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.

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• From Sister Outsider (1984)

  I’m too different for us to communicate. Meaning, I must establish myself as not-you. And the road to anger is paved with our unexpressed fear of each other’s judgment. We have not been allowed to experience each other freely as Black women in america; we come to each other coated in myths, stereotypes, and expectations from the outside, definitions not our own. “You are my reference group, but I have never worked with you.” How are you judging me? As Black as you? Blacker than you? Not Black enough? Whichever, I am going to be found wanting in some way ... We are Black women, defined as never-good-enough. I must overcome that by becoming better than you. If I expect enough from myself, then maybe I can become different from what they say we are, different from you. If I become different enough, then maybe I won’t be a “nigger bitch” anymore. If I make you different enough from me, then I won’t need you so much. I will become strong, the best, excel in everything, become the very best because I don’t dare to be anything else. It is my only chance to become good enough to become human. If I am myself, then you cannot accept me. But if you can accept me, that means I am what you would like to be, and then I’m not “the real thing.” But then neither are you. WILL THE REAL BLACK WOMAN PLEASE STAND UP? We cherish our guilty secret, buried under exquisite clothing and expensive makeup and bleaching creams (yes, still!) and hair straighteners masquerading as permanent waves. The killer instinct toward any one of us who deviates from the proscribed cover is precise and deadly. Acting like an insider and feeling like the outsider, preserving our self-rejection as Black women at the same time as we’re getting over — we think. And political work will not save our souls, no matter how correct and necessary that work is. Yet it is true that without political work we cannot hope to survive long enough to effect any change. And self-empowerment is the most deeply political work there is, and the most difficult. When we do not attempt to name the confusion of feelings which exist between sisters, we act them out in hundreds of hurtful and unproductive ways. Never speaking from the old pain, to beyond. As if we have made a secret pact between ourselves not to speak, for the expression of that unexamined pain might be accompanied by other ancient and unexpressed hurtings embedded in the stored-up anger we have not expressed. And that anger, as we know from our flayed egos of childhood, is armed with a powerful cruelty learned in the bleakness of too-early battles for survival. “You can’t take it, huh!” The Dozens. A Black game of supposedly friendly rivalry and name- calling; in reality, a crucial exercise in learning how to absorb verbal abuse without faltering.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  Extreme forms of voyeurism and exhibitionism (peeping Toms and flashers) are the best-known paraphilias because they’re common characters in comedy routines. But paraphilias are no joke. When these rituals are directed at nonconsenting participants, they are crimes with serious consequences, and anyone who suffers from a paraphilia is caught in an unbearable bind. For them the only escape from shame and self-hate is to redirect these feelings into episodes of white-hot intensity, often lasting for hours, and frequently with multiple orgasms. Afterward any satiation is remarkably short-lived, and before long the same torturous sequence demands repetition. When they try to fight their urges, which they inevitably will, the intensity only grows. No erotic predicament is more exciting—or painful.6 Carlos: Thief of thrills By the time I met Carlos he was at his wits’ end. For the second time in as many months, college classmates had complained to the authorities about his loitering at the gym, spying on them as they undressed and showered. More than once he had been observed furtively masturbating. Several of the guys were getting very angry, some even threatening violence. With his college career in jeopardy and under the threat of legal sanctions, he was awash in shame and self-reproach. Carlos had struggled with negative beliefs about himself for as long as he could remember. Ironically, prior to the brouhaha at the gym, he had been feeling much better about himself. In fact, what upset him most—other than the humiliation of being “found out as a pervert”—was that his growing self-esteem, painstakingly cultivated with the help of a previous therapist, seemed suddenly to have vanished. Carlos was aware that his sexual troubles were linked to his unhappy childhood, although he wasn’t sure exactly how. As his story unfolded, the links grew clearer. His family emigrated from Central America to a small town in the southwestern United States when he was an infant. At home a chronically negative, embittered mother invariably focused on what was wrong with everyone, expressing her disapproval with hostile sarcasm. His father, who struggled to eke out a living at low-paying jobs, was a prime target of his wife’s demeaning jabs. Carlos remembered him as stoic, silent, usually absent, and unwilling or unable to counter his wife’s attacks. Carlos and his two siblings were left to fend for themselves. Things weren’t much better in the neighborhood. The white majority, mostly poor themselves, vented their frustrations on anyone different, especially Hispanic immigrants. Carlos regularly retreated into a world of comic book heroes and dreams of being a celebrity. When he discovered masturbation at age twelve, his fantasies and the orgasms they produced forced him to confront what he had always tried to ignore—he was undeniably attracted to other males.

