"Why Weren't You Zusha?"

Since we are smack in the middle of Elul, it's not surprising that lately I've been thinking a lot about teshuva.  I also happen to be reading a fabulous book called, I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't) by Brené Brown, which focuses on how women experience shame.  Though I don't believe teshuva is a shame-based process, I do believe that some of the ways we act in response to our own feelings of shame are certainly grist for the teshuva mill.

Brené Brown defines shame as, "the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging.  Women often experience shame when they are entangled in a web of layered, conflicting and competing social-community expectations.  Shame creates feelings of fear, blame and disconnection."  Since, as humans, we are programmed to need connection--interpersonally as well as spiritually--the sense of disconnection that comes from shame can be profoundly disconcerting.  It is then not surprising that one might go to great lengths to avoid feeling shame...and, one of the ways we do that is by attempting to be whomever we perceive others want us to be.  Like chameleons, we adjust our speech and behavior (maybe also clothing) to blend in with what is expected by our peer group in any given situation.  We might find ourselves nodding in agreement to something we don't actually support, or glossing over our true beliefs in an effort to avoid confrontation.  In our efforts to remain connected and avoid shame, we sacrifice our authenticity.  Brené Brown describes this dynamic as follows:  "Shame, or the fear of being shamed, moves us away from our authentic selves.  We tell people what they want to hear, or we don't speak out when we should.  In turn, we feel shame for being dishonest, misrepresenting our beliefs or not taking an important stand."  When we believe we can't be connected and be ourselves, we often prioritize being connected...and end up paying a heavy price.

Although I don't think I could have articulated it when I was really struggling, it's clear to me now that my eating disorder had its roots in shame.  Some of the shame came from internal sources and some of it came from other people, but the result was that I believed nothing about me was okay:  my body, my thoughts, my feelings--I was ashamed of all of it.  I had two main strategies for dealing with shame.  One was to make myself physically as small as possible so there would be less for people to find objectionable.  The other was to be hyper-alert to (perceived) hints from other people as to how they wanted me to be--and then, be that way.

Being in recovery has meant giving up anorexia as a means for coping with shame; it is simply not possible to be in recovery and also be starving yourself.  However, it is possible to be in recovery and still be a people-pleaser, and I'll admit that "going chameleon" is still sometimes a default strategy of mine.  Over the years, I've avoided many arguments and smoothed over countless conflicts; I've reinforced others' opinions by agreeing with them; I've given people the answers I believed they wanted, rather than answers that were honest.  In return, I got connection, but I lost my authentic sense of self.  At some point, I realized I no longer knew what I thought, or what I liked.  Learning to eat again was hard, but relearning my own Self has been even harder--and is something I'm still working on.

Judaism teaches us that we are each born at the moment when Hashem realizes the world can no longer exist without us.  He creates each of us with a purpose, to fulfill a unique role in the world.  When we sacrifice our authenticity in order to "blend," we abandon the very work that we were put on earth to do.  Personally, I recognize that I lose sight of my authentic self more often than I would like.  I sometimes prioritize superficial connections with other people over deeper connections with Hashem--and with myself.  As I focus on my process of teshuva, I feel regret when I think of all the ways in which I've not been true to myself...and I feel committed to working harder in the coming year on cultivating my own authenticity.

There is a beautiful Hasidic story about Reb Zusha of Anipoli that goes something like this:

Reb Zusha was on his deathbed, surrounded by his disciples.  He was crying and no one could comfort him.  One student asked his Rebbe, "Why do you cry?  You were almost as wise as Moses and as kind as Abraham."  Reb Zusha answered, "When I pass from this world and appear before the Heavenly Tribunal, they won't ask me, 'Zusha, why weren't you as wise as Moses or as kind as Abraham,' rather, they will ask me, 'Zusha, why weren't you Zusha?' Why didn't I fulfill my potential, why didn't I follow the path that could have been mine?  That is why I am crying." 

As we prepare for the High Holy Days, I invite each of us to think about whether we are behaving in ways that feel authentic to us, or whether, out of fear of shame, we are giving up our own uniqueness in order to be "just like everyone else."  Remember--Hashem doesn't want a duplicate of someone else...He wants US.  I wish that each of us enters the new year knowing that we give Hashem joy when we are authentic--and that we are worthy of connection when we are our true selves.