The Unshamer

Content note: This personal account includes strong language, family experiences of shame, references to sexual violence and victim-blaming, hatred, cancer, nakedness and spiritual imagery. Please read at your own pace; you are welcome to stop or return to the companion article.

This inner journey began with a supervision role play about feedback, defensiveness and taking responsibility for acting from a part.

During this journey, the fierce protector became the unshamer. I now know her as the Shame Burner.

Read the companion article: Accountability without carrying someone else’s shame →

I was exploring giving feedback in supervision through a role play. The supervisee shared something they felt they had done wrong: their client had gone quiet, and they had kept asking questions to get them talking. As I began to explore what had been happening inside them at that moment, they looked hurt and said, “So you think I’m a bad therapist?” I considered how I could ask whether something in my words or tone had left them feeling judged, and how I might respond if they said, “Yes, it was the way you spoke to me.”

I wanted to listen to their hurt and take responsibility for my own words, tone and contribution. At the same time, I was exploring their defensiveness: how they might recognise that they were acting from a part, take responsibility for their response, and follow that thread with curiosity about what the part was protecting. There needed to be room for both of us to reflect on our own process.

The defensiveness in the role play brought up an impatient part in me: “When will they take responsibility?” She was afraid that acknowledging someone’s hurt would mean being blamed and carrying everything again. I recognised how alive this felt in my personal life too.

I paused and became curious about my own protector’s response. What was she protecting? What did she fear would happen? I could hear her anger without needing to act from it or make her stop feeling it. Following that thread within myself, an image emerged of someone handing another part of me a black bin bag full of rubbish and shit to carry. Behind the protest was a fear that a vulnerable part would accept it, as she had before. That was the doorway into the experience that follows.

Then an image came. Someone was handing a part of me a black bin bag full of rubbish and shit.

Here. Carry this for me. I don’t want to carry it.

There had been a burdened part who took those bags. She had carried so many that did not belong to her. I wondered whether the protector knew that she no longer took them.

The protector was not convinced.

“I’m not sure I believe it. People always hand us their shit. They always blame you. It’s their shit. They just throw it at you, and no one is there to defend you. It’s their shame.”

She told me what people would say, and how the little one would take it:

“You made me feel this. You’re bad. You’re naughty. It’s your fault.”

Her response to them was:

“Fuck you. It’s not us. Deal with your shit.”

I noticed this was alive in my personal life too. There was the protector wanting people to take responsibility for their own process, stop blaming others and take back the shame that belonged to them.

And there was the little one who had been covered in shame and left holding it. She longed for the pain to stop. She wanted others to notice what was theirs, so she would no longer have to carry their shame. Her longing came from a place of love: a wish for them to recognise their own pain and shame, and for her to be free of carrying it.

The protector was saying she was done carrying it for everyone.

“I can now stand and not have you pour shame on me.”

By “you”, she meant other people.

It felt like everyone’s shame. Almost as though they knew I could take it, so they gave it to me.

Then I realised she was seeing another part. Not necessarily the one who had already unburdened.

This little one was curled in a foetal position. Black tar had been poured over her.

The protector started to stand up and hand it back.

“Don’t take it, and don’t let them give it to her; give it back to them. Be the person she never had.”

My heart ached for them. I had so much love. I understood.

The little one noticed that she did not have to carry it here. Someone had finally come. All that pain from carrying the shame she had been given could be seen.

The protector was still angry with me, but softer. Exhausted. Pointing at the curled-up one.

“See? You let this happen.”

Her anger became grief. She was like a small child shouting at a parent.

“Where were you? You left us. Look at her. Look at her. She’s hurt and in pain, and you didn’t even know.”

She was punching me, in her own pain, sobbing, falling to her knees.

She was glad I was here, and hated that I had been gone. She felt that I had abandoned them both. She hated that she was relieved I was here.

I felt love and motherliness towards her, with an open heart. I was sorry that I had not been there for her.

She was right beside me when the ancient mothering spirits came.

The tear bubble became visible. This is a sacred place I have come to know: a place of cleansing and rest, of being mothered and cared for by spirit. Many of my parts have gone there, as have other energies I experienced as stuck within my system and needing care. There is permission here to receive what was needed but never received in this lifetime.

They gently took the little one into the bubble. They washed her shame away. The tar and black stickiness loosened and washed off her.

Her body was so fragile, so hurt. Full of pain and aching from carrying so much. She needed so much tenderness. The mother spirits cared for her tenderly. She had so many scars.

The fighter sat beside me, witnessing it all.

Her body softened. She was in pain too.

There was so much pain in both of them. The little one had carried so much shame, and the fighter had suffered too, fighting so hard to protect her.

She had screamed and screamed back. She reminded me of the Truth Bearer from an earlier inner session: a protector who had shouted for the grown-ups to hear the little one’s truth, but whose voice had not reached them. Here too, her voice had not been heard. She had not known what else to do. She had kept screaming and fighting.

She was only little herself.

She cried, and I cried for her pain.

I felt the fighter in my left side, around my kidney.

She sat in her tears. The puddle grew bigger and bigger. She was washed in the purity of her own tears.

She could begin to scream and be heard. She could sing and be heard.

She was so much like the Truth Bearer.

Generations of pain and shame. Being humiliated. Being crushed.

She was angry with the world and its injustice. She wanted them to hurt as much as they had hurt her and the little one.

“They hurt us!” she screamed. “They deserve the pain back. I hate them.”

Another part did not like the hate. But I understood. It made sense to me. She was so hurt.

She wanted to rip off all the clothes they had forced on her and the little one. The clothes were shame. Throw them back. Force them to wear them and deal with them themselves.