• From Going Clear (2013)

  At 2.0, sex becomes revolting and children provoke anxiety. Rape and child abuse characterize 1.5. Then Hubbard arrives at a level that preoccupies him, 1.1 on the Tone Scale. “Here is the harlot, the pervert, the unfaithful wife, Free Love, easy marriage and quick divorce and general sexual disaster,” he writes. “A society which reaches this level is on its way out of history.” A mother who is at 1.1 on the Tone Scale will attempt to abort her child. However, once the child is born, “we get general neglect and thoughtlessness about the child and no feeling whatsoever about the child’s future or any effort to build one for it. We get careless familial actions, such as promiscuity, which will tear to pieces the family security upon which this child’s future depends. Along this band, the child is considered a thing, a possession.” Hubbard finished the book and wrote this dedication: To Alexis Valerie Hubbard For Whose Tomorrow May Be Hoped a World That Is Fit To Be Free Hubbard eventually wrote a note to Sara to explain his whereabouts, saying that he was in a Cuban military hospital, about to be transferred to the States “as a classified scientist immune from interference of all kinds.” He adds, “I will be hospitalized probably a long time. Alexis is getting excellent care. I see her every day. She is all I have to live for. My wits never gave way under all you did and let them do but my body didn’t stand up. My right side is paralyzed.... I hope my heart lasts.... Dianetics will last 10,000 years—for the Army and Navy have it now.” He concludes by warning that in the event of his death, Alexis will inherit a fortune, but if Sara gains custody, the child will get nothing. Hubbard did return to the United States and hunkered down in Wichita, Kansas, where a wealthy supporter, Don Purcell, provided him sanctuary. Hubbard’s old friend Russell Hays was there, consulting for the Cessna Aircraft Corporation. Hubbard arrived with “a Cadillac so damn long he couldn’t hardly park it anywhere, and two concubines,” Hays marveled. When Sara discovered where her husband was, she sought to enjoin his assets. Hubbard retaliated by writing a letter to the US attorney general, explaining the peril he was in. “I am, basically, a scientist in the field of atomic and molecular phenomena,” he said by way of introduction. He said that his own investigation showed that Sara was tied to Communists who had infiltrated the Dianetics Foundation. This was at the height of McCarthyism and the Red Scare. “I did not realize my wife was one until this spring,” Hubbard wrote.

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  I have no idea how long I lay like that, staring up at the ceiling … not thinking. Then I rolled onto my side and a nurse’s word came back to me: discomfort. Yes, I felt discomforted. Why? Because I was raped. My mind recoiled. I’d once seen a neighbor boy pour salt on a snail. I’d watched in horror as its tiny body disintegrated on the pavement. I’d run home crying, asking my mother why something we seasoned our food with had the power to kill a snail. She’d told me that salt absorbs all of the water that their bodies are made of, so they essentially dry out or suffocate because they can’t breathe. That’s what I felt like. Everything had changed in a day. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but it was there—between my legs, in my mind … oh God, on my couch. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I rolled over, reaching for the inhaler in my nightstand and knocking the lamp over. It crashed to the floor as I struggled to sit up. When had I even come back to my bed? I’d gone to sleep in the bathroom, on the floor. A second later, Dr Asterholder came crashing through my bedroom door. He looked from me to the lamp, then back to me again. “Where is it?” he barked. I pointed, and he was across the room in two steps. I watched him rip open the drawer and rummage around until he found it. I grabbed it from his hand, biting down on the spacer and feeling the albuterol fill my lungs a second later. He waited until I’d caught my breath to pick up the lamp. I was embarrassed. Not just about the asthma attack, but about the night before. That I’d let him stay. “Are you all right?” I nodded without looking at him. “From the asthma?” Yes. As if sensing my discomfort, he took leave of my room, closing the door behind him. It jerked into place as if it didn’t sit against the seam so well anymore. I’d locked the door the night before, and he’d managed to get in with a hard shove of his shoulder. That didn’t make me feel very good. I showered again, this time forgoing the Brillo pad for a bar of plain, white, soap with a bird cut delicately into its skin. The bird irritated me, so I scratched it away with my fingernail. My skin, still fresh and pink from the night before, tingled under the hot water. You’re fine, Senna, I told myself. You’re not the only one this has happened to. I dried off, patting my tender skin, and stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I looked different.

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  But, I didn’t say that. Instead, I thought about the way he knew exactly what to do and what to say to keep me calm/ He was a doctor; in hindsight it all made sense. If I could choose my ride home, I choose not to ride in the back of a police cruiser. I nodded. He glanced at the cop who seemed more than happy to hand me off. A rape case on Christmas Day, who wanted to be reminded that there was evil in the world while Santa and his reindeer were still leaving contrails in the sky? Dr. Asterholder walked me out a side door and into a staff parking lot. He’d offered to pull around the front of the building to pick me up, but I’d shaken my head firmly. His car was nondescript. The unflashy hybrid. It looked a little self-righteous. He opened the door for me, waited until my feet were tucked in … closed it … walked around to his side. I stared out the window at the rain. I wanted to apologize for ruining his Christmas. For getting raped in the first place. For making him feel as if he had to drive me home. “Your address?” he asked. I pulled my eyes away from the rain. “1226 Atkinson Drive.” His hand hovered over the GPS before moving back to the steering wheel. “The stone house? On the hill—with the vines on the chimney?” I nod. My house was noticeable from all across the lake, but he must live near if he’d seen it close enough to know about the vines. “I live in the area,” he said a moment later. “It’s a beautiful house.” “ Yes,” I said absently. I suddenly felt cold. I lifted my hands to my arms to catch the goose bumps, and he turned up the heat without me asking. I saw a family crossing the parking lot, each with an armful of presents. All four of them were wearing Christmas hats, from the toddler to the beer-bellied father. They looked hopeful. “Why aren’t you with your family on Christmas?” I asked him. He pulled out of the lot and turned onto the street. It was one o’clock on Christmas Day so, for once, there was no traffic. “I moved here from Raleigh two months ago. My family is back East. I couldn’t get enough time off to go see them. Plus hospitals are short staffed on Christmas. I was scheduled to come in later today.” I looked out the window again. There was silence for a few miles, and then I said, “I didn’t scream … maybe if I’d screamed—” “You were in the woods, and it was Christmas morning. There was no one to hear you.” “But I could have tried. Why didn’t I try?” Dr. Asterholder looked at me.

