I have Mommy Issues.

An unexpected love letter to myself.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan feels equal parts shame and glee in sharing hilarious personal thought rants every Friday. Sometimes on shame, sometimes shame infused, and other times, nothing to do with shame. Enjoy responsibly.

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

I have Mommy Issues.

Although I’m not sure that’s technically correct.

Perhaps saying I have massive mommy issues would be more correct.

What does this have to do with V Day?

Nothing.

And everything.

Tee he he he he he.

^that’s a nervous laughter tick.

It’s accompanied by aggressive facial expressions that should never be seen, ever.

Especially on V Day.

Good Christ.

Wait do you think Christ gets Kicky on Valentine’s Day???? A little anal angel orgy action, perhaps? A little cupid deviance maybe? A harem at his pleasure on the regular? Maybe it’s Valentine’s day every day in that celestial place. I CANNOT BELIEVE I TYPED ANAL ANGEL ORGY ACTION. That’s atrocious!!!!!!!!! …and fucking hilarious hahahahaha.

Anywho!!!!!

Mommy issues.

The mere typing of those words brings me great massive shame.

❌ Mom if you are reading this here’s a virtual cease and desist letter from me: You are hereby ordered to cease and desist. ❌

Tee he he he he he.

To be explicitly clear, my mom does NOT read my newsletters or I would already be 6’ under in a shame coffin in shame cursed dirt with a shameful tomb stone preceded only by a shameful (yet sweary) eulogy. (Side note for myself: Remember to write the most epic of all epic eulogies before I die!!!!!!!!! Godamn. If anyone wants me to write a hilarious eulogy, please send an email to hilariousfuckingeulogy@gmail.com Hahahahahahahaha.)

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GREAT COCKBLOCKING GLORY HOLES I REALLY DISLIKE THE UNCOMFORTABLE FEELINGS MY MOTHER ISSUES BRING ME.

I’m incensed ← look at that word usage that I’m a grown ass woman and still realing from them.

Why can’t I face my mother and have a goddamn conversation and be rid of this fear and pain and shame???? 😭

→ Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she wasn’t in my daughter’s life for her first 4.5 years.

→ Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she wasn’t speaking to me while I was going through my divorce, reeling from a horrible situation.

→ Maybe it was that she barely made one appearance at the hospital and wasn’t there for me after I had my throat cut open, thyroid removed and over 30 lymph nodes taken out after my cancer diagnosis.

→ Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that I was taught if I wore anything remotely immodest, I would be solely responsible for making men lust and sin.

→ Maybe it has something to do with the fact she never told me what sex was.

→ Maybe it has something to do with the fact she never told me what my period was.

→ Maybe it has something to do with those things.

💔

Looking back, I can put the pieces together and understand why she didn’t talk to me about my period, or sex.

She was living in her own shame spiral of never dealing with sexual abuse as a child and then in adulthood, diving deep into the “safety” of purity movement religious circles.

And yet… and yet it still doesn’t make up for the fact that my mom couldn’t help me and I have felt ashamed of my womanhood and sexuality ever since.

CUNTY CHRIST DID YOU READ WHAT I WROTE ????????????????

“It’s hard to put into words the damage my mom’s inability to shed her shame and subsequent shame burden she put on me, did to me.”

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Holy fucking hell.

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My poor mother. 💔

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My poor self. 💔

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I should be sobbing right now but I am not.

I cannot. That part of me is locked in a vice-grip without the key.

My mom passed her shame onto me.

And I’ve been carrying it all of these years.

😭😭😭😭😭

It’s hard to put into words the damage my mom’s inability to shed her shame and the subsequent shame burden she put on me did to me.

So perhaps I should observe a moment of silence instead.

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Alien Narrator Voice: Seventeen-Thousand Two-Hundred Eighty-Nine Years Later…

Aaaaaaand, we’re back. 😬

Tee he he he he he.

Yes, the crux of my mother issues stem from the fact that I felt ashamed of the very essence of my womanhood. Even though I never would have been able to articulate it like that when I was growing up. And absolutely everything was swept under a massive shame rug while I was growing up. My mom and I have never had a true relationship post puberty. 💔

The damage was undeniable.

The very core of what made me me was shameful.

And it had a profound domino effect on every other area of my life.

When you feel ashamed to be yourself, well… your soul gets salmonella. Lol.

DO NOT RECOMMEND, BTW. 😭😂

But, here we are. Trying to climb out of my shitty shame sandwich situation.

And then I think:

“But Megan dearest… look at you.

You are the most resilient, incredible, unique, hilarious, outrageous, brilliant ← shame will not let me write that amazing woman who has gone through so much, and you’ve never quit. You’ve never ever quit.

You carry the scars of deep wounds, you’ve been undeniability altered by the stress of it all, and you will never forget what you’ve been through, but goddamnit you are still going.

😭😭😭😭

And you should be so fucking proud of yourself. You are here, right now, bleeding on the page and it is healing you baby girl. It is healing you.

Never stop writing.

Never stop fighting to let the truest you show up every day.

Never stop being proud of the incredible woman you are.

And never, ever stop loving yourself.”

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BRB I’m blubbering right now!!!!!!!

The mothering that I didn’t get is coming through to me right now with the words I just wrote and… I need a moment.

😭

Whew.

I truly didn’t know this was going to turn into a love letter to myself.

I truly didn’t know I was going to write this today, on Valentine’s day.

I know people love to roll their eyes at a Hallmark holiday. But as a hopeless hopeful romantic I’m standing my ground.

And I choose to see it exactly as it should be:

A celebration of love.

Perhaps that is what I need to work on most of all:

Loving myself as I am… shame and all.

🫶

I’ve been really afraid to rip off this particular shame sandwich bandaid because I know underneath is a pile of infected puss that’s still oozing.

But now that I’ve ripped it off?

I feel… lighter.

I feel… stronger.

I feel… hope.

It’s terrifying to sit on the sidelines and imagine you will be swallowed hole if you tread anywhere near your deepest shame wounds.

But until I fully face them, I know I will forever be tormented.

Which is why I’m so so so proud of myself for being brave. For opening up. For expelling shame by talking about it.

There’s so much more I could write about my upbringing. So much more that has shapped my shame sandwich. So much more shame to shed.

And I will. And I am.

But for today?

I’m at peace with what I wrote.

I’m wrapping myself in the biggest hug.

I’m celebrating the start of untangling one of my most massive shame balls.

Here’s to loving ourselves fiercely. And here’s to laughter. For without it, love couldn’t possibly taste as sweet.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!!!

🫶

-M

p.s. - I HAVE MOMMY ISSUES AND I’M NOT AFRAID WHO KNOWS IT!!!! ← except for my mom lolol. This is maaaaaaasive. Who even am I????? Damn. I’m just so incredibly proud of myself for going where no shamed Megan has dared go before. ♥️♥️♥️

p.p.s. - ALSO!!! I have Valentine’s plans tonight and I’m soooooooo excited. 😁💃

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