Hiph. treat with contempt, dishonour, Pt.) VAN מַקְלָה‎ Dt %5ך2‎ one dis- honouring (i.e. opp. 123 of 5th Command]. קלון+‎ n.m.*"!)? ignominy, dishonour;— abs. ק'‎ Ho 44+; cstr. op Is 2218; sf. קונ‎ Je 13” + ;—1. of national ignominy Ho 4"* (dub. line, v. Che Now), Je 46" (rd. prob. dip, so 9 nnbp Gie Co™™), Hb 2* ¥ 83"; of nation under fig. of woman, = pudenda, Je 13” Na 3° (|| 712). 2. personal dishonour, disgrace, of Shebna, as disgrace to his lord’s house Is 22'°(opp. 71/33); individ., Jb 10% Pr 3 (opp. 7133), 6% 9/7 11? יז‎ 13° (opp. "רבד‎ 8% 2% 08121 וי 2176 n.f. caldron (Erman‏ קלחת ז cp. Egypt. krit, pot, cf. OCopt. galaht Lag®* ®,‏ wh. has come back as loan-wd. WMM ie 5‏ WB); NOP Mi‏ ,7 ,4702( *2 8 1 ק' —abs.‏ (Ik WE).‏ 3°

• From H Is for Hawk (2014)

  There’s a hush in my head; it grows louder. ‘I am not a spy,’ I’d told my father. ‘I’m a historian.’ But watching everyone around the table, their faces entranced by my hawk, it seems I’m not even that any more. I am the Fool, I think, dully. I used to be a Research Fellow, a proper academic. Now I am in motley. I am not Helen any more. I am the hawk woman. The hawk pulls on the rabbit leg. Wasps circle her like electrons. They land on her feet, on her nose, seeking shreds of rabbit flesh to take back to their paper nest in some nearby Cambridge loft. She flicks them away with her beak and I watch their yellow-and-black striped abdomens spinning through the air before they right themselves and fly back to the hawk. This summer lunch feels deeply unreal. Shadows of damask and silver, a photogravure in an album, something from Agatha Christie, from Evelyn Waugh, from another time. But the wasps are real. They are here, and they are present. So is the hawk, the sun at their centre. And me? I do not know. I feel hollow and unhoused, an airy, empty wasps’ nest, a thing made of chewed paper after the frosts have murdered the life within. Sometimes a reckoning comes of all the lives we have lost, and sometimes we take it upon ourselves to burn them to ashes. In the evenings, by the light of the Aladdin lamp, in the soft white glow of its fluorescing mantle, White is doing his old life to death. He is committing the murder in a novel he’d started writing at Stowe, and now it is nearly finished. The book is called You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down, and it is the story of the decline and fall of a public- school headmaster called Dr Prisonface. Prisonface is terrified of life; he is a chameleon, a mirror, existing only through his reflection in the eyes of others. He loses his job at the school. He woos and is rejected by a boyish dark-haired barmaid, flees in terror from the advances of her mother. He flies with drunken aviators descended from Romantic poets. He tries to teach Hollywood moguls how to be Gentlemen and is humiliated when they mow down grouse with tommy guns. The book is a vicious satire on the educational system and the cult of the English Gentleman, but it is also a psychological exorcism, a caustic narrative written to burn away his former life. White called Prisonface to life in order that he should suffer, be punished, mocked, reduced to rags and die. From headmaster to private tutor, from farmworker to beggar, he fails at everything he attempts. Everyone he meets on the way lectures him on why he is useless and unreal, and the book’s narrator, too, puts the boot in at every opportunity.