• From Sister Outsider (1984)

  I have found this out by scrutinizing my own expectations of other Black women, by following the threads of my own rage at Blackwomanness back into the hatred and despisal that embroidered my life with fire long before I knew where that hatred came from, or why it was being heaped upon me. Children know only themselves as reasons for the happenings in their lives. So of course as a child I decided there must be something terribly wrong with me that inspired such contempt. The bus driver didn’t look at other people like that. All the things my mother had warned me not to do and be that I had gone right ahead and done and been must be to blame. To search for power within myself means I must be willing to move through being afraid to whatever lies beyond. If I look at my most vulnerable places and acknowledge the pain I have felt, I can remove the source of that pain from my enemies’ arsenals. My history cannot be used to feather my enemies’ arrows then, and that lessens their power over me. Nothing I accept about myself can be used against me to diminish me. I am who I am, doing what I came to do, acting upon you like a drug or a chisel to remind you of your me-ness, as I discover you in myself. America’s measurement of me has lain like a barrier across the realization of my own powers. It was a barrier which I had to examine and dismantle, piece by painful piece, in order to use my energies fully and creatively. It is easier to deal with the external manifestations of racism and sexism than it is to deal with the results of those distortions internalized within our consciousness of ourselves and one another. But what is the nature of that reluctance to connect with each other on any but the most superficial levels? What is the source of that mistrust and distance maintained between Black women? I don’t like to talk about hate. I don’t like to remember the cancellation and hatred, heavy as my wished-for death, seen in the eyes of so many white people from the time I could see. It was echoed in newspapers and movies and holy pictures and comic books and Amos ’n Andy radio programs. I had no tools to dissect it, no language to name it.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  Nancy sat quietly with her head down while her husband, Burt, summarized their problem: “Nancy and I have always had a great relationship, and that used to include sex. But ever since she—I mean both of us—decided to stop drinking fourteen months ago, Nancy hardly ever wants it anymore, which is a big problem for me.” The room was practically pulsating with Nancy’s awkward silence. Finally, with her face contorted by a blend of shame and exasperation, she offered in a barely audible voice the explanation that Burt seemed to be demanding. “It’s just that I feel so inhibited since I stopped drinking,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize how much I depended on a few drinks to loosen me up. I can hardly stand to have sex anymore.” With the word “stand” her voice took on a noticeable authority. The lady was most decidedly turned off. They both seemed relieved when I told them that recovering from alcoholism (or any other drug addiction typically has significant and often unexpected effects on sexuality—even though few people discuss sex openly as part of their recovery. I must have hit a nerve because Nancy looked straight at me and proclaimed, “You got that one right. When I listen to people at AA meetings I feel like I’m the only one whose sex life is a total mess!” I suggested that the sexual changes they found so distressing were, in fact, a completely normal part of the recovery process. I invited them to open up the subject of sex to see what they might discover. They had met at a party in the late 1970s. Nancy had just gotten her first job at an ad agency—a career that had flourished ever since—and Burt had been finishing a graduate degree in biochemistry. Within a few weeks they were living together. Each felt a part of the “sexual revolution” and relished sexual freedom and experimentation. Even after they married a few years later, they continued to be adventuresome by reading sexy stories to each other, acting out fantasies, and making love outdoors. At first, a couple of glasses of wine or a few puffs of marijuana seemed to be harmless preludes to sex. Burt didn’t realize there was a problem until years later when he became concerned that Nancy was drinking much more—and so was he—and that they rarely had sex without getting high. Burt hadn’t realized Nancy was never really the sexually free woman she appeared to be. Brought up in a strict family, educated in Catholic schools, encouraged by her grandmother to become a nun, she saw her sexual curiosity as horrifying to her mother and an affront to God. When she was an adolescent, sex with her first boyfriend made her both horribly guilty and incredibly excited.

• From Sister Outsider (1984)

  If I look at my most vulnerable places and acknowledge the pain I have felt, I can remove the source of that pain from my enemies’ arsenals. My history cannot be used to feather my enemies’ arrows then, and that lessens their power over me. Nothing I accept about myself can be used against me to diminish me. I am who I am, doing what I came to do, acting upon you like a drug or a chisel to remind you of your me-ness, as I discover you in myself. America’s measurement of me has lain like a barrier across the realization of my own powers. It was a barrier which I had to examine and dismantle, piece by painful piece, in order to use my energies fully and creatively. It is easier to deal with the external manifestations of racism and sexism than it is to deal with the results of those distortions internalized within our consciousness of ourselves and one another. But what is the nature of that reluctance to connect with each other on any but the most superficial levels? What is the source of that mistrust and distance maintained between Black women? I don’t like to talk about hate. I don’t like to remember the cancellation and hatred, heavy as my wished-for death, seen in the eyes of so many white people from the time I could see. It was echoed in newspapers and movies and holy pictures and comic books and Amos ’n Andy radio programs. I had no tools to dissect it, no language to name it. The AA subway train to Harlem. I clutch my mother’s sleeve, her arms full of shopping bags, christmas-heavy. The wet smell of winter clothes, the train’s lurching. My mother spots an almost seat, pushes my little snowsuited body down. On one side of me a man reading a paper. On the other, a woman in a fur hat staring at me. Her mouth twitches as she stares and then her gaze drops down, pulling mine with it. Her leather-gloved hand plucks at the line where my new blue snowpants and her sleek fur coat meet. She jerks her coat closer to her. I look. I do not see whatever terrible thing she is seeing on the seat between us — probably a roach. But she has communicated her horror to me. It must be something very bad from the way she’s looking, so I pull my snowsuit closer to me away from it, too. When I look up the woman is still staring at me, her nose holes and eyes huge. And suddenly I realize there is nothing crawling up the seat between us; it is me she doesn’t want her coat to touch.

