Self-compassion: sorting guilt and shame

“Self-compassion is an extension of Jesus’ compassion…”

In my life and work, one of the most helpful pieces of Brene Brown’s work is the way she distinguished guilt and shame.

Guilt says: I’ve done a bad thing. It is behavior focused.  It is positively correlated with healthy change. Self is not threatened so it does not need to be defensive.

Shame says: I am bad. It is personhood focused.  It is positively correlated with self-destructive behavior. Self is threatened so often goes into defensive survival mode.

 

Guilt works to preserve and maintain connection.

Shame works to disconnect us from self, God, and others.

 

And disconnection is a big deal because most of us fear isolation more than mortality.

When we mess up, we face a choice about how we will respond.

Many of us have been taught that the way of transformation and reformation is to take our sin seriously by beating up on ourselves with appropriate self-contempt and shame. We’ve been told that we “should” feel disconnected; and that anything less than that denies the holiness of God.

However, when we look at how Jesus related to women in the midst of sin, we see a very different pattern. Jesus encouraged guilt and discouraged shame. He worked to help them face their behavior and at the same time maintain personhood and connection.

Take for example his conversation with the woman at the well.  Even in the context of a cultural divide that affirmed distance, Jesus sought to connect with this woman by initiating conversation. He drew her in as he spoke about offering her what she sought: water. But, he did not stop there.  He brought to light the “shame-full” secret that was hiding beneath the surface of her life, preventing deeper connection with him.

“Go call your husband.”

When she responded with a half-truth ”I have no husband,” he persisted in revealing the facts she most feared: “”You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

He spoke of her behavior and maintained connection all the while, even affirmed her for telling the truth without mentioning that it was only half the story! He invited her to life-transforming guilt while protecting her from destructive, soul deadening, disconnecting shame.  Transformation happened when he elevated her person by speaking the truth that he was both the Messiah and the one who was seeking connection with her: “I who speak to you am he.” Self-contempt and self-criticism had no place in the story. His compassion for her invited her to be compassionate toward herself.

The same could be said of Jesus’ encounter with the woman caught in adultery, just four chapters later in John’s gospel.  Jesus stoops low, perhaps to establish a point of connection with this woman whose guilt and shame were undeniable. He does not try to mitigate, defend, diminish, dismiss, or undo her guilt (I’ve done a bad thing).  But he does try to dispel the shame through connection. He also actively acts to create an experience for her that has the healing message: you are not less than even the most righteous person in your community.  You belong.  You can stay connected to God and your community in the midst of your bad behavior being seen by all. He seeks to level the personhood playing field in the midst of maintaining the healing potential of facing her poor behavioral choice.  Again, his compassion for her shows her the healing path and self-contempt is nowhere to be found.

When we refuse self-compassion and choose self-contempt, we become dangerous to ourselves.   And in that context of self-criticism, we tend toward denial and defensiveness about our own behavior for the sake of survival.  We seek to disconnect from the truth about our own lives and so from others and from God.  When we give into our tendency toward self-contempt, we re-inforce the idea that our personhood is bad and we embolden disconnecting shame… all of which make us less likely to change our behavior.

Jesus’ compassion provided the safe relational space in which these women could openly face their errant behavior as the doorway toward making new choices. They did not need denial or defensiveness. Self-compassion is an extension of Jesus’ compassion, offering within ourselves that same safety so critical to facing the reality of our sinful, foolish behavior. It allows us to meet our guilt while maintaining the transforming power of connection with ourselves, God, and others.

Quite simply and perhaps counter-intuitively, self-compassion is the doorway to transformation.

 

How do you see guilt?  How do you see shame? How do you see Jesus’ compassion being connected to self-compassion?

 

 

 

God’s love: the source of self-compassion

“Self-compassion allows us to access a safe space of love and belonging in the midst of our imperfection because it is sourced in a Love beyond ourselves.”

My own journey toward self-compassion began with a simple observation from a passage of scripture I’ve known for a long time:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 2 Cor 1:3,4

What I noticed for the first time was the fact that God’s offer of comfort puts no per-qualifiers on the source of our affliction.

If I am hurting because of my foolishness, God offers me comfort.

If I am hurting because of my sin, God offers me comfort.

If I am hurting because of my own neglect, God offers me comfort.

God’s comfort is not in response to my doing or not doing but simply to my being and my pain. The love and comfort of God are like the rain and sunshine, falling on the righteous and unrighteous, the good and the evil, the just and the unjust.  (Matthew 5:43-48)  In fact, that kind of God-sourced love is God’s definition of being perfect.

A few months ago, I had my first at-fault car accident in almost 40 years of driving.  (Thanks be to God no one was seriously injured.) Now there may have been some mitigating factors, but when you rear end someone, it’s a pretty clear call that you’ve done something big time wrong. I was distracted by who knows what and I ran into the back of the car of a really nice guy stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk. As I stood beside the road waiting for my husband and the tow truck, it occurred to me that this was a wonderful opportunity to practice receiving the comfort and compassion of God. I had no idea how hard that would be.

As I battled this voice of self-criticism and that accusation of self-contempt, I found the image of Jesus with the woman caught in adultery coming to mind repeatedly.

The religion scholars and Pharisees led in a woman who had been caught in an act of adultery. They stood her in plain sight of everyone and said, “Teacher, this woman was caught red-handed in the act of adultery. Moses, in the Law, gives orders to stone such persons. What do you say?” They were trying to trap him into saying something incriminating so they could bring charges against him.

Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger in the dirt. They kept at him, badgering him. He straightened up and said, “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone.” Bending down again, he wrote some more in the dirt.

Hearing that, they walked away, one after another, beginning with the oldest. The woman was left alone. Jesus stood up and spoke to her. “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?”

“No one, Master.”

“Neither do I,” said Jesus. “Go on your way. From now on, don’t sin.” (John 8:3–11 The Message)

This woman was a sinner: no argument there from Jesus.  Though there were likely mitigating factors,  the fact of her poor choice was inescapable.

So, why was Jesus’ first move to stoop low and write on the ground, to physically place himself below her?  Since she had been made to stand in their midst, maybe a larger target for the stones (cringe!), I cannot help but feel that Jesus lowered himself to catch her shame and terror-filled eyes.

In those days after my accident, as the shame and self-criticism tried to take hold, I sensed the same thing: Jesus kept trying to catch my eye with his. I kept seeing him kneeling on the ground beside me.  I didn’t care a whit what he was writing.  Just that he was there with kind eyes, trying to connect in the midst of the disconnecting forces of shame and offering comfort in the midst of the undeniable reality of my error. He was trying to help me remember that, along with everyone else on the planet, I am prone to make mistakes and bad decisions and still worthy of love and belonging just because God loves me.

As I have said before, I am a huge fan of Brene Brown.  My favorite moment in all of her uber-famous TED talks was in the first one when she talked about holding a baby and instead of saying, “Oh, you are so perfect,” saying instead,  “Oh you are so imperfect. And you are wired for struggle. But you are completely worthy of love and belonging.”  That was what Jesus’ eyes must have said to that woman long ago and were seeking to say to me.

As Kristin Neff points out in her book, Self-Compassion, self-compassion is not the same as self-esteem.  Promoting good self-esteem tends to deny the reality of our imperfection and so is, ultimately, not real and not sustainable. It also steals the healthy motivational power of true guilt (more about that in a future blog). Self-compassion, however, allows us to access a safe space of love and belonging in the midst of our imperfection because it is sourced in a Love beyond ourselves, God’s ever-present love for us.  And that safe place is actually great soil for real change.

Go on your way. From now on, don’t sin.”