When Shame Becomes a Second Skin: The Quiet Unconscious Violence From Within

A personal reflection from Ian J Mobsby

Following the death of my close friend Charlie who died too young, quite a lot of internal stuff was triggered, for which I became aware I needed to talk to a therapist and in my case a gay therapist as it felt that was what I needed. It has shown me once again that I am unconsciously carrying deep levels of shame that once again I need to face. Shame has been an ongoing part of my life for lots of reasons, and sometimes I under appreciate how it affects me deeply, not only as a gay man, but also my spirituality. It is almost like a necrotic lump in me that I need to attend to, which requires surgery but then if I am not careful grows back.

So I have written this reflection for everyone and me to keep reflecting on, which will also be the focus of the contemplative practice reflection for Saturday.

I have come to appreciate, that there is nothing as quietly destructive in life as shame. In my experience, it is rarely obvious or explicit. It comes slowly, almost imperceptibly, through encounters with others: past family experiences, encounters (in my case) with judgemental and unloving non-affirming christians and church, disapproving glances, silences, unmet expectations, disappointments, or conditions placed on acceptance let alone love. There is also, again very strong in my sense, a dislike and non-acceptance of the body and physicality. As a teenager just starting to step into the fullness of life concerning sports and music I was diagnosed with a neurological condition that severely affected my body so that as a late teenager I could no longer do what I wanted to do - and could no longer play the classical guitar to the level I wanted to. Further I required complex orthopaedic surgery on my feet which of course went wrong so that I have needed ongoing serious surgery which has left me even more unable to do the things I want to do. This internal disgust almost self-hared of my body over a life time caused by the frustration of not feeling free to be who I was, always held back from meeting my potential, was and is a massive internal sense of shame.

My experience of Church was shaming, and my experience of gay culture was equally shaming, as I was average good looking but with significant physical difficulties so I did not have a body good enough to feel desired and some made wicked comments that you absorb deeply as some form of truth when you really do not want to.

I am sure as you read this post, you will be reflecting on the things you have absorbed that have led to shame as I am more than aware that I am not unique.

Over time all these contributors to shame settle into the body and the psyche, shaping how a person stands in the world and how they imagine themselves in the presence of others. Eventually, for many people, definitively for me, shame becomes so familiar that it feels like identity rather than injury. It becomes a second skin - something worn constantly, rarely questioned, and deeply difficult to remove.

Many people carry shame not because of what they have done, but because of what has been done to them, or because of what they were never given. Shame often forms early, in environments where love was inconsistent, approval conditional, or safety uncertain. It becomes a strategy for survival: If I am smaller, quieter, more pleasing, more useful, less demanding, then perhaps I will belong. What begins as adaptation gradually hardens into belief. The nervous system learns vigilance. The person and in a very real way their true identity and self-understanding learns concealment. The self learns to apologise for existing - I am smiling as this is so me!

This is why shame cannot be reduced to a moral category. It is not primarily about wrongdoing. Shame is about worth. Guilt may say, “I have failed.” Shame says, “I am a failure.” Guilt, when held within a context of love, can lead to repair, confession, and growth. Shame does the opposite. It convinces a person that repair is futile because the problem is not behaviour but being. Where guilt can open a future, shame collapses time and locks a person into a frozen present of self-judgement and fear.

The consequences of living with chronic shame are profound. Emotionally, it fuels anxiety, depression, perfectionism, people-pleasing, addiction (particularly codependency), and withdrawal. Relationally, it undermines intimacy, because being known feels unsafe. Spiritually, it distorts the very ground on which faith rests. A shamed self struggles to trust love, struggles to receive grace, and struggles to imagine a God who delights rather than tolerates.

Scripture, read attentively, is acutely aware of shame as a spiritual wound. In the Genesis creation narrative, shame is not part of the original harmony. Adam and Eve are naked and unashamed—not because they are naive, but because they are unafraid. They live without the need to manage how they are seen. They experience original wounding as a source of their shame. Their nakedness signifies transparency, trust, and safety in relationship with God and with one another. Shame enters the story only after trust fractures. When they eat from the tree, their first response is not remorse but exposure. They become aware of themselves as objects under judgement. They hide.

This movement from trust to hiding is the core dynamic of shame. Shame does not simply say, “You have done something wrong.” It says, “You are no longer safe to be seen.” The fig leaves sewn together are not just garments; they are defences. They represent the beginning of self-protection, self-curation, and self-concealment. You can sense in the narrative the truth that many like me carry - that there is something fundamentally wrong with me, that I/we are unlovable because of this shame. When God calls out, “Where are you?”, it is not a question of location but of relationship. Shame has created distance.

Throughout the biblical story, shame is closely linked with exile, not only geographical exile but interior displacement. To be shamed is to feel cut off - from friends, loved ones, community, from blessing, from God’s favour. The psalms are filled with cries not only for forgiveness but for deliverance from shame: “Let me not be put to shame… let those who seek you rejoice and be glad in you.” Shame is experienced as a threat to identity and belonging.