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  I don’t want to be in the attic a second longer. When both legs are through, he reaches for my waist. I think we’re both going to fall, but he gets me down. Steady hands, I remind myself. A surgeon’s steady hands. He hands me something. It’s a tree branch—almost as tall as I am—shaped like a wishbone. A crutch. “Where did you get this?” “It’s part of our Christmas present.” He stares intently into my eyes, and motions for the stairs. A few weeks ago we were burning everything we could. There is no way this could have escaped our fire. I lean on my crutch as I hobble for the stairs. I want to scream at how long it takes to make it to the bottom. I look around. I haven’t seen this part of the house since I broke my leg. I have a need to walk around, touch things, but Isaac pushes me toward the door. It’s dark outside. So cold. I shiver. “I can’t see anything, Isaac.” My foot is about to sink into the snow when my cast hits something. They never found the man who raped me. There was never another report of a rape in those woods, or any woods in Washington. The police said it was an isolated incident. With blithe nonchalance, they told me that he had probably been watching me for a while and possibly followed me into the woods. They used words like “intent” and “stalker”. I’d had those before: letters, e-mails, Facebook messages that went from high praise to intense anger when I didn’t respond. None of them were men. None threatening enough to concern me. None with the tone of a rapist, or a sadist, or a kidnapper. Just angry moms who wanted something from me—recognition maybe. But there was something I never told the police about the day I was raped. Even when they pressed me for more details. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. No, I didn’t see his face. No, he didn’t have tattoos or scars. No, he didn’t say anything to me… The truth was that he did speak to me. Or perhaps he just spoke. To God, to the air, to himself, or perhaps to some person who abandoned him. I can still hear his voice. I hear it when I sleep, whispering in my ear and I wake up screaming. From the moment he started to the moment he finished, he chanted one thing over and over. Pink Zippo Pink Zippo Pink Zippo Pink Zippo It was an omission. Maybe he got away because of it. Maybe another woman will be raped because I could have done more.

• From Between Us

  How much would you understand of this emotional episode if I only told you that the young Coates was “angry” or if you had perceived his face or body language to be “angry”? You would not have known how deeply the teacher’s shouting cut in the child Coates’s very being. You would not understand how that shouting, given the poverty and racism to which Coates was subjected, threatened the only power he had—to be a dignified person in front of his peers. Just knowing (or seeing) that Coates was angry would not guarantee you appreciated his lack of options: if he wanted to keep the only thing he had, his dignity (“a basic physical respect”), Coates had no choice but to threaten the teacher with violence; he would have been laughable to his peers had he not responded this way. The broader cultural context, Coates’s position in it, the immediate context of his onlooking peers, and the meaning of Coates’s behavior given these different levels of reality may have been lost had I merely told you that Coates was “angry.” If you had known that Coates was angry, or had seen his threats without knowing the context, would you have substituted Coates’s reality with your own? Would you have ignored the difference between your sociocultural position and his? Similarly, how much would you have understood about the emotional exchange between the Taiwanese toddler Didi and his mom (introduced in chapter 3)? Would you understand what it meant for his mom to say: “You never listen. I am going to spank you. You are a child who does not obey rules, and we don’t want you. Look how ugly you are on tape. Shame on you.” Or how much would you understand if I told you Didi felt shame? What if I told you that shame is a “right” emotion in the Taiwanese context, and Didi probably wanted to be the kind of person who feels shame? How much would you understand if I did not tell you that shame served to reinforce the bond with his mother, rather than alienate her? Unless I told you the full story, you may have substituted Didi’s experience with your own notions of shame. And you might have missed how Didi’s shameful behaviors brought him closer to his ideal self as well as closer to his mom, how they may have helped his mom save face in the presence of an outsider (the researcher), in spite of his poor behavior.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  The relationship between someone’s CET and his or her difficulties from the past isn’t easy to recognize—a fact I’ve repeatedly encountered as a therapist. Similarly, in spite of The Group’s incredible openness in describing their peak turn-ons, when the Sexual Excitement Survey asks for their ideas about what made these experiences so arousing, most summarize what they’ve already said, without venturing into deeper territory. But some unusually perceptive members of The Group spontaneously offer insightful comments about connections they see between their peak experiences and significant lifelong dilemmas. Jana: Object of pursuit Jana, a thirty-seven-year-old public health nurse, describes her fascination with the process of selecting memorable turn-ons. Her curiosity uncovers a common thread of which she had previously been unaware: I had trouble picking just two exciting encounters so I made a list of them all. It dawned on me that in virtually every case I’m being aggressively pursued by a handsome and determined man. My role is to act rather coy and passive, as if I want them to prove their interest in me through sheer persistence. I had never seen this so clearly before because I’m usually obsessed with how handsome the man is or how big or strong. I’ve never stopped to question what I’m feeling. But once I saw my taste for being pursued I couldn’t stop thinking about it and even brought the subject up with my therapist. Most people begin exploring their CETs much as Jana did. First they’ll notice a recurring motif—in Jana’s case, her need to be pursued. Next they become curious about its broader meaning. They wonder, “How has this theme played itself out in my life?” Jana recognizes that similar scenarios interested her as a girl: I remember the desire to be pursued in sexual fantasies as far back as age eight or nine, maybe before. I use feminine poses to attract a rich and famous man. But because I’m so shy and reserved he’s “forced” to seduce me. Once I surrender he whisks me away on his yacht or horse and I feel chosen and very special. In all my fantasies today, and my best encounters too, I feel exactly the same way. The imperative of feeling desirable stands out for me because in reality I’ve never seen myself as attractive. On the contrary, I’ve always wished I were as pretty and sophisticated as my older sister. She got all the attention from guys, teachers—everyone. I was an awkward “tomboy” and I believed my parents liked her better. I remember crying myself to sleep over my fate. Now I know intellectually that I’m not ugly, but I still think of myself that way. I’m always trying to fix this by getting men to want me.

