Shame and its legacy
Posted by Tracy

I never really understood why I felt ashamed of my son, a red-haired boy who was kind hearted and sweet to his little sister. Yet I felt uneasy about and around him.  I was not able to put my finger on what the problem was, but clearly there was one.  I tried to find some help but it was a fruitless search and endlessly frustrating because no-one else could see the problem.  Later, much later, I came to realise I had not been able to accept this boy in my life and heart because he was not the boy I thought he should be.  Later on in my life, after he had suffered much, I was having a quiet conversation with a friend and as we spoke briefly of my relationship with my son, I knew something had broken inside me, a sort of self-imposed silence about my ending of a previous pregnancy.  I awoke the next morning in the middle of a dream about this boy and realised  I had wet the bed.  The dream was disturbing, beyond recall, and there was some deep level of shame attached to it, this shame that I had somehow attached to this little boy all those years ago.


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