weighing in on oprah

Two or three times a year, a story breaks, and my email inbox is flooded with messages from friends, students, and colleagues, all sending links along with questions like, “Did you read about this? What do you think?” or “When are you going to write about this?”

Oprah’s latest magazine cover set my all-time email record.

The assumption that I have an opinion on Oprah’s struggle with food makes sense in many obvious ways:

1. I’m a researcher who has spent a decade studying shame, authenticity, and vulnerability.
2. I speak and write about resilience, self-compassion, and acceptance.
3. I’m a feminist who has taught courses on gender, race, and class for 12 years.
4. My book has a very strong focus on body and appearance shame.

The assumption that I would be disappointed or dismayed by Oprah’s perspective, or the media focus on the problem, is not a safe assumption for this one simple reason:

Addiction is a personal issue for me. I connect with what she’s saying, and I appreciate her willingness to put it out there.

If you’ve read my book or if you follow my blog, you probably know that I’ve been sober for 13 years. I haven’t written or talked about it much because, until I started writing my new book, I didn’t really understand it.

Now I get it.

My confusion stems from the fact that I never have felt completely connected with the recovery community. Abstinence and the 12 steps are powerful and profoundly important principles in my life, but not everything about the recovery movement fits for me. For example, millions of people owe their lives to the power that comes from saying, “Hi, I’m Brené and I’m an alcoholic.” That’s never fit for me. Even though I’m grateful for my sobriety and I'm convinced that it has radically changed my life, saying those words has always felt disempowering and strangely disingenuous for me.

I have often wondered if I felt out of place because I quit so many things at one time. My first sponsor couldn’t figure out what meeting I needed and was perplexed by my “very high bottom” (I quit drinking because I wanted to learn more about true self and I was afraid it would get in the way). She looked at me one night and said, “You have the Pu-Pu Platter of addictions – a little bit of everything. Just to be safe, it would be best if you just quit drinking, smoking, comfort-eating, and getting in your family’s business.”

I remember looking at her, throwing my fork on the table, and saying, “Well, that’s effing great. I guess I'll have some free time on my hands."

I never found my meeting. I just made my way through enough meetings to work the steps and get one year of smoke-free sobriety under my belt. And, over time, my personal motto of "Let Go and Let Brené" even gave way to grace.

Now I know why.

I’m basically a take-the-edge-off-aholic. They don’t have meetings for that, and saying that is what you are in a meeting can be fightin’ words if there are any old-timers around. For me, it wasn’t just the dance halls, cold beer, and Marlboro Lights of my youth that got out of hand – it was banana bread, chips and queso, email, work, staying busy, incessant worrying, planning, perfectionism, and anything else that could dull those agonizing and anxiety-fueled feelings of vulnerability.

I’ve had a couple of friends respond to my “I’m a take-the-edge-off-aholic” with concern about their own habits: “I drink a couple of glasses of wine every night – is that bad?” “I always shop when I’m stressed or depressed.” After years of shame research, I believe that we all numb out and take the edge off. The question is, does our _________________ (eating, drinking, spending, gambling, saving the world, gossiping, perfectionism, 60-hour work week, etc.) get in the way of our authenticity? Does it stop us from being emotionally honest and setting boundaries? Keep us from staying out of judgment and from feeling connected?

Understanding my behaviors and feelings through a vulnerability lens rather than strictly through an addiction lens changed my entire life. It also strengthened my commitment to sobriety, health, and spirituality.

I can definitely say, “Hi. My name is Brené, and today I’d like to deal with vulnerability and uncertainty by eating a basket of bread and spending hours on Etsy.” That feels uncomfortably honest.

When I finally saw my struggles in this new way, I stopped numbing and dulling. I used some recovery principles and discovered a way to finally deal with my food issues (maybe I’ll post about this later). Of course, it’s still one day at a time, but for the first time in my life, I can say that I experience the gifts of neutrality around food.

Neutrality comes from working a program of self-care, spirituality, and abstinence. You no longer run as fast as you can toward what you crave, nor do you run as fast as you can away from it. You’re neither drawn in nor repelled from. You just feel neutral. I don’t eat certain foods anymore, like cookies or cake, but I can spend an afternoon baking them with my kids. I don’t feel "better than" or self-righteous. I don’t agonize and wonder how I can sneak some. I just feel neutral. No obsessive eating. No obsessive dieting.