• From Between Us

  The Pakistani students did indeed find the situation in which a relative desecrated the family very shameful, more so than the American students. Moreover, among the Pakistani students, but not the American students, most shame was reported by those who perceived the highest threat to the family honor. So big was shame in those situations, that Pakistani students often reported distancing themselves from the relationship with the relative—just like my Turkish respondents in the Netherlands had done. When someone you are close to disrespects your shared honor, you have no choice other than to severe ties. An offense, particularly by someone who is supposed to share the burden of your honor, is deeply shameful, as it exposes the erosion of your social position. The Turkish interviews in my research show that this erosion is real: Omer’s other friends no longer trusted him after Mehmet spread the lie that Omer seized valuable possessions, and Aslan’s neighbor showed a clear disrespect for all to be seen by threatening to hit Aslan’s son—in Aslan’s presence, no less. Omer’s and Aslan’s ending the relationship with their respective offenders was not a result of anger per se, but of anger rooted in shame: anger as a way to restore the shameful situation, to rid yourself of any connection to a person with whom you can impossibly share honor. Remember Emine’s devastation when she found out her stepsister Pelin knew about her secrets? Emine severed her relationship with Pelin, to the extent possible within a family. Yet, the interviewer was the only person to whom she ever mentioned the incident. She did not even confide in her friend Duygu, because she did not want to harm Pelin’s reputation; she “saved Pelin from the criticism of others.” Was it a way to protect family honor, and thereby her own as well? It is very possible. Ending the relationship with their offender was not the only way in which our participants tried to protect their social image. When possible, they also tried to convince others that they were in the right, sometimes by proving the offender wrong. Aslan convinced the police that he had reason to hit his neighbor, and he got his friends to agree with him that no person in their right mind would behave the way the neighbor had. Psychologist Ayse Uskul reasons that if honor is easily lost in honor cultures, then individuals are socialized to avoid the painful consequences. Convincing others that your offender is unworthy, particularly if you can distance yourself from them, is one way of avoiding them.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  CONFRONTING SELF-HATEIn the same way that the troublesome turn-ons in the last chapter required conscious recognition for healing to begin, low self-esteem cannot be resolved until it is confronted. Most people who have turned against themselves recognize how unhappy they are and want to change. I’ve also observed that people with very low self-esteem usually have pretty clear ideas about how they got that way. The most difficult task is identifying the insidious effects low self-esteem has on every part of their lives. If you’re aware that you generally perceive yourself in a negative light, chances are those feelings are expressed in your eroticism too. The stories in this chapter illustrate four primary ways that negative core beliefs can distort erotic experiences: (1) by disrupting your ability to accept sexual pleasure, (2) by creating an overwhelmingly intense, compulsive urge to act out a ritualized scenario, (3) by drawing you into self-defeating situations, and (4) by restraining you from developing your full potential—not just sexually but in other areas as well. Fortunately, you’ve already learned a great deal about the storylines that animate your most exciting turn-ons. Embedded in your CET are habits of self-perception you use to position yourself in relation to objects of your desire. By focusing your attention on the recurring themes of your eroticism you can develop a clearer picture of how you evaluate your worth before, during, and after exciting fantasies and real-life encounters. One valuable exercise is to recall as vividly as possible how you felt about yourself when you first became aware of sexual curiosity or desire. If you considered yourself ugly, unworthy of love, or destined to be despised and rejected, chances are these beliefs—and your attempts to counteract them—were part of your erotic development. You probably have clearer memories of sexual fantasies and experimentation following puberty. Can you identify any early experiences in which self-devaluation and arousal were somehow linked together? By examining the roots of your eroticism with an eye toward your attitude about yourself, you can gather valuable clues about the core beliefs—both negative and positive—that have shaped the person you are today. As you’ve seen in this chapter, self-hating core beliefs, especially the ones that result from having been treated with contempt or indifference, are extremely deep-rooted and resistant to change. However, the human spirit is incredibly resilient. Through self-discovery and nurturance, the tiny voice of self-affirmation grows stronger. Listen closely and it will guide you out of self-hatred and despair. With patience and compassion the wounded self will heal and thrive. 8WINDS OF CHANGESeven steps point the way to sexual healing and growth.

