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.
Author’s note:
OMG I’M IN YOUR INBOX ON A THURSDAY!!! #CherryPopped lol Since it’s the July 4th Holiday in the U.S. and approximately negative zero percent of people will be reading newsletters on Friday, surprise!!!! I’m here a day early. 😁 It’s a premature shame sandwich ejaculation. 😂 ← ok I’m stopping now. ← no comment. ← hahaha.
;lkjasd $#u97s i sfdkjlhihf;lkjfcDL;FGJ fk,jg skr ksdj ‘DX;KJHR8 lk;fj ;lsdo38u34[0 f jk !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Don’t mind me, I’m stalling right now.
Staaaaaaaaaaaaalling.
S-T-A-L-L-I-N-G
Squirrel!
Panty lines!
What’s the opposite of a tramp stamp?!
Is it a lady stamp?!
What’s a lady stamp?!
A bedazzled Lady Victoria?!
I think it’s absolutely a bedazzled Lady V!
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Stalling is so fun!
What else?!
Mellons!
Mangos!
Matermellons!
Oh my!
Narrators Note: Jesus Fucking Christ.
😂😂😂😂😂
Now that we’ve gotten that shamefully weird stalling session out of the way, I think I can begin.
When in doubt, stall it out.
In all seriousness, this newsletter is about to take an abruptly serious zig-zagging left turn.
Which explains the Shame in a Sandwich™ intro.
Whew.
I don’t even know how to say this other than to say:
Last night, I told my sister the whole truth about my ex-husband.
It’s a terribly dark secret that I’ve carried in silence for over 5 years.
Well, aside from the people involved and those I told. Which was a total of 4 other people.
Now it is 5.
And… I felt kind of numb about it last night, but the more I sit with it, the more tangled my thoughts become.
It’s weird how people cope, you know?
I’ve had to be so strong to survive the mental anguish of everything that secret contained.
My sister only ever knew half of the story of my ex-husband. Hell, my parents still don’t even know half of the story of my ex-husband.
But last night over Cuban pork sandwiches and fish tacos the truth spilled over as we sipped our cider beers and my sister’s tears fell unchecked down her cheeks.
I’m not sure what compelled me to tell the whole truth.
Except I do.
It’s time.
The urge to tell the truth is screaming inside of me, pleading with me.
Please tell the truth, I’m begging you. Your body - me, you, we, us - we cannot carry on like this indefinitely. The burden of keeping all of your shame and agony and secrets inside is not sustainable. You know this. Please, you must change course. The only way out is telling the truth. Please, please, please…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ← my higher self to me.
Wow. ^That is powerful.
And as I’ve started my therapy and healing energy journey these last 4 months, the totality of what I’ve suppressed for years from my childhood on, but especially in the last 5-10 years, is… chilling.
I’d rather fuck lava and have my nipples sliced open than tell certain truths and move through what I should have never gone through in the first place.
But.
I have to shine a light on the truth if I want to bask in the glow of freedom.
And talking with my sister last night was a strange portal of truth.
To be clear, what I told my sister last night was the truth about my ex-husband (in a very condensed format) but it wasn’t the entire truth about me… and how it’s fundamentally shattered me in ways.
That shattering is what is left staring me in the mirror on a Tuesday morning when my chest is tighter than a small-assed-penguin’s-ass on a cold Antarctica day. ← hell yes we use humor to cope around here
Not to mention what preceded that in my childhood and upbringing.
.
.
.
God.
I’m rattled right now.
I’m on the precipice of having the courage - and wanting to - to tell my therapist everything.
Shit I’ve never told another soul.
Thoughts I believed would go to the grave with me.
I think my unplanned vulnerability with my sister last night was much more than a beautiful and cathartic moment between two sisters.
It’s proof that shit is shifting within me.
😭
And that is massive.
I have so much to say.
So much I’ve suppressed.
Last night gave me hope.
The suppression is lifting.
I’m finding my voice.
I’m finding my voice.
I’m finding my voice.
.
.
.
And I’m a bit terrified. This is uncharted territory.
I’m leaving the known for the unknown.
What if I can’t face what’s been shoved down?
That’s not a platitude.
That’s fear on paper.
contemplates making very inappropriate jokes in an attempt to get away from the heaviness ← ugh lol
AND? FUUUUUUUUUUCK IT.
I’m the strongest bitch I know.
I WILL get through this shit.
Because I deserve to taste freedom and swallow it too.
I can’t fucking wait.
Here’s to freedom.
True freedom.
❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
-M
p.s. - Happy Freedom Weekend. 🫶
p.p.s. - Christ’s cock I’m still a bit rattled from the implications of starting to open up more. Your lovely support is oh so welcome. ♥️
From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If these words made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil ‘heart’, leave a comment or share this. 🖤
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Wowzer epic stall... epic humour as distraction... but also most importantly epic courage, vulnerability and truth. Well done for all that but definitely the last bit. Keep on keeping on...as they say the truth shall set you free.
I'm so proud of you! Secrets are SO HEAVY. The shame only compounds. And... A lot of people in my life will never know the whole truth about me. Not because I'm not willing to tell them, but because they're not safe people to hold the truth.
But I totallllyyyy understand the fear of opening up to therapist! It took me almost a year to let my mask around my depression slip and to ask for help. It was so hard, and I'm sure that's not even close to what you're facing.
You're so strong! It's worth it to set down the weight of some of these secrets in slow, safe ways! You're doing it! You've done SO WELL already!! I'm so proud of you! 🥹🥹🥹