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  If you’ve been hating on your body for years, it takes time to start viewing your body through a different lens. Perhaps a place to start is holding that it could be possible for you to accept your body as is. I also began helping Casey detach her worth from her appearance—which was a journey that I was all too familiar with myself. Now, this is some of the hardest work that I have done with clients because, let me tell you, our beliefs about beauty in our society are deeply entrenched. Just as folks may have internalized homophobia, racism, and ableism, among other forms of discrimination, so many of us have internalized appearance bias. We shame ourselves for having wrinkles, cellulite, saggy skin, small breasts, big breasts, no butt, big hips, small muscles, acne—the list goes on and on and it’s ever changing depending on what’s trending. We hold a false promise with ourselves that if only we were “beautiful,” then life would be easier. In The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf breaks down how women have been socialized to obsess about our appearance to divert us from our rising power. Wolf shares how this impossible striving toward “flawless beauty” is an endeavor that leaves women bound up in self-consciousness and self-hate. 97 Though the book was published in 1990, it still rings true today. I was seeing it actively play out in how Casey talked about and saw herself. For many of us, so much of our worrying is bound up with what we see in the mirror. And though we may not like to admit it, our appearance is not really something we can control. No matter how many diets, surgeries, injections, and creams are pushed onto us, there are many things about ourselves that are genetically inherent to who we are—our skin color, our cup size, our body fat percentage. There’s only so much variability to what we’re born with. We can fight against that, or we can accept (and not always love) the body that we see staring back at us. Now, to be clear, if there are aspects about yourself that you want to change— I’m not going to hold you back if it makes you happy. However, I think we must ask ourselves why we’re engaging in cosmetic procedures and spending thousands of dollars on body-altering processes. Is it because doing so makes us feel more confident? Are we aiming to please ourselves, or everyone else around us? Some say go all in with the procedures, makeup, and hair coloring if it rocks your socks. Others are the polar opposite: don’t shave your armpits, don’t wear makeup, and flaunt your wrinkles proudly. If it makes you feel good and you’re doing it for you—who are we to judge one another? It’s when we’re choosing for ourselves how we want to show up, and anxiety isn’t dictating it, that we’re winning the battle.

• From Get Out of Your Head: Stopping the Cycle of Anxious Thoughts (2020)

  (Just a little aside: If you want to intern at IF:Gathering, please don’t let this incident discourage you from applying. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I am really, really nice.) Later that afternoon, after I left the office, I thought about calling this new team member to apologize, but then my train of thought embarked on a journey of self-justification: Maybe it was no big deal to her. She’s probably already moved on. Maybe by calling and drawing attention to my little oops, I’ll only be stirring things up. I thought about how I’d been justified in my reaction because her perspective had been so far off base. I also thought about how tired I was and how hungry I was and how I deserved a little grace. Yes, I felt sure that if she knew all the stress I was under, she’d want to give me grace. So I gave myself grace. Had I been paying closer attention, I would have recognized the lie that my self-esteem is a valid guide for navigating life. Maybe you can relate? We compare and contrast, justify and judge, and spend a ridiculous amount of time contemplating our identity and place in this world. Maybe this is why the apostle Paul cautioned us not to think of ourselves more highly than we ought. Instead, we’re to “honor one another above [ourselves].”1 But developing such an approach to life requires us to deliberately and repeatedly interrupt the natural trajectory of our thoughts. One of my favorite thinkers on the Christ-following life is the nineteenth-century pastor and prolific writer Andrew Murray. One of his best-known books is on this subject of humility. In fact, that’s the title of the book: Humility. Not very creative, but sometimes plain works best. In his book Murray wrote at length about the nuances of considering others “more significant than yourselves,” referring to such humility in lofty terms like “participation in the life of Jesus” and “the place of entire dependence on God” and “the only soil in which the graces root” and “the disposition which prepares the soul for living on trust” and “our redemption” and “our saviour.”2 He also said this: “The question is often asked, how we can count others better than ourselves, when we see that they are far below us in wisdom and in holiness, in natural gifts, or in grace received.”3 Now, see—this is why I love Andrew Murray. He knew exactly how our minds work against us, and he had the courage to put our true thoughts into words! Pride says, He’s the one who’s wrong. Her overreaction is what caused this mess. I am not that bad. My thought about snapping at my colleague was, It wasn’t that big of a deal. You probably know where this story is going.