The key to this kind of peace for me is exactly what I think Oprah is talking about in her article. I have to be able to be still. I have to be well rested. I have to live in gratitude, not scarcity. I have to be taking care of my mind, body, and spirit.

A few months ago, in the middle of the post-Hurricane-Ike-shittiest-semester-ever, my vulnerability and fear skyrocketed, and my self-care plummeted. My eating felt completely out of control. What Oprah described in her article is exactly how I felt. Crazy, depressed, and defeated.

Now, here’s the important part: When I called one of my very closest friends to tell her about feeling out of control, she said, “Something has to give. You’ve been in crisis because of the hurricane, Ellen is sick, your grad students are in total anxiety – maybe you need to just let up on the food stuff for a while.”

For me, that’s just like saying, “Screw your sobriety – get loaded and enjoy yourself.” I mean exactly the same. If you’re struggling to understand how that can be, or to believe it – that’s OK. But I’m telling you it’s the same. When behaviors become chronic or compulsive, connections with family and friends are threatened. Depression and shame sneak in. Authenticity becomes impossible.

Since that time, my friend and I have spent some time talking about these issues. We’ve learned that, despite how similar our struggles are on the outside, what drives them is very different. Her eating is not tied to numbing herself, and that makes a huge difference in how we support each other. Now when I’m in crisis and I call her, she says, “Something has to give. Let the deadline go. Get some sleep. Go for a walk.”

I have learned that in the past, while I was “taking the edge off” of the pain and vulnerability, I was also unintentionally dulling my experiences of the good feelings, like joy and gratitude. In a very unexpected discovery, my own research taught me that there’s no such thing as selective emotional numbing. When we numb the dark, we numb the light.

As the sharp edges have started to come back, I’m learning that recognizing the discomfort of vulnerability is the greatest teacher of how to live with joy, gratitude, and grace.

As far as the Oprah issue goes, here’s my wish list:

1. I wish that the cover of Oprah’s magazine wasn’t about appearance. A more appropriate cover would have been a picture of her, alone and in hiding, shoving chocolate cake in her mouth with her eyes wildly darting back and forth, as if she were desperate or afraid. Or, maybe a picture of her hiding under the covers eating a huge bowl of mac and cheese. Weight is a symptom, let's talk honestly about the problem.

2. Body shame is the devil. In fact, we have excellent data that show that shame increases addictive behaviors. The more shame we feel, the more we do to numb it. I don’t know Oprah, but I don’t think this is about body shame for her; however, I do think that her choices about the cover contribute to the shaming of women about their bodies. I wish we could talk about our own journeys in a way that doesn’t shame or threaten others.

3. I think Oprah’s article is honest, and I appreciate the courage it took to share her struggle with the public. I do wish there was more than one line about addiction in her essay. Oprah has the power to help the country make the critical connections between addiction, vulnerability, and authenticity.

4. I’m proud to be a part of the feminist movement. I just wish we could make more space in the conversations about empowerment for the possibility that self-acceptance might include wanting to lose weight or to change your relationship with food. Just because you’re watching what you’re eating and exercising doesn’t mean that you’ve been duped by the patriarchy. That’s insulting and condescending. Fat is a feminist issue, but so is fitness.

5. I also owe so much to the recovery movement – maybe my life. I just wish that we could make more room at the table for people who thrive in their recovery in different ways. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve interviewed who tell me that they lie about their addictions in meetings so they can fit in. Fundamentalism is a real danger in any powerful movement. I think we need to be careful.

The journey to figure out our relationship with food and our body – and ultimately our authenticity – is often walked in solitude. We can and should be comforted by the fact that we are all travelers; however, if we really want to experience unity and solidarity, we have to find a way to celebrate the fact that our roads may lead in different directions. What brings me closer to authenticity and self-compassion may not work for you.

I’d love to know what you think, feel, or believe about these issues. I love healthy debate and disagreement. I don't care for name-calling, shaming, or attacks (I'll delete you without hesitation). This was tough to write and I'm sure some will struggle to comment. Kindness is important around tender issues.

2009: year of the superpower

A really unexpected thing happened to me four years ago. I had scheduled about 20 research interviews for late January and early February. My teaching schedule normally prevents me from collecting data early in the year, so this was a new experience for me.

