Letting shame go.

What is shame? Shame is the emotion we feel when we are guilty of acts that are unworthy of us. Steven Pressfield

I first met him three years ago when he came to live at the shelter. His, as so many are, was a circuitous journey. From worker to addict to street. From street to street worker/care-giver, he followed the call of the wild, "Go west man. There's the money." And so, he heeded the siren's call and travelled to the oilfields. Big rigs. Big money. Big problems. Drinking. Drugs. An injury. No support system. Back to the street until he ended up at the shelter door.

"Not my fault man. I got injured."

He struggled to make sense of his nonsense. Struggled to let go of the shame of what had happened to his life, without having to claim accountability for his role in making it happen.

"Not my fault man. I didn't create this mess."

And so he struggled. "I'm looking for work. There just isn't any." "I'd go to work if my back was better. If only I could afford chiropractic care."

And so, I found him the care he asked for. It wasn't enough. At least, not enough to lift the shame. Sure, he went for a few appointments, but eventually, the beast of shame drove home the message -- you don't deserve to have what you want. And he resisted, wellness, care, good-health. he resisted being accountable to the Dr. and to the gift of receiving good care. He resisted everything that he wanted that would create wellness in his life. Shame held him down.

Eventually, he started singing. He was good. One year he asked for a guitar for Christmas through The Christmas WishList. He got it. That surprised him. Getting something so important. So meaningful. Shook him up. He worked hard. For awhile. And then, the beast rode in again. "You don't deserve this. You're too good for these guys. You're better than them. You're no good at all...."

The tug-pull of self-sabotage. Not good enough. Better than the rest.

He kept struggling. He kept lying.

I am not using, he insisted. He sat in my office. His face red. Eyes wide. Unfocused. Body a constant jittery vibration.

He needed me to believe him. I don't believe your lies, I told him. I do believe in you. I do believe you have the courage to speak your truth.

He didn't like to hear that. Hurt too much. Scared him. Way too much responsibility.

He quit talking to me.

And then, one day, a few months ago, he came into my office to say good-bye. "I'm leaving," he said. "Going north. To Fort Mac. Gotta job. Gotta possibility of getting on with my life."

And I was scared for him. Worried. Fort Mac. Oil town. Big rigs. Big money. Big trouble. No support system.

My worry wouldn't help him. I focused on wishing him well.

"Be well," I wished him and let him go in Love.

And then, I heard he was back. In a rehab centre. A great place to be to find the tools to live a life free of addiction. He really wants to chat with you, a friend said. He really wants to call.

He knows he can, anytime, I replied.

I could have called him, I know. I also know, he had to make the move. No matter what I said he wouldn't have believed me because it was shame holding him back. Until he chose to let go of it, it would always lurk and the only way to let go of shame is to take affirmative action.

Yesterday, he walked into my office. He'd called the week before. "Can I drop by to see you one day?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I replied.

He walked in. Hugged me. Sat down and told me all that had happened. All that had gone wrong. All that he was accountable for.

"Man, it's a tough journey," he said. "But I know I can do this. I know I have a problem and I know to live free of it, I have to face it. And I so desperately want to do that. Live free of it. I desrve that."

He showed me the photo of his 'rock bottom' moment. His thirty-fifth birthday cake. It's big. White icing. Frosted flowers. His mother and friend brought it to him. While he was in a detox centre in Fort Mac. His first step on the road to recovery.

"Man that was scary," he said. "I knew I had to do something different. I knew I couldn't keep doing what I'd always done if I was to break the cycle."

And so he did. Do something different. And he's doing it. Something different to be free of his addiction.

He's working a program. Working hard at his right to be sober. Being accountable.

He sat in my office and shared his story and at the end he said, "I just wanted to apologize for anything I ever said or did that was disrespectful to you."

I wanted to tell him he didn't need to apologize but knew, it was an important step for him. "Thank you. Apology accepted," I told him.

He talked some more. Thanked me for always supporting him. For always treating him with respect.

"I had no reason not to," I told him. "Whatever you were doing was about you. I knew your addiction was running your life and until you could embrace that truth, all I could do was hold a space for you to be who you are. That's what we do here. We hold a space for people to be where they're at until they wake up to the truth they deserve to be somewhere else, somewhere better." I paused. Smiled, and said, "Please hear me. I never saw you as a lesser man. I always saw you as a magnificent human being. Still do."

He chewed his bottom lip. Blinked his eyes quickly. "Thank you. I'm starting to get that."

I'm glad, I replied. You deserve it. You deserve to be your most magnificent self.

We all do.

Steven Pressfield's quote is from Katdish's blog today, Good Shame vs Bad Shame . Give yourself a gift of enlightening words this morning and saunter on over to visit her at Hey Look, A Chicken!