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  One, I was saying that I wasn’t bright. I felt that I didn’t have what it took with my intelligence alone, so I needed other tools to buffer it. As I see happen for so many young women, I felt like I had to at least work the hardest at making myself as attractive as possible to earn a seat at the table. (I’m not making this up either—the halo effect where we perceive attractive people as smarter is unfortunately a real thing.) 77 Because of this pressure, I would never go out in public without makeup on, and I was dieting on Weight Watchers before I graduated high school. It was all I could think about—how much I weighed, what people thought of my gummy smile, and how I measured up to others. It was exhausting to feel like I was never “good enough.” I saw how unsustainable this way of living was because I was more unhappy and anxious than ever. I got sick of living this way. I realized that obsessing over a smaller pant size wasn’t worth sacrificing my happiness any longer. I started eating what I wanted again, and I went out in public more and more without a caked-on face. I realized that if other people judged me for my appearance, that was a projection of their own insecurity. Even so, as I get older, I still struggle sometimes with feeling like I need to be “put together” for people to listen to me. I told myself that I could at least work myself into oblivion to meet my goals. The equation was simple: meet your goals and then you can be happy. If you “make it,” then you can finally have a right to love yourself and receive love from others. A winning strategy, really. Relentlessly, I said yes to every opportunity that came my way. I lived and breathed by my to-do list. Each feather in the cap helped me keep at bay the thought that I wasn’t worthy on my own. Before long, I was deep down the rabbit hole of hustle culture and didn’t see anything wrong with it. And I was praised adamantly for it. “How do you do it?” “What’s your secret?” “I want to know your time- management skills!” Oh, my secret? Just a deep-seated insecurity that I’m nothing without my résumé, title, or track record. There’s another “secret” that needs to be named as well: I’ve had the privilege of having the time to pursue my goals.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  These gendered fantasies shape our very sense of self. How do I fit in this world? Am I desirable? How do I become desirable? What role must I play? Do I take or give? So few people make it to this question: what do I really want? From our first moments, we should be encouraged to focus on how our bodies feel, what sensations and interactions awaken us, what feels wrong, what kind of touch feels right, and how to communicate a spectrum of boundaries and consent. Instead, many of us spend our formative years in our heads, learning to be something we are not, unlearning the skills of truth we’re all born with. Eventually our desires are woven so thoroughly with these social norm fantasies that we think that we desire our own disempowerment or someone else’s. I have been intentionally working on developing new fantasies. Fantasy is where I first explored the impossible idea that I am desirable. The improbable idea that fat bodies, brown and Black bodies, scarred and dimpled bodies, bodies that hurt and lurch and roll, bodies with hair and acne, bodies that sweat and make sounds and messes—that all of our bodies are desirable. This work has shifted my reality of lovers and my reality of how I see myself and let myself be treated. And, and, and … even as I write this, I won’t tell you all of my fantasies. Some of them are rooted so deeply in my system that I’m not sure I’ll ever let them go—I’m not even sure I want to. But I do want to be able to recognize what is mine and what isn’t, what should stay in fantasy and what is aligned with the world I’m generating—one in which gender is not an indication of power in or out of the bedroom. Hot and Heavy Homework Examine your fantasies! What initiates your desire? What sustains and builds your desire? What makes you cum? Are you, or people who look like you, included in your fantasies? Do your fantasies primarily focus on having unjust power over another person? If yes, does this show up in your life? Do your fantasies primarily focus on having someone else have unjust power over you? If yes, does this show up in your life? What do you want to be turned on by? Can you even imagine it? Try. Again. Again. Keep trying until you feel something. 60 This essay first appeared as adrienne maree brown, “Liberating Desire: It’s Time to Shift Your Fantasies,” February 21, 2018, Bitch Media (blog), https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/liberating-desire/its-time-shift-your-fantasies. There were a few people who felt that this piece was about policing the realm of fantasy and that it was not feminist. I include this piece here because it feels important to examine what we are training our bodies to find pleasurable and to be as intentional as possible about it—that feels very feminist to me. And I hope to stay in complex conversations around it.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  Mai’a. The worst thing is the social shame and stigma around it. You feel like you can’t be honest about not wanting to have a deep emotional relationship with someone. A lot of times the sex is better, especially for women, when there isn’t this whole committed relationship wrapped around it. I feel like men are allowed to have one-night stands, but women aren’t because we’re supposed to take care of people all the time. So, of course, we want this continuous relationship where we are emotionally invested in the other person’s life. And honestly, for a lot of women that I know, casual sex is a place where we get to be served and cared for physically. Like with a one-night stand, I get to say what I want and how I want it. In some ways, I get to be more in control, and if the other person doesn’t want to do that then we can just end it—right there—and I can just walk away. There is no long discussion about the emotional fallout the next morning or all this pleading for me to perform more emotional labor. Holiday. The worst thing is, because there is an element of not knowing each other, it leaves one open to vulnerability and to being harmed, at worst. Or not being seen, validated—all the things good about casual sex, bad casual sex can do the opposite. Gary. The anonymity promotes a lack of accountability. Casual sex, in my experience, is most frequently with strangers. The hope or assumption is that with each encounter there is mutual respect and regard for the other person involved. Sadly, this isn’t always true. So, when someone is looking to “maximize” their pleasure, it may be to the detriment of their anonymous partner, such as secretly removing the condom during intercourse. Or, for example, I once had someone grab my face tightly with both hands and shout “good nigger” as he orgasmed. These violations would most likely not occur with a known partner but are always a possibility with a stranger. Samhita. When men are terrible. Just because it’s casual doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it! If I text you after we have sex or want to make plans for the next time, I’m not actually proposing marriage—don’t flatter yourself, honey. Also, sometimes I have casual sex for the wrong reasons—because I am craving closeness and I really need someone to talk to. I will have sex and realize it wasn’t what I wanted or I wasn’t in the right headspace for it.

