I’d recently been admitted to hospital for a procedure to remove large ovarian cysts, that have been causing significant discomfort and pain. Anxious, I reminded myself that this isn’t my first rodeo into the world of laparoscopic surgery and touched down onto my stomach to feel the scarred incisions from my gallbladder removal last year. Pre-op anxiety kicked in once I arrived at the surgical lounge, and I flinched at the memory of losing control while slipping into anesthetic slumber. A few hours after the procedure, I began to feel the familiar effects of post-surgery - trapped gas pain, tender incision sites, general grogginess. But I also felt other things that had only previously been associated with another toxic substance - nausea, vomiting, headache and existential dread. It has been over five years since I’ve had any alcohol, yet I knew that ‘bad hangover’ sensation all too well. I looked over to my partner sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to my bed and asked for a sick bag. As soon as I involuntarily filled the bag, the overwhelming sense of shame hit me.
Shame, Shame, Shame
If you’ve ever heard of TED talks (or are a social worker), you will likely know who Brene Brown is. As well as being a highly accomplished social worker and researcher, Brown is synonymous with the further understanding and explorations of the concepts of empathy and shame. According to Brown, shame is “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging - eg. I am bad, I am a mess. The focus is on self, not behaviour, with the result that we feel alone”. Shame is not an uncommon feeling - many of us have behaved in ways that have brought about shame - however for some of us, the internationalisation of shame as a reflection on our worthiness as a person can lead to extreme discomfort, and even despair. And when this is combined with a lack of safety or security in holding these uncomfortable feelings, we’ll look for just about anything to suppress it. For me, the supposed suppressant of shame was booze. And just as quickly as the numbing sensation of alcohol rendered my inhibitions loose, the memories (recovered or suppressed) and post-booze dread intensified further shame - so again, I would reach for the bottle, and the cycle continued.
I remember when I first typed “how to tell if I am an alcoholic?” into the google search bar. It was during a particularly difficult day, when I had stopped off for lunch at a restaurant and snuck in a couple of glasses of wine to keep the “existential dreads” at bay. The search results yielded links to Alcoholics Anonymous and a number of obscenely priced rehab resort stays, and just as quickly as I clicked on the link to the “Hip Sobriety” blog, I shut down the window and cleared my search history. On reflection, it said a lot that I felt shame about the coping mechanisms I used for feelings of shame, to numb further feelings of shame (shame spiral? Meta-shame?).
I’m not an alcoholic, but….
Even until a couple of weeks ago, I had not even associated myself as an “alcoholic” - I had gotten to a place where I could sit with the feelings of discomfort around my previous relationship with alcohol. I could reflect and acknowledge that booze was a destructive force in my life, and I should never have another drop for as long as I live. I fully recognise that I cannot have ANY relationship with alcohol. But using the term “alcoholic” to describe myself? Nope, a bridge too far. Of course, that then triggered recognition of the ol’ avoidance strategy, and I forced myself to reflect and understand why.
I remember in the first two years of sobriety, I would regularly have vivid dreams that involved drinking. So clear were the visions and sensations that I could remember exactly what the booze would taste like, and needing to remind myself upon waking that it was, in fact, just a dream. It was in experiencing these dreams that I would also recognise another one of my coping mechanisms. In the dreams, I would take sips from my glass, and by the third glass I would say “ah shit, how did that happen?”. I’d finish that glass and walk away from wherever I was, not acknowledging the fact that I had broken my sobriety. Even in these slumber visions, I would attempt to avoid those pesky feelings of failure and shame by ignoring, or dissociating from them - If I didn’t acknowledge that I’d slipped and drank, it won’t have really happened, ergo I am not a failure. Makes perfect sense!
Life as an ostrich
I’ve referred to my ability to ignore difficult situations and emotions in the past as my “ostrich syndrome” - if I don’t acknowledge it (if my head is in the sand), it’s not happening. Until of course it blows up to epic proportions, and there is no option but to address it head-on, after it has grown tentacles and taken hostages. These matters don’t have to be huge or life-altering - I’ve always had difficulty in staying on top of the “minutia” of my work and study before (generally administrative tasks). My impulsive nature often means I have multiple projects on the go at once, and it isn’t uncommon for some unintended consequences to occur as a result of them being “ostriched” (don’t get me started on the sourdough starter). And despite the fact that most of these areas aren’t life-consuming, the cumulative effect of “failing” at all of these areas in life lead to me further painting the picture of myself as flawed at a surface level, as well as deeply.
When I began to reflect on alcohol’s role in my life, I had to look honestly at why I was using it - that was the easy part, to suppress shame and other uncomfortable emotions. The bigger question was why I had assigned all of my sources of shame as “flaws”, as personal failures, that rendered me completely unworthy and disposable. And while the answer to that is significantly longer and more involved than I’d like to go in this piece, we can condense it into a combination of historical coping strategies, being isolated (physically and emotionally), and disconnection from support.
Actually having to do something about it
It is one thing to acknowledge the root of one’s alcoholism, and another to take action on it. And for me, part of the “action” meant accountability. While I couldn’t help or remove a lot of what happened to me over the years, I had a choice on how I would respond moving forward. I could either continue to follow the spiral, or learn to take control of my shame responses and reflexes. But this shift in response does not happen easily, nor does it occur in a vacuum. It is a constant effort on my part, and required finding genuine connection. To be able to accept that shame is a normal feeling, I had to learn to trust that being open about my flaws and fears would not drive my loved ones away. I had to practice compassion for myself, and for those around me. Because let’s face it - we’re all dickheads sometimes - but that doesn’t render us unworthy of being held, of being loved. To acknowledge and practice all of this takes a significant amount of vulnerability, and that in itself is still fear-inducing.
As was evident in my visceral response to being referred to as an “alcoholic”, confronting shame continues to be a work in progress, and will likely stay that way for a while. Upon reflection, distancing myself from the term was clearly an attempt to ostrich from the shame associated with the term, and the lack of control it implies.
Over to you!
I’m curious…. do you experience “ostrich syndrome”? If so, how does it manifest in your life? How do you confront it (if you do)? Does it help or hinder you? Please feel free to engage in the comments here, I’d love to hear what you do in this space.
Thank you for writing this! Such a beautiful read. The haunting spectre of my life has always been internalised shame. This came from a childhood where I was tormented by kids and, unfortunately at times, by adults for things about myself I had no control over. Spent so many years just surviving that only now am I figuring out my ‘self’ that is distinct from the mask I put on.
And that has been my ostrich syndrome coping mechanism: this highly mouldable mask. If I could engage in activities or forge a social persona that broadly 1) Would protect me from criticism and people please; 2) ‘fit in’ and 3) quietly go under the radar, that meant I was safe. But it has involved avoiding information and things that although would make me uncomfortable at times would mean i could grow.
Again, thank you for this article. All the best!
Shame has been my baseline vibe for about 47 years now, forged by a shitty childhood & family, polished to a perfectly frictionless finish by a lifetime of patchily managed mental health.
While I do use ostrich mode as a protective defence when I’m overwhelmed by circumstances, it can also be a comfort when I
just
need
time.
People are bewildering and exhausting and so hard to read, plunging into some sun warmed silica can feel like a little holiday