As I started my interviewing I was totally taken aback by the number of references to disappointment and shame around already-lapsing New Year’s Resolutions.

The resolution reference was new – the connection between expectations and disappointment was not.

For me, the juiciest part of resolution-making is dreaming and planning. I love to sit down over a big plate of chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes and dream about the size 6 swimsuit that I'll be wearing in a few months. I love to picture my name on the New York Times Bestseller List while I avoid writing like the plague.

There is nothing better than the hope-filled planning period when you're envisioning the results, but the official start date has yet to arrive. The last indulgent meal before the diet tastes better than any other because I’m eating whatever I want while, in my head, I’m already skinny. Sigh.

Most of us aren’t very good at goal setting – doing it well is really tricky, and, worst of all, it’s not at all fantastical. It’s so much easier to say, “I’m going to be out of debt by August,” than to say, “I’m not going to buy that sweater today.”

In fact, resolutions or goals without small, weekly, measurable objectives are basically wishes. And, as my dad likes to say, “If you shit in one hand and wish in the other, guess what you end up with?” (reads like poetry in Texas).

So, here’s what I’ve decided. No more resolutions. I’m letting it go this year.

Yet, the human pull to do something for the new year is strong. So what will it be? "To Do Lists" are a really good idea (like Karen's) and I'll probably do that. I also like Ali Edward's one little word approach.

This year I want to cultivate, celebrate, and nurture something that's already inside me.

Oh Might Winds That Blow on High . . . Lift Me Now So I Can Fly!

2009 is going to be all about naming and honoring the superpower. I was reading Karen’s fabulous interview series and one of her questions is, “What’s your superpower?” I absolutely believe that we all have superpowers and it’s our obligation to the world to figure out what they are and to use them for good.I also believe that we all have our own forms of kryptonite and, if we’re going to be effective stewards of our superpowers, we must understand those vulnerabilities.

Steve and I spent the Christmas car ride to San Antonio talking about superpowers. Here’s what I came up with for me:

I have bionic powers of observation and making meaning from what I observe. They tore me down in my doctoral program – physically, emotionally, and intellectually – then they rebuilt me. Stronger. Faster. Better. I think my superpower is observing human behavior and seeing, then naming, the subtle connections that help us make meaning of our thoughts, behaviors, and feelings.

I’ve been stalling on my new books because I’ve talked myself into believing that unless your superpower is writing, you shouldn’t do it and you certainly shouldn't call yourself a writer. It’s been paralyzing for me because writing is not my superpower, yet I love it. Granted, it's often a frustrating, awkward struggle, but I feel so good when I'm putting my ideas down on paper. Steve helped me understand that what I really love about writing is that its the most honest way for me to share and explore what I've learned with my superpowers. I can't explain why, but understanding all of this has changed my life.

This year I’m going to honor my superpower by believing that it is enough and that what I’m learning is worth enduring the struggles of writing. I might even embrace the word writer. Yes, my one little word for 2009 might be writer (just in case you're thinking that this is easy for me to share with you, know that I'm afraid, a little bit embarrassed, and resisting the urge to delete this post or hide in a vat of peanut butter).

I’m also going to be more aware of my kryptonite. It is very easy for me to use my superpowers to hide out. When I feel anxious or “less than” I can easily slip into a place where I’m observing life rather than living it. I’m so busy making meaning in my head that I stop creating meaning in my heart (think detached workaholic). It’s a total hazard and explains why, in my opinion, many academics don’t function so well beyond the ivory tower.

Let’s celebrate our superpowers together in 2009! Let's spend the year discovering them, honoring them and sharing them. Let’s cheer each other on!

It was really fun to do this exercise with Steve. His superpower is definitely perspective. He has an amazing ability to quickly assess a situation and distill what is important, all the while staying very grounded. We’re still figuring out his kryptonite (which may speak to what it is).

Tell me . . . what is your superpower? What is your kryptonite? I know it can feel so weird to name it, but we need all of the superpower we can muster!

seeking shelter in the storm

There are three things I know about shame:

1. Everyone has it.
2. Everyone is scared to talk about it.
3. The less we talk about it; the more we have it.

Last week I found myself caught in a raging shame storm. Why? I was in a very stressful work situation and rather than responding authentically and calmly, I got sucked in, became reactionary, and totally over-functioned. I did and said things I normally don’t do and say. I was not my best self.