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  I thought back to that time when I was still living in the dorms, the three of us in Reggie’s room—Reggie, Marcus, and myself—the patter of rain against the windowpane. We were drinking a few beers and Marcus was telling us about his run-in with the L.A.P.D. “They had no reason to stop me,” he was saying. “No reason ’cept I was walking in a white neighborhood. Made me spread-eagle against the car. One of ’em pulled out his piece. I didn’t let ’em scare me, though. That’s what gets these storm troopers off, seeing fear in a black man….” I watched Marcus as he spoke, lean and dark and straight-backed, his long legs braced apart, comfortable in a white T-shirt and blue denim overalls. Marcus was the most conscious of brothers. He could tell you about his grandfather the Garveyite; about his mother in St. Louis who had raised her kids alone while working as a nurse; about his older sister who had been a founding member of the local Panther party; about his friends in the joint. His lineage was pure, his loyalties clear, and for that reason he always made me feel a little off-balance, like a younger brother who, no matter what he does, will always be one step behind. And that’s just how I was feeling at that moment, listening to Marcus pronounce on his authentic black experience, when Tim walked into the room. “Hey, guys,” Tim had said, waving cheerfully. He turned to me. “Listen, Barry—do you have that assignment for Econ?” Tim was not a conscious brother. Tim wore argyle sweaters and pressed jeans and talked like Beaver Cleaver. He planned to major in business. His white girlfriend was probably waiting for him up in his room, listening to country music. He was happy as a clam, and I wanted nothing more than for him to go away. I got up, walked with him down the hall to my room, gave him the assignment he needed. As soon as I got back to Reggie’s room, I somehow felt obliged to explain. “Tim’s a trip, ain’t he,” I said, shaking my head. “Should change his name from Tim to Tom.” Reggie laughed, but Marcus didn’t. Marcus said, “Why you say that, man?” The question caught me by surprise. “I don’t know. The dude’s just goofy, that’s all.” Marcus took a sip of his beer and looked me straight in the eye. “Tim seems all right to me,” he said. “He’s going about his business. Don’t bother nobody. Seems to me we should be worrying about whether our own stuff’s together instead of passing judgment on how other folks are supposed to act.”

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  Here’s the thing: We are all human. Each and every one of us. While it can be easy to point fingers and blame others when they mess up, we’re no better than the rest. We all mess up. Yes, sometimes we need a metaphorical burn to learn our lesson, but we don’t want to scorch one another so badly that there’s no opportunity for regrowth. We’re all broken. And we’re all trying to figure out how we can be kinder, more loving, and more patient humans with one another each day (let’s hope). This is where I saw Luís make some of his greatest strides. He began testing out the both/and in his life and being okay with not always being perfect. What would happen if he told his friends that he didn’t like a certain kind of music or that he didn’t want to go to the restaurant that others recommended? To his surprise: the world kept turning. In fact, his friends told him that they loved getting to know what he thought. It turned out that his indifference was distancing him, not protecting him. He even started to see this with his family. He shared with them his OCD diagnosis and we explained the biology of his symptoms. His family started to support him, including learning how to not enable him when he showed checking behavior. To be clear—his family was still hesitant about the treatment plan. For example, they were not pleased when Luís expressed his desire, and the clinical recommendation from his doctor, to take medication. However, having done the distress-tolerance work as well as the dialectical thinking practice, Luís was able to hold that his family did not need to agree with his medical decisions for him to move forward. He could still maintain meaningful relationships with them, even if they didn’t like his decision to take an antidepressant (which is often prescribed for OCD). He valued their perspective and he valued what he needed to feel better. I was proud to see how Luís grew through our work together. Better yet—I loved seeing him be proud of the progress that he made. His OCD didn’t go away, but for the first time, he was learning how to live with it. The look of shame he held in the beginning transformed into a look of hope. As Luís saw, it can get better—and it started when he was willing to get comfortable being uncomfortable. Another client, Colleen, was about to do the same. CHAPTER FIVE WHAT’S BELOW THE SURFACE WHAT’S IN MY WATER IS NOT THE SAME AS WHAT’S IN YOUR WATER It’s one thing to read a client’s intake paperwork.

