Learning to Unhook From Shame

Last week I was scrolling on my phone. I had made a comment, and someone came for me. A direct jibe. A sharp barb, carefully aimed to sting. They had looked at my profile, gathered a few personal details, and went in for the kill.Consciously, I could see it was irrelevant. I knew this person was just some random stranger online who I would never meet. Their opinion, quite frankly, didn’t matter. Logically, the comment was ridiculous. They didn’t have a clue who I was or what I did and they were determined to misunderstand me.So why should I care?But my body didn’t care about logic.My chest tightened instantly. My stomach contracted. Heat rushed up my face. My shoulders physically shrank inward, even though my mind was thinking – this is stupid. It doesn’t matter.The urge struck me to write back with a clever comeback. I wanted to defend myself. To prove I wasn’t “bad” or “wrong”, that it was actually the other person with the problem, who was “wrong”, “triggered”, “stupid.” I wanted to show I wasn’t beneath them, that I was “better”, more witty, smarter.But instead, I did something different.Instead of snapping back. Instead of attacking myself. I paused.I let myself feel the contraction, the sting, the heat, without arguing, without analysing, without justifying.I didn’t engage the words. I didn’t try to intellectually untangle the insult and psychoanalyse the other party. I simply noticed the shame moving through me – the heat in my face, the sinking in my stomach, the urge to disappear.And gently, it moved.The heat softened. The urge to respond withdrew.Then something shifted. A subtle lightness. A slight buzzing in my body. A single tear from my right eye.It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t grief.It was release.My shoulders loosened. Relief followed.That moment taught me something profound: shame doesn’t need to be fought to be released.