• From Between Us

  You would not understand how that shouting, given the poverty and racism to which Coates was subjected, threatened the only power he had—to be a dignified person in front of his peers. Just knowing (or seeing) that Coates was angry would not guarantee you appreciated his lack of options: if he wanted to keep the only thing he had, his dignity (“a basic physical respect”), Coates had no choice but to threaten the teacher with violence; he would have been laughable to his peers had he not responded this way. The broader cultural context, Coates’s position in it, the immediate context of his onlooking peers, and the meaning of Coates’s behavior given these different levels of reality may have been lost had I merely told you that Coates was “angry.” If you had known that Coates was angry, or had seen his threats without knowing the context, would you have substituted Coates’s reality with your own? Would you have ignored the difference between your sociocultural position and his? Similarly, how much would you have understood about the emotional exchange between the Taiwanese toddler Didi and his mom (introduced in chapter 3)? Would you understand what it meant for his mom to say: “You never listen. I am going to spank you. You are a child who does not obey rules, and we don’t want you. Look how ugly you are on tape. Shame on you.” Or how much would you understand if I told you Didi felt shame? What if I told you that shame is a “right” emotion in the Taiwanese context, and Didi probably wanted to be the kind of person who feels shame? How much would you understand if I did not tell you that shame served to reinforce the bond with his mother, rather than alienate her? Unless I told you the full story, you may have substituted Didi’s experience with your own notions of shame. And you might have missed how Didi’s shameful behaviors brought him closer to his ideal self as well as closer to his mom, how they may have helped his mom save face in the presence of an outsider (the researcher), in spite of his poor behavior. And how much did Ellen, a Belgian middle school teacher, understand when Ahmet, her student of Turkish descent, cast his eyes down, and was submissive and polite after she had expressed her suspicion that it was he who had left a mess in the school library? Ellen thought Ahmet’s shameful behaviors confirmed that he had been up to no good. He had to be guilty of something, or he would have responded with indignation, she thinks. Would he not have protested if she had treated him unfairly?

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

  Greek and Roman historians are apt to trace the guilt of the schism exclusively to one party, and to charge the other with unholy ambition and intrigue; but we must acknowledge on the one hand the righteous zeal of Nicolas for the cause of the injured Ignatius, and on the other the many virtues of Photius tried in misfortune, as well as his brilliant learning in theology, philology, philosophy, and history; while we deplore and denounce the schism as a sin and disgrace of both churches. Notes. The accounts of the Roman Catholic historians, even the best, are colored by sectarianism, and must be accepted with caution. Cardinal Hergenröther (Kirchengesch. I. 684) calls the Council of 879 a "Photianische Pseudo-Synode," and its acts "ein aecht byzantinisches Machwerk ganz vom Geiste des verschmitzten Photius durchdrungen." Bishop Hefele, in the revised edition of his Conciliengesch. (IV. 464 sqq.), treats this Aftersynode, as he calls it, no better. Both follow in the track of their old teacher, Dr. Döllinger who, in his History of the Church (translated by Dr. Edward Cox, London 1841, vol. III. p. 100), more than forty years ago, described this Synod "in all its parts as a worthy sister of the Council of Robbers of the year 449; with this difference, that in the earlier Synod violence and tyranny, in the later artifice, fraud, and falsehood were employed by wicked men to work out their wicked designs." But when in 1870 the Vatican Council sanctioned the historical falsehood of papal infallibility, Döllinger, once the ablest advocate of Romanism in Germany, protested against Rome and was excommunicated. Whatever the Latins may say against the Synod of Photius, the Latin Synod of 869 was not a whit better, and Rome understood the arts of intrigue fully as well as Constantinople. The whole controversy between the Greek and the Roman churches is one of the most humiliating chapters in the history of Christianity, and both must humbly confess their share of sin and guilt before a reconciliation can take place. § 71. Progress and Completion of the Schism. Cerularius. Hergenröther: Photius, Vol. III. 653–887; Comp. his Kirchengesch. vol. I. 688 sq.; 690–694. Hefele: Conciliengesch. IV. 587; 765 sqq.; 771, 775 sqq. Gieseler: II. 221 sqq. We shall briefly sketch the progress and consolidation of the schism. The Difference About Tetragamy. The fourth marriage of the emperor Leo the Philosopher (886–912), which was forbidden by the laws of the Greek church, caused a great schism in the East (905).311 The Patriarch Nicolas Mysticus solemnly protested and was deposed (906), but Pope Sergius III. (904–911), instead of siding with suffering virtue as Pope Nicolas had done, sanctioned the fourth marriage (which was not forbidden in the West) and the deposition of the conscientious patriarch.