• From H Is for Hawk (2014)

  He despised that rabbit leg. He despised the fur on it, the claws, the crown of pale flesh that grew dry and waxen as the hours passed. He despised it because the hawk did not want it. The hawk did not want him either. He had whistled to the hawk all day and his lips had grown dry as the whistle gave out and his solicitude had thinned to frustration and finally despair. Last night the frustration had reached such a pitch that he’d prevented Gos from regaining the fist after a bate – worse, gloried in the hawk hanging there, revolving slowly on his jesses. It was a terrible sin. He is full of shame. And worry. Gos’s mutes are green. Does that mean his hawk is sick? Maybe that is why he did not want the rabbit. What should he do? Starvation, he thinks. That will cure the stomach upset, if it is one. Perhaps he shall give the hawk some egg tomorrow? But the most important thing of all is this: he shall eat when he jumps for it, not before. White’s plan would have worked, had he stuck to it. But he did not. By dawn Gos had been given the greater part of a rabbit to eat, and he had not jumped to the fist. Another resolution was broken. They all were. Even White’s plan to keep the hawk awake for three days and nights had failed: he’d felt so sorry for Gos he kept returning him to his perch for short bouts of sleep. Freed from White’s presence, Gos remembered how much better life was when not tied to a human who kept stroking it and talking to it and bothering it with slippery rabbit livers, and singing and whistling and moving glasses of liquid up and down. When he came to pick it up again the hawk was always as wild as ever.

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  Barack was away at the time and only learned about this detention later. He had taken the district examination, and had been admitted to Maseno Mission School, some fifty miles south, near the equator. This should have been a great honor for Barack, because few Africans were allowed to get secondary education, and only the best students got into Maseno, but your father’s rebellious nature caused the school much grief. He would sneak girls into his dormitory, for he could always talk very sweetly to girls and promise them all that they dreamed. He and his friends would raid nearby farms for chickens and yams, because they did not like the dormitory food. The teachers at the school overlooked many of these infractions, for they saw how smart he was. But eventually Barack went too far with his mischief and was finally expelled. Onyango was so furious when he found out, he beat Barack with a stick until Barack’s back was bleeding. But Barack refused to run or cry out, or even explain himself to his father. Finally, Onyango told Barack, “If you cannot behave properly in my compound, I have no use for you here!” The following week, Onyango told Barack that he had arranged for him to travel to the coast, where he would work as a clerk. “You will learn the value of education now,” the old man said. “I will see how you enjoy yourself, earning your own meals.” Barack had no choice but to obey his father. He went to Mombasa and took the job, in the office of an Arab merchant. But after a short time, he had an argument with the Arab and left without collecting his pay. He found another clerk’s job, but it paid much less. He was too proud to ask his father for help or admit that he had been wrong. Nevertheless, word got back to Onyango, and when Barack came home for a visit, his father shouted to him that he would amount to nothing. Barack tried to tell Onyango that the new job paid much better than the one Onyango had arranged. He said that he was earning one hundred and fifty shillings every month. So Onyango said, “Let me see your wage book, if you are such a wealthy man.” And when Barack said nothing, Onyango knew that his son had lied. He went into his hut and told Barack to go away because he had brought shame on his father.

