Shame On You

 

It’s hard to define shame.

I’ve watched countless videos—people trying to explain it, name it, wrap it in words—and it still never quite lands for me. 

If you’ve read my earlier posts, you might’ve seen the aftermath of something I did. 

Something I did that wrecked my life. But I never told what it was that I did.

Why is it easier to say “I’m guilty” or “I want to die” than to say what I had done?

That is Shame.

In the “Three Layer Model of right or wrong” I mentioned before, shame tends to live in Layer 3—the layer of mass morality, the one shaped by society’s virtues. When you violate the values of this layer, the easiest solution isn’t to fix what you did—it’s to hide it. Bury it. Cover it with silence.

Take, for example, an embarrassing illness—like an STD or a skin condition. It may not bring guilt, but it brings shame. Why? Because society might judge you, even if you did nothing wrong.

Shame is a self-defense mechanism—built through years of social conditioning. It teaches you to hide anything that might draw judgment.

Guilt tells me, “I did something bad.”

Shame tells me, “I am bad.”

That’s the core difference.

And the voice saying “you are bad” might come from others—or from the imagined version of others in your own mind.  If this comes from or potentially come from someone whose opinions are held in high regard, you will be crushed. You will believe it to be true.

That’s shame. The constant fear of being exposed, of being found out and forever defined by a single moment.

And that’s what makes shame dangerous. It paralyzes.

Here’s a memory from my childhood.

I once skipped my tuition class and went to the beach instead. I ended up riding a horse. It got out of control and galloped wildly until the handler stopped it. It was thrilling, unforgettable.

I told my parents I skipped class—I owned up and felt guilty. I even told them I rode a horse, because that part was good. But I never told them how dangerous it was. I was afraid of being labeled a “bad boy,” afraid of how my family and their friends would react.

That fear made me bury the experience. I never tried riding again, despite loving it.

This is how shame works. It doesn’t just stop you from doing wrong—it stops you from doing things that people might disapprove.

Shame serves an evolutionary purpose. It prevents us from crossing the lines drawn by the crowd. But when shame mixes with guilt, it becomes unbearable. Now, you're not only fearing judgment—you believe you deserve it.

Imagine someone constantly telling you "you are bad" again and again. But it is not a third person, it is you who is telling it to yourself. You will feel yourself wither away—a slow death. You will cry for the mercy of death.

Every time your mind revisits the memory, it digs it back up, examines it, regrets it, fears it—and then buries it again.

This is the endless loop. The dance of shame and guilt.

In an earlier post "You are Guilty", I said I hoped meditation would help with guilt. But what I didn’t say then is—I hope it helps with shame too. Because shame feels even more suffocating. Guilt can be resolved by taking responsibility, by accepting punishment. But shame? Shame sticks. Shame feels permanent. Like a label you can’t peel off.

I’ve searched spiritual texts in Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity—looking for guidance. But they mostly talk about guilt. Shame is either ignored or merged with guilt, as though they’re the same thing.

Maybe they are, sometimes. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar once said something about guilt that resonated with me, and maybe it applies here too:

 “There is no action you can do which is perfect. Sometimes it is 1% wrong, other times 99%. All you can do is learn, grow, and hope for wisdom in the future.  

Your old self died long ago when you learnt what you did is wrong. Why is your new self still being punished for what the old self did?  

You didn’t go from imperfection to perfection—you went from one level of perfection to another.”

That gives me hope. Maybe meditation can heal shame too.

I’ve watched psychologists talk about shame on YouTube. Their words resonated. So I reached out to a therapist once.

She said she couldn’t help unless I opened up.  

But the very nature of shame stops you from uncovering it. 

Even when she reassured me it was a safe space—even when she said nothing I said would be reported unless I was a danger to myself or others—I couldn’t do it.

That’s the paradox of shame.

It cripples you, so you need help. But it also makes it impossible to ask for help—because in doing so, you’d have to show the very thing you worked so hard to hide.