Shame can sneak into our lives in the most unexpected ways. I am going to tell you about one of the more surprising times it snuck into mine.

It was last August, and I was living at my farm. One hundred thirty-five acres of stunning land set in rural Canada.

We make hay. That’s an understatement; we make a shit ton of hay!

I quite like the idea of making hay; I just don’t enjoy the actual work. It’s hot, lonely, and you are often against the whims of mother nature.

The one big reason I don’t enjoy it is I’m not a farmer; I’m a coach; I just happen to be married to a farmer! 

Anyway, I was finally getting into my groove, listening to my “Make hay whilst the sun shines” playlist, and feeling quite confident, confident enough to drive a little fast and pay a little less attention.

I broke the hay baler, in farmer, haymaking talk; this needs to be shouted in panic. I BROKE THE BALER!

Don’t forget I live in rural land, so there are no fixing hay baler places nearby. The closest one is an 8-hour round trip away, we still have to bring in over 1,000 square bales, and it was due to rain the next day.

I had two choices.

I could either choose;

A) I am such an idiot. Why am I so useless? Why did I think I could do this?

or

B) I made a mistake, and it is a costly one, but it was just a mistake.

Option A is shame because I am saying I am bad, I am stupid, I am flawed.

Option B accepts that I did something wrong, I am holding myself accountable, yet it allows me to learn from it.

You can guess by the title of this story that I chose option A.

I am an emotional wealth coach (which involves shame work), yet I still went for option A.

That’s why coaches must always have their own coaches.

I felt the shame crawl through my body, starting in my stomach and seeping through my arms like poison.

I know this feeling and recognised it immediately as shame, yet it felt like I had no power to stop it.

Shame loves secrecy, and this was my secret. No way I could share it with my husband.

“You idiot Eloise”, “You have cost us about $15,000 in hay sales plus the cost of the fix”. 

My inner Judge, (wow she’s mean) was loud and convincing that day.

She contaminated most of my feelings for the following three days. Every time I tried to ignore her, she just released more shame into my body more. Shame upon shame. Shame about my shame.

I knew the best way to kill shame was to shine a light on it, take it from the darkest recesses of my body and talk about it out loud to someone I could trust with my vulnerability. But, unfortunately, there are not too many people that fit that bill.

My husband is normally one, but not for this, not yet anyway.

I have an amazing friend called Lesley; we hike together, drink margaritas together, and even examine the world together.

She would be the perfect person to talk to.

The next time we went for a hike together, I took a deep breath and unveiled what felt like my dirty little secret.

I have always found it easier to have painful conversations outdoors, moving to avoid the intensity of face to face.

As I spoke, I felt the poison start to leave my body. I felt lighter as the heavy overcoat of self-hate started to dissolve.

This is not a rainbows and unicorns story; the hay bales were abandoned in the field for mother nature to wreak havoc upon, but the toxic feelings that had consumed me were dissipating fast—that cleared space in my body for rational, productive thoughts.

Yes, this was a mistake, a very expensive mistake, but it was exactly that, a mistake. It wasn’t me being a failure as a human being, me being unworthy or flawed.

Shame is like an uninvited guest, a guest that demands squatters rights. Yet We are the gatekeepers of our lives, and only we decide who or what stays.

When we give voice to our shame, we silence its power.

When we give light to our shame, we draw out its poison.

No power, no poison: no poison, no power.

Shame can sneak into our lives in the most unexpected ways. But shame can only stay in our lives if we allow it.