On Shame

 Today, I did something I've been intending to do for awhile: I cleaned out my fridge.

If your fridge is anything like mine, then you know that the front is where the trustworthy, reliable food is. Things you can eat. Behind that first flank though, it gets murky. Leftovers roam, but how long have they been there? And then, the back, where sideways condiments -- the flotsam and jetsam of the refrigerator -- adhere to the glass surface, it becomes a no man's land. Use that stuff? I won't even look at it. If I need to actually grab something in the vicinity, I make a quick grab and pretend everything is great back there. Oh, it most definitely is not. 

But today, I did the thing. I was thinking I could at least empty out the produce drawers since the contents were visible to all. What was there -- two brown (?!) grapefruits, shriveled up cranberries from Christmas, the last of my garden carrots, and some (again: brown) liquid -- made me feel ill. It seemed like a straightforward start. 

After the bins, I realized there were containers of leftovers that could easily be cleared out and of course, once I had the bins and the bottom shelf emptied and wiped, I was on a roll. 

I hate wasting food but when food has other forms of life growing on it, safety wins the day. 

The project didn't take as long as I'd imagined and after an hour, I finished. I wanted to just keep standing there, in front of the open door, to look at my work. I would say I felt good, but really, it wasn't "good" in the sense of pride or happiness. What I felt was: relief.

This might or might not make sense to you. I am describing the inside contents of my refrigerator, something that in our particular culture and geography, is an ordinary thing.  It may be that most people at some point in their lives have a fridge with old food. But that isn't what this is about. Even if I found out that everyone has moldy food in their fridge, that their vegetable drawers all have liquified vegetation, that doesn't matter. What matters is that I did. 

After I closed the fridge and had lunch, I thought how I am now living in a house with a fridge that if anyone were to open it, what they would see is: just a bunch of food. No second thoughts, no judgements. Knowing that is relief.

You may be saying; Yeah, so? 

But the other side of the story is the ugly one. If you had come to my house yesterday and opened my fridge, you would have seen.... it. The mess. That stuff I kept pushing to the back, consciously even, hoping no one would notice it. 

That's shame. 

I say this because I hate it. The relief I felt? It was because I know I have done something to give myself some reprieve from it. I have never written about this before.  I was thinking how my mother did this too. I wish I could talk to her about it. 

I know consciously that it's not just the fridge. That's just a symbol. Cleaning can be powerful. "Clean house" we say. "Cleanliness is next to godliness" we say. This is not very deep, I know. It's a control issue. 

What was different about today for me was that I recognized in the moment how thinking about this and deciding to write about it felt like a liberating opportunity. 

Shame has exhausted me, over the years.  To feel not just that you aren't good enough... but that there is something fundamentally flawed about you others will see... is heartbreaking. I don't want to see in my friends but also, I don't want to see it in myself. 

Life is too short for shame. 

I know I'm not the only one who gets this. Lots of us feel like we are hiding something that makes us less-than. Today, I am holding myself with the same kindness that I hold all of you. I know that my sometimes filthy fridge doesn't make me any less deserving of the life's goodness. 

I feel like I put some pieces together today. This isn't relief. This feels good.

Peace.