• From Get Out of Your Head: Stopping the Cycle of Anxious Thoughts (2020)

  The details of what was bugging her have already faded with time, but that feeling of togetherness has not and will not. She was determined to tell someone who could help her. I was so grateful it got to be me. The Last 2 Percent If we want to be free of the chaos, friend, we cannot stay alone in the dark with the devil. We need to be rescuers, and we need to choose to gather a team around us. I have a choice. I can be known! Let me tell you what is on the line and the beautiful thing that happens when we let one another in. We have this saying at my home church in Dallas: “Say the last 2 percent.” Maybe you think you have learned the secret of mastering authenticity. You’ll mention your struggle with a sin or a fear or an insecurity, but even those of us who value authenticity often have one card that we don’t put down. It’s the little secret we won’t show our families. It’s the one we won’t share with our friends. It’s a card we don’t play. Maybe your 2 percent is that you felt rage at your young children today. Or maybe it is a mistake you made years ago that you have never told anyone about. Let me tell you what it was for one of my friends. Jennifer leads Bible studies in her home in Austin. She and her husband are leaders in their church. They’re an incredible couple. They love Jesus, and she’s one of my favorite friends. So real. I like her so much because she often is vulnerable with me. But recently she called to share something she’d been holding back. She told me that over the course of the last semester, she had been attracted to her coworker. At first it was subtle. “He was cute, but I don’t know how it happened. I love my husband, and I value our marriage,” she said, “but I found myself attracted to him.” She began lingering after meetings. Then she said, “I know this is crazy, and I hope you won’t think less of me, but I started texting with him.” Then she told me, “At IF:Gathering I pulled our mutual friend aside and said, ‘I need to lay down the last 2 percent I am not sharing with anyone. I need to say it.’ ” Then she said it out loud. And here’s where it gets crazy. She said, “Jennie, the moment I said it out loud, I have never been attracted to him since.”18 Yeah, it’s crazy. We have stayed in the dark with the devil, and we have kept our secrets close. We don’t show anyone all our cards. Why would we? We think, It’s not that big of a deal. It doesn’t mean anything. And I’m not going to do it again anyway. We don’t play our last cards, and the devil has us in our secrets.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Francis’ education was confined to elemental studies, and his biographers are persistent in emphasizing that he was taught directly of God.797 Two writings in Francis’ handwriting are in existence, one in Assisi and one in Spoleto.798 In 1210 Francis and some of his companions went to Rome, and were received by Innocent III.799 The English chronicler reports that the pope, in order to test his sincerity, said, "Go, brother, go to the pigs, to whom you are more fit to be compared than to men, and roll with them, and to them preach the rules you have so ably set forth." Francis obeyed, and returning said, "My Lord, I have done so."800 The pope then gave his blessing to the brotherhood and informally sanctioned their rule, granted them the tonsure, and bade them go and preach repentance. The brotherhood increased rapidly. The members were expected to work. In his will Francis urged the brethren to work at some trade as he had done. He compared an idle monk to a drone.801 The brethren visited the sick, especially lepers, preached in ever extending circles, and went abroad on missionary journeys. Francis was ready to sell the very ornaments of the altar rather than refuse an appeal for aid. He felt ashamed when he saw any one poorer than himself.802 At this time occurred one of the most remarkable episodes of Francis’ career. He entered into marriage with Poverty. He called Poverty his bride, mother, sister, and remained devoted to her with the devotion of a knight.803 The story runs thus. Francis, with some companions, went out in search of Poverty. Two old men pointed out her abode on a high mountain. There Poverty, seated "on the throne of her neediness," received them and Francis praised her as the inseparable companion of the Lord, and "the mistress and queen of the virtues." Poverty replied that she had been with Adam in paradise, but had become a homeless wanderer after the fall until the Lord came and made her over to his elect. By her agency the number of believers was greatly increased, but after a while her sister Lady Persecution withdrew from her. Believers lost their fortitude. Then monks came and joined her, but her enemy Avarice, under the name of Discretion, made the monks rich. Finally monasticism yielded completely to worldliness, and Poverty removed wholly from it. Francis now joined himself to Poverty, who gave him and his companions the kiss of peace and descended the mountain with them. A new era was begun. Henceforth the pillow of the friends was a stone, their diet bread and water, and their convent the world.804 In 1212 Clara of Sciffi entered into the horizon of Francis’ life. She was twelve years his junior and sixteen when she first heard him preach at the Cathedral of Assisi. The sermon entered her soul.