Like all shame storms, it started with soft breezes of memory followed by the warm wash of “Oh shit.” I pushed back the thought. The thought pushed back. My face was hot. I felt small and my heart was racing. I pushed back the instant replay of me acting out and the instant replay oozed back in.

Now the winds of inadequacy are whipping all around me. I’m slowly getting pulled into the shame cyclone. I’m losing my perspective and my ability to recall anything good about myself. First thought: “God, I’m such an idiot. Why did I do that?”

The greatest gift of having done this work (the research and the personal work) is that I can recognize what's happening. I recognize the physical symptoms – dry mouth, time slowing down, tunnel vision, feeling sick, face is hot, heart racing.

This is the very small window of shame resilience. If you’ve read my work, this is where you do the totally counter-intuitive thing: reach out. “I need to talk to someone RIGHT NOW. I need to tell this story.” Shame hates having words wrapped around it – it can’t survive being shared. The most dangerous thing to do at this point is hide.

Here’s the tricky part. You can’t call just anyone. It’s not that simple.

I have a lot of good friends, but there are only 2 or 3 people who I can call when I’m in the shame cyclone. If you share your shame story with the wrong person, they can easily become one more piece of flying debris in your already dangerous shit storm. You want something like a sturdy tree - one that won’t rip out of the ground or snap like a twig. You definitely want to avoid the following:

1. The friend who is actually ashamed for you. She gasps and confirms how horrified you should be. Then there is awkward silence. Then you have to make her feel better.

2. The friend who responds with sympathy (I feel for you) rather than empathy (I feel with you). If you want to see a shame cyclone turn deadly – throw one of these at it: “Oh, you poor thing” or, in the south, the incredibly passive-aggressive version of “Bless your heart.”

3. The friend who needs you to be the pillar of shame-free living. She can't help because she's disappointed in your imperfections. You've let her down.

4. The friend who is so uncomfortable with vulnerability that she scolds you or looks for someone to blame: “How did you let this happen? Who did this to you? We’ll kick their asses.”

5. The friend who is all about making it better and, out of her own discomfort, refuses to acknowledge that you can actually be an asshole: “You rock. You’re perfect. Everyone loves you.”

6. The friend who confuses “connection through empathy” with “That’s nothing. Listen to my story.”

Of course, we can all be all of "these friends" - especially if someone tells us a story that gets right up in our shame grill. We're human. Imperfect. Vulnerable.

When we're in shame, we need someone who is deeply rooted, able to bend, and most of all, we need someonee who embraces us for our strengths and struggles. We need to honor our struggle by sharing it with someone who has earned the right to hear it. And it's' a little bit of the right person at the right time about the right issue.

I called my sister. It’s only been in the past year (post 2007 breakdown spiritual awakening) that I’ve called one or both of sisters for shame cyclone support. I’m 8 years older than Ashley and Barrett and for most of our lives I’ve been more of a parent figure than a sister. It’s partly because of the age difference, partly because of circumstance (my parents divorced when I was 20, my brother was 16, and they were 12. I kinda took on a not-so-good co-parenting thing for a while), and partly because of my own need to be . . . well . . . the family elder.

Ashley was amazing. She listened and was totally compassionate. She said wonderfully empathic things like, “Oh shit, man. I’ve done that. I hate that feeling!” We laughed. She talked about a couple of issues that are tender and vulnerable for her. I felt totally exposed and loved at the same time (shame hates that and normally responds by high-tailing it out of there).

She wasn’t uprooted and thrown into the storm. She wasn’t so rigid that she snapped. She was strong and tall. The storm stood no chance. Within minutes, the wind turned into a soft breeze and I stood next to her. When the conversation started, I was cowering under her branches, but when it was over, I was standing next to her. I was strong, tall, and deeply rooted again. That's how empathy works.

Barrett, me and AshleyI’m so grateful that I called her. I'm grateful that my sisters and my brother see me and love me. I'm grateful for the courage to allow my very imperfect self to be seen.

I think compassion is really about acknowledging that we’re all made of strength and struggle. To be compassionate, we must believe that we are all equal, regardless if we are seeking help or offering it.  If we allow ourselves to both give and receive, I don’t think shame stands a chance.

Plus, there are just so many gifts in extending a branch . . .  and reaching out for one.