For Shame

Shame is an emotion I have been familiar with for most of my life. Whether it be for things I was exposed to without knowing how foul they really were before I was old enough to know better or wickedness I committed as a response to some unfettered emotional response I had when I was a child and older. I don't let go of it, I'm haunted by it. I still feel shame over things I did when I was 4 years old. Wrong is wrong. Those feelings of shame and disappointment in what I did, who I was, are the greatest force in keeping me from repeating those shameful actions. No measure of learning or embracing of some uplifting perspective have served to modify my behavior more than those shameful memories have. 

Remembering how foul I can be, and not dismissing it is one way I humble and check myself. I tend to recall the things I've done more than the things I've been subject to. When I start to drudge that stuff up, it's less shame, and more helplessness. There are things you don't want to put out there to people because of the grave nature of the subjects, or the potential misinterpretation they might garner. Whatever the reason, it's another manifestation of a sort of shame. I hate to think that any righteousness I may come to understand in this life is the byproduct of my own exposure to, and perpetration of immorality. The reality might just be that. Maybe I'm a slave to dualism, fixated on dialectic reasoning to ascertain any understanding? 

Some things you don't forget and they shape you, and sometimes those are the most important things that happen to you in your life. If the last time you see a child face to face, they are asking you if love them because you just told them "No." when they asked for something they wanted, for whatever reason, and the last visual you have of that child is them crying and waving goodbye as you leave to go away for months on end, you will regret it. You'll feel ashamed that the last time you could have seen her you were running your mouth talking to a girl who was hardly interested in you, instead of being somewhere near your own dorm so you could see your sisters and their children, who decided to surprise you by bringing up your winter clothes when the first cold snap hit that fall 15 years ago. I'm always going to regret that, and feel a certain amount of shame for not being able to see them all and hold my niece that one last time, and maybe when she left she wouldn't have tears in her eyes?