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  Not only did my “O” slip away, but I also nearly projectile-vomited. “You are such a beautiful woman.” The words sliced through my soul and riveted my stomach and gag reflex into a sudden convulsion. He thought it was my climax. I nearly yanked him out of me and snapped it off in one full sweep. But I breathed deep, moved from under him, and made an excuse about needing to pee. It was so tragic cuz that thing was so good. And I know he didn’t intend to cause harm. Hell, he could have said, “Yea chick, whose pussy is it?” Still, I can’t pretend anymore. January 2013 Let me find out Sweet and Stocky also has an expansive mind. He was totally cool with my outing. Not only that I’m trans and am looking for a friends-with-benefits donor situation, but he was also understanding that I hadn’t previously been honest with him. He appreciated my new profile pics as well. He said he’d try to address me with he/him/his pronouns. But he also keeps saying “I don’t judge. If you knew the life I’ve lived, you’d know I can’t judge.” But then he never tells me what that means or any stories about his past or present life at all. He deflects the conversation very well. Makes me nervous in that respect. Still … maybe he can be the one. I’ll sure keep enjoying practicing what could look like baby-making until we figure out if him being a donor is in our stars. After all, he got that super D. January 2013 Homeboy keeps saying “I accept you just as you are. I think we can really help each other.” But dammit! Without further explanation about what that means, I keep wondering if I’m about to sell my soul to the devil or something. So the whole secrecy and withholding is really becoming a turnoff. Plus, he gets up too quickly after sex. Claims that he knows I’m tired and doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. Dude, if I’m still twitching in the wet spot, I am not thinking that everything you own is in a box to the left. Basic-tude. Think I’m going to have to chill on him. December 2014 Are you there goD? It’s me, Day. I haven’t journaled in so long. I’ve been busy living and learning and successfully finding another donor (not one who I had a sexual relationship with but an old friend). I was prayed for in a sweat lodge on Shinnecock lands on Long Island and tried to get knocked up for six months, and the process ended prematurely with no fault of my own, and I’m still bitter, and now I’m deciding not to continue trying to inseminate. So there.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  From #MeToo to #WeConsentIn 2004, Tarana Burke started a Me Too movement, centered around Black women and girls telling their stories of sexual harassment and assault at the hands of men.51 With the recent exposure of Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein’s predatory behaviors and the infrastructure that supported him, #metoo became a hashtag used by Alyssa Milano and other actors and people in the Hollywood realm who have been hurt by Weinstein. Then millions of other people from other walks of life began to come forward. For months now, I have been reading the stories of childhood sexual abuse, molestation, sexual harassment, disrespect, sexual assault, rape. Stories where boundaries were transgressed, where power was abused, where secrecy was demanded, where protection was given to the perpetrators of harm. On the heels of this hashtag have come other angles on rape culture, including that while it is rooted in toxic masculinity it is not limited by gender, it’s not just men hurting women. People of all genders have been harmed and have caused harm. Men are assaulted and raped in astounding numbers, which get swallowed by the shame and homophobia of masculine culture. The dynamics repeat in same-sex relationships and communities. Sexual aggression is a malfunction of masculinity that is not bound by genitalia. Some have questioned why we are sharing survivor stories when the people who need to step forward and take responsibility are those who have caused harm. I’m sure fear and shame are major factors here, but I also think we are still in such early stages of learning to practice transformative justice.52 I am not interested in exposing names, in exposing the most harmful moments of people’s lives. I am interested in how we transform the underlying conditions that generated the harm in the first place. I think the truth will continue to shake loose in these kind of waves, stories that map our pain and show where we are as a species in terms of being able and ready to face rape culture and end it. It is humbling to realize that the majority of us are trying to reach pleasure through the complex trauma of transgression. In the onslaught of unveiling, I thought it would be useful to take a step back and address something crucial: the pleasure of consent. Consent means saying yes on your own terms. Giving permission or agreement for something to happen. Many of us have/had our boundaries crossed before we learned anything about saying yes and no. Crossed when we are young, by adults we trust. Crossed when we are coming into the realm of desire. Many of us are truncated in our sexual liberation by these transgressions. We are taught to act cool, even when others were doing things to us that diminished our power and safety. We were taught in sex education programs that sex is scary, that sex means babies and disease.