• From Between Us

  Shame is so damning that it comes with strong defenses. The one that received most attention is to deny one’s own inadequacy, and instead blame someone else. Shame is often associated with anger or hostility. Ryan may have been more reflective than many a person experiencing shame, remembering: “I blamed God and everyone else except the person who did it—me. . . .” Psychoanalysts have called shame-turned-anger “humiliated fury.” Humiliated fury appears to skip the painful experience of rejection and transforms it into aggression towards others. One way of understanding the benefits of humiliated fury is that ashamed individuals draw on anger as a resource to overcome the painful and paralyzing experience of shame, and to regain agency and control, though sometimes at a great cost to themselves and others. These costs become clear in a unique study on shame among American inmates who were followed from incarceration until after their release from prison. Inmates who felt shame about their crime often (though not always) suffered from humiliated fury, and it was humiliated fury that predicted the bleak future of recidivism. Inmates who reported shame-turned-anger were more likely to lapse into committing new crimes after they were released than inmates reporting shame without fury. The bad rap of shame is also clear from the attention it has received among clinical psychologists, mostly psychoanalysts. Where the developing child is seen to be secure, happy, and full of self-esteem, the neurotic child is afraid of disapproval, and therefore, prone to shame. And at the root of the child’s neurosis are detached or critical parents. These parents are doing the opposite of what is culturally valued: making their child feel bad (rather than good) about themselves. Not surprisingly, then, individuals who are easily ashamed are vulnerable to depression, anxiety, and somatic symptoms, always carrying the critical parent with them, and seeing everyone else as unescapably critical as well. The latter may be the reason for shame-turned-anger: a critical other is an easy scapegoat, and it is “a short step to attribute the cause of painful shame feelings to others who are perceived as disapproving.” If the meaning of shame itself already interferes with the cultural ideals of self-esteem and being loved, then humiliated fury does not help its reputation. If anything, the hostility that is marshaled as a defense against shame helps to reinforce the idea that the shameful person is anti-social. But does shame have to be “wrong”?

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  Of the three boys, Nick had the closest relationship with his mother. He shared her passion for literature and music, which his father treated with indifference if not disdain. Also like his mother, Nick responded emotionally rather than with the cool stoicism and logic valued by his father. Nick knew he had an inferiority complex and had obviously put a lot of effort into overcoming it. In the supercompetitive atmosphere of his job, however, he could only see himself as he assumed he appeared to his father—a loser. As a result of our discussions, Nick decided to practice assertiveness experiments at the office and carefully observe his own and other people’s reactions. He made a point of noticing and challenging self-deprecating thoughts and, whenever possible, honoring rather than downplaying his achievements. His efforts appeared to pay off as he began to allow his self-image to depart significantly from the negative core beliefs he internalized long ago. His boss was delighted with the obvious change. Before long, however, Nick’s push toward self-acceptance began to run out of steam. After weeks of steady progress, his enthusiasm for experimentation and growth all but collapsed. He missed therapy sessions and was clearly on the verge of quitting. He looked puzzled and irritated when I explained how common it is for people to resist the very changes they yearn for because they are unconsciously reluctant to defy a disapproving parent. Nick was only vaguely interested. An intuition flashed through my mind completely out of the blue, and I veered off in a new direction. “Sometimes,” I said, surprising Nick and myself, “it’s the sexual implications that frighten people.” He responded with obvious agitation, “What sexual implications?” I proposed that becoming more confident might be having subtle unwanted effects on his sexuality. “Are you saying I need to feel like a wimp to get off?” he asked incredulously. I agreed that something like that was possible but suggested that it might be more a matter of old feelings of unworthiness or inadequacy having become interwoven into his arousal patterns. Perhaps as much to prove me wrong as anything else (he was much more competitive than he realized), Nick engaged anew in therapy. We turned our attention to his sexual life, which we had scarcely touched on before.8 All I knew was that he had been seeing Barbara for about a year and that he felt pretty good about their relationship. But I had no idea what attracted him to Barbara, or anyone else for that matter. Nick revealed the details of his favorite turn-ons slowly and cautiously. With impressive honesty and persistence, Nick discovered that the dramatic themes that stirred his passions did indeed contain strong, yet carefully concealed, links to his boyhood shame about not measuring up.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  I have to be available at all times to be taken and used by this man or anyone else he pleases. These are always rough, disgusting men. I am naked and totally exposed. I vary my fantasies as much as possible. Sometimes we are on trains, in back alleys, or even in hidden caverns of a church. The men are interchangeable because I don’t care about their faces. But I always feel forced and exposed. In this sense my fantasies are essentially the same as when I first imagined being kidnapped by pirates as a little girl.” For at least twenty-five years Nadine’s CET has drawn its energy from her being overpowered, exposed, and used by distasteful men. When she offers her ideas about the meaning of her fantasy, she first mentions a paradox we have encountered before: her tormentors demonstrate her desirability by being so turned on by her that they must have and use her; they can’t help themselves. Her complete submission also places her at the center of attention. Nadine has additional insights about the key themes of helplessness and exposure: The submission idea has always held a great appeal. As a girl I obviously couldn’t be responsible for such disgusting wishes so I always needed outside aggressors to make things happen. I suppose this is a prime reason why I prefer to be a budding young woman in my fantasies, supposedly innocent—but not really, of course. But more than being overpowered I relish the exposure, having every part of me examined in detail. In a strange way, this scrutiny reminds me of the hours I used to spend examining myself as a girl, usually feeling horrible about being overweight and obsessed with zits and other imperfections. Going to school was an ordeal because I couldn’t hide my fat or face. I worried about teasing far more than it actually happened. In my fantasy I’m trim and gorgeous. Even though I haven’t been fat since my teens, I still feel that way. I see how many problems get handled through this scene, though I know it appears to be torture and abuse. I feel so hot and sexy and wonderfully helpless and everyone does what I want. My “caretaker” sets up everything for me and makes me feel safe, even though I don’t know him because I would never bring anyone who knows me into a fantasy like this. I’m not sure why I pick such gross men. I don’t like macho guys, preferring more sensitive ones. These are the men I love but not the ones who excite me in fantasy. I think it has to do with how much I resent the way macho types see women only as sex objects. Maybe it’s odd that I love being an object in fantasy. But I’m actually making them objects—I give them no real identity of their own. They are simply the tools of my pleasure—dispensable nobodies.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  CORE BELIEFS AND EROTIC DEVELOPMENTTo understand how excitement and self-hatred can become intertwined, it is necessary to consider the role of deeply held, long-standing beliefs in shaping your self-image. Core beliefs are thought patterns that take root in the first few years of life and become firmly established as you grow up. You might think of them as a summary of the key convictions you hold about crucial issues such as the kind of person you are and will become, your place within your family and the world at large, and how you expect others to respond to you. Core beliefs are so thoroughly integrated into your personality that instead of thinking about them directly, you simply experience them as givens. Not nearly enough attention has been devoted to the role of core beliefs in shaping eroticism. Your most potent and enduring core beliefs are the raw psychic materials with which you subconsciously construct your unique blueprint for arousal. If you are lucky enough to grow up believing that you’re basically an acceptable person who, in spite of imperfections and flaws, is worthy of respect and love, you will gravitate mostly toward partners and situations that directly or indirectly affirm your worth and desirability. Of course, no matter how much love and validation you received as a child, you must still grapple with doubts about your value and adequacy. Your erotic mind is keenly aware of your perceived limitations and vulnerabilities, and tries to compensate for them by transforming self-doubt into validation, weakness into power, pain into pleasure, and everyday trials and tribulations into erotic possibilities. No matter what internal or external obstacles stand in the way, the erotic impulse springs from a deep-seated urge to affirm yourself. One thing, however, is absolutely required for your erotic mind to function positively: deep within your psyche at least a small seed of self-worth must have been planted and nurtured. Unfortunately, a wide variety of childhood and adolescent adversities can foster such intensely negative core beliefs that the natural urge toward self-affirmation is squelched or distorted. Sometimes, for example, a chronic illness or disability, especially if accompanied by severe teasing or ridicule, can lead a child to conclude that he or she is simply too defective ever to be acceptable. If you’ve ever observed children closely you’ve probably noticed tremendous variation in how they respond to the inevitable challenges to their self-esteem. Some are unable to shield themselves from the slightest criticism, while others appear relatively unruffled by even ruthless put-downs. Personality differences account for some of these variations, but it is a great source of security if at least one parental figure unequivocally and dependably reaffirms the child’s worth. Children who consistently feel nurtured, protected, and encouraged permanently internalize these parental functions as parts of themselves. The memory of having been loved and supported remains a reliable resource, a shield against the harsh realities of life.