Why had she had to?

She was done. Furious. In pain. Every ounce of her body hurt.

Every time she said it was wrong, they gave her more shame. She screamed louder and louder. They were bigger and stronger, and forced more shame onto her.

Then she learnt to lose her voice.

The loud voice made them angrier. It brought still more shame for her and the little one.

She had to shout and swallow the sound at the same time.

No voice. No sound. Less pain and shame.

Now she wanted to scream. She wanted to become bigger than them and scream at them. Make them feel as small and frightened as she had been made to feel.

She was made of fire.

The Buffalo Medicine for Anger came with her. “Scorch the earth” was both her own wording and an association with the song. She wanted to burn it all.

She had had enough.

She was big and strong. She could rise and never be small again.

It was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

She was never meant for a cage. She was never meant to be silenced.

The little one was pure water, held in the tears of the ancient mothering spirits, healing and protected where nothing could touch her.

And this one was fierce. Fire. Bright and strong.

I understood her burning differently now. It was not to hurt them. It was to purify their shame. She had given their shame back so it could be burned away.

This world had enough shame.

She was becoming the unshamer. Not by taking responsibility, but by shining her warmth and burning the shame.

“Shame is not for this earth.”

She hated my uncle. He had given her so much of his shame.

She could see him as a little, weak boy, and still she hated him. Or perhaps a part of her did. There was still a connection to him.

A part jumped in: maybe this could heal his cancer.

“I don’t want it to heal him. I need him to suffer for what he did.”

Another one was sad that this hurt and resentment existed in me.

I was curious about why the hate was there. Something was connecting. His words:

“If you get raped, it’s your fault for not hiding yourself.”

She would never forgive the blame and the injustice. To her, forgiving would mean believing it had been her fault too.

That could not happen.

A part was hiding behind him.

She had been hidden by him, and in the image that had seemed like protection. Maybe, if she stayed hidden, it would not happen. She would be safe.

She attached to him so that it would never happen.

Then the understanding changed.

“He’s a lie. He’s an illusion. He’s not the truth.”

The figure I had seen as my uncle was not my uncle himself. It was shame and an illusion of protection. It was control and shame.

She saw me.

She did not have to stay behind him. She could come to my light. The fire would burn the shame.

She was connected to the shame. She could let go of it and come to me.

She was scared she would be hurt.

Then she began to feel my safety: the safety within me. This was the one who had been hidden behind the figure of my uncle and connected to it. Only once she was safe with me and ready did the Shame Burner burn away the figure and the connection. It was all shame. The one who had been hiding was with me.

She could be beautiful and naked and safe.

She was beautiful. The most beautiful being I had ever seen.

Safe in her beauty.

The illusion and the shame had been scorched.

My cousin was across the room in the image: the person she had been being protected against.

His lust and thrust were not mine to answer for. I did not have to be their prey.

He seemed to carry many men within him. All those hands reaching for the beautiful one. Wanting her for themselves. Enslaving her. Feeding off her.

She was no longer small.

They could not touch her.

They were like Gollum-like creatures, begging for her purity, wanting to feed on her.

NO.

They could not.

They needed to transform. Lose their greed, their entitled ego and their lust-driven thirst.

The fierce unshamer was burning so strongly.

She was the same protector who had been handing shame back.

She burned, and within her the Gollum-like figures’ lust, greed, ego, ownership and shame burned away. The skin they carried, the burdens they carried, got burnt.

As they burned, they released into strong, respectful masculine men.

Equals.

The beautiful feminine and the strong masculine met. Two gods, two energy sources, meeting again.

They danced.

Here, the world was restored.

Being curious about my own inner world changes what I can bring to the person alongside me. When I return to the supervision role play that began this journey, I can feel more space to give feedback and stay present with the supervisee as they respond.

Without that space, a part of me might shy away from giving feedback because it fears the response. Another might speak from impatience or defensiveness, in a way that could bring more shame or judgement into the supervisee’s system. Those parts need my attention and care, so they do not have to lead the conversation.

When I struggle to be with my own system, it becomes harder to stay present with someone else’s. By turning towards my parts and listening to what they carry, I can now be more present. I can offer feedback with greater clarity and care, hear how it lands, and support the supervisee to recognise and explore the parts responding within them. There is room for me to own my contribution and for them to take responsibility for theirs.

There is another piece of this work that matters. I have spent time with parts of me that other parts have feared or felt ashamed of, including parts carrying fierce anger or hatred towards someone. As I have listened, I have come to understand the vulnerability, pain and experiences of injustice beneath their protection. Meeting them within myself helps me feel more grounded, strong and confident when someone brings parts they fear are bad or wrong.

There is room for parts carrying feelings, beliefs or urges that may feel frightening, shameful or difficult to admit. Rage, hatred, and prejudices such as racism or sexism are examples; this welcome is not limited to them. These parts do not scare me, and I do not judge you for having them. I can welcome them into the conversation with curiosity and steadiness. We can speak honestly about what is there and become curious about what the part is protecting, what it fears and what it has come to believe. I can stay alongside that exploration with greater steadiness, while recognising the impact those beliefs and actions can have on others.

Understanding a part’s protection does not mean approving harmful behaviour. I can hold clear boundaries around harm and support responsibility for actions, while helping someone build a relationship with the part underneath. There is room to understand the protection and work towards change.

This is part of what I bring to my work: a willingness to keep meeting my own inner world so that I can stay alongside you in yours. It helps me offer a space where difficult feelings and protective responses can be met with curiosity, and where honesty, care and responsibility can sit together.

There is more space within me now. I don’t know whether all my parts have forgiven, but some certainly no longer hold the resentment and anger they once carried.

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