
Have you ever said something with the best of intentions, only to replay it later and wish you hadn’t said anything at all? That sinking feeling — the heat in your chest, the loop of “why did I do that?” — that’s shame. And it’s one of the most human experiences there is.
I said something small the other day, something I meant as kind.
One of the employees had told me they’d had their best day on Saturday, so when I saw their manager later, I said, “I heard Saturday was amazing for you all!”
I thought I was being friendly. Warm. Just making conversation.
But later, I realized my comment might have created a bit of tension, and that familiar wave hit me. Shame.
It’s wild how quickly it shows up.
The heat rising in my chest and cheeks, my stomach tightening, my legs tensing ready to run, that loop of “why did I say that?” Shame feels like wanting to disappear.
And yet, when I take a step back (sometimes multiple steps back), I can see the truth underneath it.
I wasn’t trying to gossip or overstep. I was trying to connect.
That’s what shame often hides: the tenderness behind our actions. The desire to be kind, to belong, to get it right.
Shame is just the body’s alarm when connection feels threatened.
It says, “You messed up. You’re not safe anymore.”
But the reality is, I am safe. I just care, maybe a little too much sometimes.
So I sat there, in the café where everything happened, feeling this will to disappear.
Wanting to cry. But refusing to, because I didn't feel safe doing so in that café.
Also knowing this was something older, deeper.
Not really about what I said, but about all the moments I’ve tried to do good and ended up feeling misunderstood or situations spiraling.
Here’s what helped me soften it and start to unpack the shame a little:
“I was just trying to be kind. It’s okay that it didn’t land perfectly.”
“Everyone has moments like this.”
“I don’t deserve to be punished for caring.”
Pick whichever phrase feels the most real.
Because shame dissolves not through hiding, but through gentleness.
Through seeing the scared part of us and saying, “You’re allowed to make mistakes. You’re still good.”
And maybe that’s the quiet lesson hidden in all this:
Our softness, even when it stumbles, is still something worth keeping.
Reflection
Have you ever felt that same twist of shame after trying to do something kind?
If so, maybe today’s reminder is this: your sensitivity isn’t the problem. It’s your heart asking to be treated with the same compassion you offer others.
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