The Ugly Spiral of
Shame
Productive. Efficient. Disciplined. Self-controlled. Making
good use of time. Compiling lists and checking off finished tasks. How often
these things drive me. And the absence of them devastate and paralyze me. I am
constantly trying to make the rules and lists and busyness work. Sometimes,
they do. A project is finished. I actually finish everything I set out to do on
a given day. Errands completed in record time. The wonderful feeling when I
discover that there is no difference if I only rinse my clothes once in the
machine, so a load now only takes thirty minutes and uses less water. The joy
of a subway station right next to my apartment complex, cutting my commute down
by twenty minutes…
There is a deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment
when these things happen. But, how often have I refused to answer the phone or
been short with someone because my productivity rhythm would have been thrown
off. Red flag! Isolation is never a good outcome.
With these issues that drive me so naturally, so deeply, you
would think that I would be a millionaire business woman or a well-published
author or at the top of my field. Unfortunately (or maybe not?), my strategies
have not worked out that way for me. I am not driven to “succeed” (except in my
inner world with its warped standards of perfection). Perhaps because, in my
Evangelical Christian upbringing, I know better (at least intellectually) than
to think that riches and fame are the ultimate goal. Yet, the underlying
motivations and heart-forces are the same.
I wonder if, even despite my drive toward perfection and
excellence, my lack of a prolific life is God’s grace poured out on me. I
wonder if He has wired me and orchestrated my circumstances in such a way as to
cause me to run to Him, to show me that there really is no other place to go.
In my inner drive toward efficiency and perfectionism, there
is a diabolical twist, a soul-wounding double-edge. Part-way into a task, one
of two things happens. Either fear stabs deep or the realization of
impossibility cuts to the core. I see the height of the bar or the location of
the finish line raised so high or so far away that my energy is sapped and my
motivation grinds to a halt. It is either fear of failure, fear of the unknown
or humanly impossible goals that freeze me and keep me from continuing the
task.
So, the half-completed task gets put in a pile on the side.
Sometimes, I manage to lower the bar or draw the finish line
a bit closer and dredge up strength from some recess somewhere to fight it out
to the end. Even though there is an initial rush of accomplishment, the Monstrosity
of my lack stands just to the side and rouses, whispering sinister accusations.
“How much better could it have been had I one less hour of sleep or fifteen
minutes shorter of a break? What could I have accomplished had I come home from
my friend’s house just a little bit earlier or not gone at all? Lazy. Lumpy.
Indulgent. Capable of better. Not enough….”
It doesn’t take much for the Pile-Monster to notice how the growth of the pile of “unfinished” adds fuel to his fiery darts. “Another task
incomplete. That doesn’t say much for your intelligence or stamina or ability.
It wouldn’t have taken that much to
finish a couple of those things. You said you would do it and broke your
promise. Not a good teammate, employee, friend….”
Layers upon layers of guilt, stacked up heavy. And each
inflamed dart hits its mark—dead-on and painfully lodging in my heart. Yet,
somehow, the searing burn of the darts is comfortable. I have come to rely on
the pain they give. As I limp forward, each step reminds me that my
list-making, productivity-and-efficiency-driven life-strategy can still work
for me—a stronger me. When I sit down to rest, the darts dig and twist in even
deeper, telling me with each twinge of shooting pain that a less lazy and more
disciplined me can actually make this life work. I keep them to “help” me and
they keep me in the vicious cycle.
It reminds me of a Jason Gray song…….
But wounded is a part
I’ve learned to play well
Though the wound may run deeper
Than I know how to tell
Where pain’s an addiction
That keeps me buried alive
But when it’s all that I know
I’m afraid to leave it behind
I’ve learned to play well
Though the wound may run deeper
Than I know how to tell
Where pain’s an addiction
That keeps me buried alive
But when it’s all that I know
I’m afraid to leave it behind
(Without Running Away, “A Way to See in the Dark,” Jason Gray, 2011)
And, what do I do? I use the same strategy that got it all
started to attempt to fix it. I dig the smaller tasks—the ones that will take
the least time and energy—out from the gargantuan Pile, pull myself up by my
colloquial boot straps and just do it. I feel great…..until I dream up more
projects and lists…until I look up and see what remains in the Heap…until that
evil Monster starts talking again. “Dig up another one. Another one. Another
one!” And the cycle continues unstoppable.
You see, he offers a way for me to make him smaller and more
manageable, but his promises are no better than thinly veiled malice. Yet, in
the moment of feeling overwhelmed, I find it hard to see through the veil and
his suggestions seems to be my only option. The problem is, that as I attempt
to complete more tasks in the Pile thinking I am helping myself, I am actually feeding
the insatiable Monster. He grows bigger and uglier and more powerful and his
intent is and always will be to crush me under his weight.
Occasionally, I hear God’s voice louder than the gorged, dart-throwing
Monster. God speaks His everlasting, Truth into my heart and a dart or two lose
their grip and fall away, powerless to the ground. A layer of guilt is lifted
off. I feel lightness and freedom, like it is supposed to be. I am amazed by
His strength and grace. My heart knows in those moments that this is what Jesus
came for—to render the Monster powerless and carry all the heavy darts and
layers of guilt away. He took them all upon Himself and continually offers to
carry them away for me. He invites me to come to Him, to seek Him and find rest
and freedom in His presence.
“You shall know the Truth and the Truth will set you free”
(John 8.32).