• From The Erotic Mind (1995)

  IDENTITY AND CHANGEIf you’re determined to bring about meaningful changes in your erotic life, don’t make the mistake of thinking of them in isolation. By its very nature eroticism interacts with your entire personality. Modifying it, even in seemingly small ways, often has unexpected implications. Some people aren’t prepared for these ramifications and thus flee from change at the very moment when it’s within easiest reach. Identity—including your core beliefs—provides you with a sense of stability. Modifying how you act or perceive yourself may threaten that stability, so much so that you begin to question who you are. Most people find this ambiguity difficult to tolerate. Consequently, during periods of transition you may feel an urge to cling to the self-image you know best—even if this means slowing or abandoning your progress. The alternative is to take up the challenge of expanding or reshaping how you see yourself. It’s fascinating to observe the seemingly contradictory effects that growing has on identity. On the one hand, to grow is to become increasingly aware of and comfortable with your individuality. On the other hand, growing forces you to stretch in order to make room for previously rejected or newly discovered aspects of yourself. This enlargement of self is a hallmark of psychological development. Usually, however, it’s also quite painful. Regina revisited: Making room for loveOnce Regina broke the stranglehold of silence about the sexual abuse inflicted on her by her stepfather, she was able to see that her need’ to seduce men had little to do with pleasure. She seduced to reassure herself that she was in control and to reaffirm the conviction that her value was as a sexual object. You may recall that when she instigated a crisis by slashing her wrists, she had recently begun dating a man who didn’t fit the mold of the cold, aloof ones she usually chose. No matter how much she expected him to use and abandon her, he refused. Instead he genuinely enjoyed her company, listened to her eagerly, held and caressed her passionately—and all without pushing for intercourse, which he sensed made her uncomfortable. One of the last mysteries Regina confronted in therapy was the irrational truth that this man’s love had somehow pushed her toward self-destruction. The jagged cuts on her arms were symbolic reminders that she couldn’t tolerate affection without suffering. According to her long-standing core beliefs, Regina deserved exploitation and rejection. She was also trying to strengthen a more recent—but much weaker—belief that it was her birthright to be treated with respect. An inner battle was raging. Each time she accepted nurturance and love from Bob, she had to believe she was worthy of it. Some days that challenge was overwhelming and she would run away. “If he would just use me,” she explained with extraordinary insight, “I would know who I am. It hurts to be loved!” Her pain was caused by the stretching of her identity.