Shame
"I'm Positive"
The foundation of a masculine identity based in patriarchy is shame. I sat with this statement, reading it over and over again, wonder-
ing if it was too strong for the first sentence of a book. But it’s also a truth. One that cannot be sugarcoated or kept as a ‘“surprise” for the end. Masculinity is a cord braided with shame—and for every issue I discuss in this book, we will find shame somewhere. Shame is the emotion that arises from a belief that you are bad, flawed, or not good enough. This feeling typically occurs after we have done something wrong, been embarrassed, or been humiliated. It is often confused with guilt—the sorrow or remorse we feel after we have done something wrong. But guilt is about our actions, while shame is about our identity.
This is what makes shame such a powerful emotion: its connection to who we are and how we perceive ourselves. Because of its personal nature, even though we may struggle to define it, we all know how it feels.
I’ll give you a very vulnerable example.
The year 2021 taught me a valuable lesson: Avoid going to the
doctor on Fridays because if you receive bad news, you may have to wait until Monday to hear from your doctor again. I learned this les- son the hard way. During my yearly physical (which I urge all men to get if they are able to do so), they took my blood to test for all the usual things—STDs, diabetes, cholesterol, etc. I felt confident and had no worries about the tests. After leaving the doctor’s office, I received my results, sat on the couch, and scrolled through each lab test. I was barely paying attention to the details, treating it more like a terms and conditions page, glancing over each result, assuming that everything was normal.
Then I saw it: “Hepatitis C screen: positive.”
I blinked, hoping that in the quick instance of opening my eyes,
I would see something different.
“Destyn, your hepatitis C screen is positive. This may be a false positive, I am waiting for the titer to return to fully evaluate this. It should take a few days, and I will touch base with you.”
Transparently, I didn’t even know what hepatitis C was, but I knew from the tone of the message that it was something I didn’t want to have. Instantly, I started doing some Googling in an attempt to dis- cover what was going on with me.
“It’s curable...phew,” was my first reaction. Once I found out that it was curable, I didn’t feel the need to tell anyone. I could keep this between myself, my doctor, and my girlfriend. I find it interest- ing that my first instinct was to hide and to be as discreet as possible.
As I did more research and learned how people contracted it, my desire to conceal it only grew. My eyes widened as I read that it could be passed through sharing drug-injected equipment or by having sex with an infected person, more often among men who have sex with men.
Possibilities and scenarios looped around in my head as I started to imagine what people were going to think about me if they found out. Would they think that I’d been using drugs? Or even what felt worse—
would they think that I was gay? These questions eventually turned into declarations about my identity: I’m so stupid. I’m dirty. I’m worthless.
Throughout that entire weekend, I barely ate. Shame destabilized me—and as it grew, so did my anxiety, negative self-talk, and the belief that I was unworthy of love.
Monday finally arrived—the resolution to what had felt like the longest weekend of my life. In the afternoon I received a notification that there was a new message from my doctor. “Destyn, your confirmatory test for hepatitis C was negative. It was likely a false positive or a resolved infection.”
I tossed my phone and wept.
Pause & Reflect
When have you felt shame in your life? How did it make you feel, and what caused it?
Will the "Real Men" Please Stand Up?
In recent years, it has become increasingly acceptable for men and boys to express themselves in ways that were not traditionally con- sidered masculine. Teenage boys are now painting their nails, men are attending therapy sessions, and boys aren’t just wearing blue. This new approach to masculinity has been met with resistance in social and political commentary, which suggests that today’s men are not
“real men.” Social media posts have demanded that we return to the historic “tough and strong” archetype of men who knew how to build houses and who had rough, cracked, and calloused hands—and that man was never me.
As I grew up, I realized that I wouldn’t fit into this archetype of masculinity that society considered “real.” I was too curious as a child to be placed in a box—I wanted to explore a little bit of every- thing. As I explored my interests, I found myself drawn to dance. My older brother TaDarrean introduced me to Michael Jackson, and I instantly became captivated by his moonwalk and heel-toe steps. I still remember hearing “Billie Jean” for the first time. The music seemed to vibrate throughout my body, as if the instruments were playing inside of me. I wanted to be like MJ, and nothing could convince me that I couldn’t master his moves. In secret, I would shut my door, close my eyes, and dance for hours on end, lost in the freedom of movement. I would twirl in circles, kick my feet in the air, and per- form—with no desire to hold back.
As time passed, my love for dance became complicated. Although no one explicitly told me, “You can’t be a dancer,” I sensed that there was something taboo about it. My parents never forbade me from dancing, but I had an unspoken feeling that it was somehow disapproved of or at odds with societal expectations. What I did know was that boys who danced on TV were often portrayed as feminine, and at school they were teased as “gay”—two labels that assign boys to the lowest levels of the social hierarchy. As a result, I gradually danced less and less, convinced that it wasn’t what “real men” did.