The prophets, too, understand that restoration must address shame, not just wrongdoing. Again and again, God promises not merely to pardon but to restore honour, dignity, and joy. “Instead of your shame you shall receive a double portion,” declares Isaiah. This is not transactional language; it is relational. God’s concern is not simply that Israel obeys, but that Israel knows who she is. Shame has convinced the people that they are no longer lovable. God responds by reaffirming covenantal love.

In the ministry of Jesus, shame is confronted not through argument but through presence. Jesus consistently moves toward those whose lives have been organised around hiding. He eats with so-called sinners, touches lepers, speaks with women whose bodies and histories have been sites of judgement. He does not minimise the consequences of selfishness and bad choices, but neither does he shame people into change. He creates relational safety, and transformation flows from that safety.

The woman who anoints Jesus with her tears is not interrupted or corrected; she is defended. The woman caught in adultery is not humiliated further; she is shielded from violence and addressed with dignity. Zacchaeus is not coerced into repentance; he is invited into relationship, and his life reorders itself in response. Again and again, Jesus refuses to use shame as a spiritual tool. He does not weaponise exposure. He offers seeing without shaming. (O, how much I wish non-affirming churches and christians owned how much damage they have done in people’s lives and owned the truths of this).

This is crucial for understanding why shame is so toxic to healthy spirituality. Shame teaches that God’s gaze is dangerous. It trains the individual to approach prayer defensively, cautiously, egoically or performatively. When shame dominates the inner life, prayer becomes a space of self-surveillance rather than encounter. Silence feels threatening rather than restful, because silence removes the distractions that keep shame at bay. Many people avoid contemplative prayer not because they are shallow, but because stillness exposes the internalised voices of judgement that have never been healed.

For others, spirituality becomes compulsive. Religious practice is used to manage shame through busyness, moral effort, or spiritual achievement. All this is so me! The person becomes “good,” “faithful,” or “useful,” but never at rest. Beneath the devotion lies a quiet terror: If I stop, if I fail, if I disappoint, I will be abandoned. This is not the freedom of the children of God; it is spiritualised survival. Abandonment is such an ongoing issue for me since I was a child.

Shame is therefore not only a pastoral issue but a theological one. It shapes how doctrines are heard and lived. Teachings about sin, judgement, and holiness can either serve liberation or reinforce opression, depending on whether they are held within love or shame. When Christianity is preached without tenderness, without an awareness of trauma, and without a deep theology of grace, it becomes fertile ground for shame to thrive.

This is one reason many spiritual seekers today find institutional religion unbearable. It is not that they reject transcendence or moral seriousness, but that they have been wounded by shame-based religion. They have learned to associate God with coercion, rejection, or humiliation. Stepping away is often not rebellion but self-preservation. Yet the longing for meaning, belonging, and love does not disappear. It simply searches for safer ground.

The contemplative tradition within Christianity offers such ground. At its heart is the conviction that God’s love precedes all effort. The mystics speak not of earning union with God, but of awakening to a union that already exists. This is deeply threatening to shame, because shame depends on distance. It insists on separation. Love collapses that distance.

Julian of Norwich’s visions are so unsettling precisely because they refuse to give shame the last word. She dares to see sin (as selfishness and the consequence of bad decisions and behaviour) not as a reason for divine rejection but as the very place where God’s compassion is revealed. She does not deny human brokenness; she denies that brokenness defines our worth. Her confidence that “all shall be well” is not optimism but theological courage rooted in love to counter any sense of shame.

To heal shame is not to erase history or bypass pain. It is to slowly learn that exposure does not have to lead to annihilation. Contemplative practice supports this re-learning. In stillness, we notice the reflex to judge ourselves. In prayer, we practice staying present even when discomfort arises. Over time, we discover that God does not recoil from our vulnerability. The God revealed in Christ remains.

This work is slow because shame is embodied. It lives in posture, breath, and tone as much as in thought. Healing requires patience, gentleness, and often the presence of others who can bear witness without judgement. The church, has big responsibilities here that few rarely own. If it is to be faithful to its calling, then it is essential that it promotes a place where shame loosens its grip - not because people are perfect, but because they are allowed to be human.

I am learning that a life carrying too much shame is constricted. It is a life lived at a distance, always managing, always anticipating rejection. It drains joy, creativity, and courage. It makes love feel conditional and rest feel irresponsible. The Gospel does not deny the seriousness of life, but it refuses to ground seriousness in self-contempt. It proclaims a love that restores dignity before demanding change.

To be freed from shame is not to become flawless. It is to become real. It is to risk believing that we are seen fully and loved still. This is the heart of Christian spirituality and the deep longing of spiritual seekers alike - not to be fixed, corrected, or improved into worthiness, but to discover that worthiness was never the question.

Following, this, Saturdays Contemplative Practice will be about shaming and healing.

Photo by Meghan Holmes on Unsplash