The feeling of shame is one of being ineffably defective. It is not that I have done wrong. It is that I am wrong. And there is nothing I can do about it. It is a searingly powerless place to be. If I was born wrong, if I was born to be wrong, then what is the point to me being alive? How can I expect to belong, when I don’t have the right credentials? How can I ever expect anyone to accept me, when I am intrinsically unacceptable? I deserve to be on the outside. I deserve never to fit in. I deserve only for bad things to happen. And how can I shift those beliefs when they appear so inarguably
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