Masculinity functions like a rule book, dictating a code of conduct for men to follow. It dictates how one should speak, from the tone of one’s voice to the words used. For so many years of my life, I would force my voice to be deeper when I was around other men. I would probably swear a bit more and make more sexually suggestive jokes because that’s what I learned “real men” were supposed to do. Accord- ing to this code of conduct, one is also given guidance on how to walk: It is never okay for your hips to sway even slightly, and you never want your feet to hit the ground too gracefully or you’d be considered soft.
This imaginary book teaches us that we should keep a poker face and limit the expression of all emotions—except for anger or rage.
When we don’t meet the criteria or if we’re not “man enough,” we are told that there’s something wrong with who we are and that this “something” (no matter what it is) makes us unworthy of belonging and being loved. This is how shame manifests, and it is why shame
often leads to insecurity and a lack of self-worth. When we internal- ize the belief that we are unworthy of love, we stop believing that we deserve love from others. In one of my favorite novels, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky, the main character, a fresh- man in high school, asks his English teacher why he and everyone he loves choose people who treat them as if they are insignificant after witnessing abuse in his older sister’s relationship. The teacher
responds with the most quoted line from the book: “We accept the love we think we deserve.”
When children are shamed for not fitting perfectly into masculine or feminine categories (which exist on a spectrum), they may struggle to see themselves as loveable, which has serious impacts on their social, emotional, and cognitive development.
As I’ve studied youth development, I’ve found that our society is obsessed with raising young people to be miniature versions of someone else. We place our male children in Boy Scouts, in sports programs, and encourage them to engage in rough play because we want to ensure that they will be “man enough” to be one of the “real men.” A patriarchal parent’s deepest worry for their boy child is centered around how masculine their son will be, rather than how whole they will be. When we shift from “how masculine” to “how whole,” we shift from raising children to be who we want them to be and instead assist them in becoming who they already are.
The challenge, however, is unlearning that who they are, and who we are, is shameful.
Masculinity & Tears
I grew up as a mama’s boy and a crybaby. Anytime my big brother got slightly too rough with me or anytime I had to stay somewhere without someone I knew, I cried. As I got older, I felt more and more shame for shedding these tears. I started to believe that I was over- emotional and too weak to be with the “big boys”—the precursor of
“real men.” I made the choice to stop crying when I was in the fourth grade, a moment that I now see as one of the greatest losses of my life.
I was starting a new school and transitioning from a private school to a public school. I was excited, anxious, a little afraid—and like any nine-year-old going somewhere for the first time, I was nervous. On the school bus, I remember reminding myself that I wouldn’t cry that day, that I would be strong and courageous. I didn’t shed a tear on that first day, and I don’t think I ever cried in school again. On one hand, it’s great that I made it through the rest of my school- ing without crying, but the issue is that the tears were never the real problem. The real problem was my anxiety. Instead of learning how to cope with my anxiety, I learned to suppress the outward display of emotions that revealed them. I mastered the art of controlling tears but never addressed the root cause behind them.
This mindset has followed me into my adult life—don’t address the root of the problem, just find a way to hide or cover up the existence of the problem. It’s hard for men to cry because from the time we were babies, we were taught to hide or cover it up—to get up whenever we fell, to be told, “You’re fine!” whenever we cried, to be told we were just being dramatic if our boyhood tears lasted too long.
To suggest that men don’t cry is to suggest that men aren’t human. I often wonder what happens to the tears we prevent from flowing and cleansing our faces. Perhaps these tears don’t actually disappear but rather begin to flow out in different forms and with different emotions. What if the emotions of rage we feel in our bodies are not rooted in anger but in the old tears that rise within us? What if our frustration is not a sense of being overwhelmed, but a recognition of the many tears residing in us, yearning for release? The grossly ironic nature of shame is that we often experience it in response to things that are natural. The avoidance of tears reflects a denial of the depth of the human experience.
Our shame of tears is directly connected to patriarchy’s expectations of men. Patriarchal thinking views men as strong, king-like figures who rule the world and who only exist to serve, honor, and protect his citizens. In an effort to protect his people from the attacks of other kingdoms, a king must always show that he is strong, confident, and unafraid to fight. To publicly show fear, sensitivity, too much kindness, or sadness would make his kingdom vulnerable to attack. While this logic may make some sense in combat, it should not inform how we live our daily lives.
From a patriarchal perspective, bravery and courage are often depicted as the prince saving the princess from monsters or “bad guys.” However, I have found that what is just as brave and courageous, if not more, is living authentically and being true to our- selves every day.
The true beauty of embracing vulnerability and compassion is how it often leads to the realization that many of our experiences are shared by others. Whether we are grappling with body insecurity, sexual issues like erectile dysfunction and performance anxiety, health conditions such as high blood pressure and diabetes, mental health issues, loneliness, or any other struggles, there are numerous men who can attest to experiencing the same challenges.
If more men told their stories, we would realize that there’s nothing to be ashamed of because these challenges are a part of our collective experience as humans.
Pause & Reflect
How have you been taught to view your tears? Do you see them as negative, positive, or shameful? What influenced these beliefs?
Overcoming Shame
The greatest challenge in overcoming shame is finding the courage to replace it with the truth. When a child accidentally breaks something, their initial reaction is to hide it. They gather the broken pieces, try to hide them in a place where they think no one will find them, and may even use their own bodies to block what they hope adults will not see. They hide it because they feel guilty and may even believe that the accident makes them a bad person.
Although they make every effort to conceal their actions, the truth always catches up with them. Just like how our own secrets have a way of finding the pathway to light. When a parent discovers the broken vase or shattered glass, more often than not their response is, “It’s okay.
Accidents happen,” along with a warm embrace. In that moment, the child realizes that they are not bad; they are simply human.
Thinking back to my hepatitis C scare, what helped me the most was knowing that I was still loved by my then-girlfriend, now wife, Netta. I was waiting for the moment when she would reject me, walk away, or ghost me as if I were now a curse. But she didn’t do that. She was gentle with me, never making me feel judged. She affirmed that we would figure this out together, and that everything would be okay. I’ve found that when I feel ashamed about something, it’s so important to tell someone as soon as I can. Having safe people in my life whom I can call and say, “Hey, this thing happened,” or, “Hey, I feel like I’m a bad person because ...” allows someone else to challenge my shame. These friends never hesitate to remind me of who I am.
I often played this role as a voice to challenge shame when I worked as a college advisor. Students often came into my office, sometimes crying, because they felt defeated by their test scores. “Destyn, I just don’t think I’m smart enough for college,” many of them would say. My response was always to remind them that they are indeed smart enough, and that they are being challenged—which is a good thing.
With that challenge comes learning and figuring things out, and failure is a natural part of the process.
When we don’t have someone safe, a friend or therapist, to remind us of who we are or to help us reframe our negative self-talk, we can always turn to ourselves. We all need a list of affirmations to keep in our back pocket or in our phone’s Notes app to remind us of who we are and to help us declare our worthiness when we’re feeling low.
In our moments of shame, whether it stems from our actions, frightening lab results, or not meeting others’ expectations, what we need most is to humanize ourselves and affirm that it’s okay, life happens, and who we are is beautiful. This voice is shame’s biggest enemy. Through our own voice, we have the power to be radically honest with ourselves.
With our voice, we get to tell our stories the way that we would like them to be told.
Devotional
While in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve wandered the garden, tending to it and making sure all the plants and crops yielded what they needed. A beautiful aspect of the culture was that “[they] were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed” (Genesis 2:25, kjv). An interesting point to note from this scripture is that in God’s original plan, our bodies were not something we were supposed to be ashamed of. Imagine a world where the beauty of our bodies could be acknowledged without the risk of being objectified or sexualized. After being tempted by a serpent and eating the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, everything changed forever. From a Christian worldview, this is the moment when sin entered the world, and due to their disobedience, their perfect world now knew the reality of evil.
After eating the fruit, “the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons” (Genesis 3:7, kjv). Here, we see the same effect that shame has on us—our first instinct is to cover up. The most interesting aspect we learn from this passage is the way they initially had no concept of nakedness. Their nudity was natural to them until it wasn’t. Then Adam and Eve heard the sound of God walking in the garden and did what any of us would have done—hid in plain sight. God called out to them, “Where are you?” In Christian theology, we hold the belief that God is omniscient, meaning all-know- ing. In this case, God didn’t ask where they were out of ignorance; rather, the question was for Adam and Eve to ponder, not to tell God. Adam’s response to God was, “I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” God responded by asking a powerful question, “Who told you that you were naked?”
(Genesis 3:10–11, asv).
This question that God asked Adam and Eve has been a frame-
work for how I navigate shame. In this passage, God is teaching Adam and Eve something significant about the nature of shame—it usu- ally comes from outside of us. When I feel shame in my body and engage in negative self-talk, I have started the practice of asking myself,
“Who told you that?” When something happens that makes me feel like I’m not good enough or not worthy to have a seat at the table, I ask myself, “Who told you that you weren’t worthy? Who told you that you didn’t deserve to have a seat at this table?” That question always gets me to pause and think about the sources of such messaging. By identifying the source, I can acknowledge that the message didn’t come from within, nor did it come from God.
When we meditate on who God told us we are, we remember that we are accepted: “Therefore, accept each other just as Christ has accepted you so that God will be given glory” (Romans 15:7, asv);
we remember that we are chosen: “I brought you from the ends of the earth and called you from its farthest corners. I said to you:
You are my servant; I have chosen you; I haven’t rejected you” (Isa- iah 41:9, asv);
and we are deeply loved: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39, asv).
Regardless of the faith tradition you may come from, an important practice for our overall well-being is to examine where the beliefs about yourself come from. We don’t have to accept every message that seeks to make its way to the core of our identity. Words spoken with intent to shame can be rejected by internally responding to it with declarations of who we are.
Pause & Reflect
In which areas of your life do you currently feel shame? What might you do or tell yourself to reaffirm your true identity?
