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"Shame is the most powerful, master emotion. It's the fear that we're not good enough." – Brené Brown
For years, I carried a secret. On the outside, I was the woman who had it all together. Recently, I asked a childhood friend how she had seen me growing up. Without hesitation, she said, "I thought you were perfect!"
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Because the truth was far from perfect.
For most of my life, I was the perfectionist, the people-pleaser—the one who always said "yes" even when I was drowning inside. I couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing anyone, so I put everyone else’s needs ahead of my own, trading their happiness for mine. No one knew what was really happening behind closed doors—that my drinking was spiraling out of control and that my life was a mess of chaos and self-betrayal.
But the shame of not being able to stop—the fear of people’s opinions and the risk of my perfect mask slipping in public—kept me paralyzed in silence.
Shame thrives in secrecy. It isolates us, convinces us that we are unworthy of love and connection, and locks us in a cycle of self-destruction.
I tried everything—hypnosis, TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation), therapy, more "willpower," even an online course on Moderate Drinking. That dry spell lasted two months. Then I fell harder than ever. And every failed attempt deepened the shame, making it even harder to reach out for help.
I eventually gave up, thinking, Oh well. I guess this is my life now.
But I didn't realize then that my drinking wasn’t just about drinking—it was about how I had been conditioned since childhood to seek approval, avoid conflict, and mold myself into what others expected. The bottle was a symptom of a deeper problem—my beliefs and my upside-down thinking.
I wasn’t born this way—people-pleasing was my survival skill. In a house filled with anger and chaos, I learned early that keeping the peace meant keeping myself small. If I could make everyone happy, maybe I’d finally be enough—for my narcissistic mother, for my cruel older siblings, for a home that never felt safe.
But shame doesn’t loosen its grip just because we try to be perfect—in fact, the harder we struggle, the tighter it squeezes, like a Chinese finger trap.
It wasn’t until I stepped into rehab, shaking, exhausted, and waving the white flag of surrender, that I began to understand the power of breaking the silence.
Speaking my truth for the first time was terrifying—but also liberating. A lifetime of staying small, of fearing my own voice, lifted in that moment. For the first time ever, I wasn’t just talking—I was being heard.
And in being heard, I was finally free.
Why Shame Keeps Us Stuck
1. Shame Tells Us We Are the Problem
Guilt says, I did something bad. Shame says, I am bad. That distinction is what makes shame so powerful—it convinces us that we are inherently flawed, making it difficult to believe we deserve help or healing.
Dr. Brené Brown, a leading researcher on shame, explains that the emotion is deeply tied to fear of disconnection. If people knew the real me, they’d leave. And so, we stay silent.
2. Shame Isolates Us
Addiction and secrecy go hand in hand. We hide our struggles because admitting them feels like admitting failure. We push people away—(like my dear husband Barry, who luckily rode out a very steep wave with me)—we avoid vulnerability ("I'm okay!"), and we convince ourselves that no one could possibly understand.
I thought I was the only one with this problem until I went to rehab and discovered a whole world of hurt people just like me. I was surrounded by others who had walked similar paths, yet instead of feeling connected, I still felt alone.
But isolation only deepens the problem.
I remember my first week in rehab, sitting in a group therapy session, too afraid and ashamed to speak honestly—to reveal the real me, the one I hated. For so many years, I had tried to manage and control my drinking alone, convinced that no one could possibly understand the deep, suffocating shame I carried.
There I was in rehab, surrounded by women sharing their stories, yet I felt completely disconnected—almost as if my struggle was different, worse.
I was still hiding, even in a place meant for healing. It was easier to nod along, to smile, to make it seem like I was fine. But I wasn’t. And deep down, I was terrified that if I let people see the real me, they’d judge me the way I had been judging myself.
It wasn't until some of my recovery home housemates called me out—saying that what I talked about didn’t match my reality—that I realized I wasn’t fooling anyone. They saw through my clever lies. They saw the cracks in my mask as if they had x-ray vision.
That’s the superpower of finding people who truly understand your pain—we recognize each other. We see the real stories behind the smiles and the "I'm okays."
After two weeks in rehab and attending group 12-step meetings, I began hearing stories that mirrored my own. I wasn’t alone. The shame that had kept me silent for so long had convinced me I was different, beyond help.
But I wasn’t. None of us are.
As Brené Brown says:"Shame grows exponentially with secrecy, silence, and judgment. But if you douse shame with empathy, it can't survive. The two most powerful words when we're in a struggle are ‘me too.’ If we're going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path.”
Connection is what breaks the cycle. The moment I let myself connect, shame started losing its power.
3. Shame Fuels People-Pleasing and Perfectionism
Many of us grew up believing that love was conditional—based on performance, success, or keeping the peace. If we were "good enough," we’d be accepted. I clearly remember putting concealer on my chin to cover a rare pimple before heading downstairs to breakfast. I was afraid of my mother's ridicule and anger of this imperfect blemish on her daughter's skin.
For me, to disappoint someone, meant I was unworthy-valueless to them. This deep-rooted belief system made me terrified of being seen as flawed, So many of us wear masks, say yes when we mean no, and suppress our own needs.
For me, people-pleasing was second nature. I was always trying to anticipate what others wanted, constantly seeking approval. The idea of disappointing anyone filled me with an unbearable sense of guilt. I would do anything to avoid it—including numbing myself with alcohol.
It was exhausting.
But in rehab, I finally faced something uncomfortable: I wasn’t drinking just for fun—I was drinking to escape myself. And part of that was because I had spent so long performing, trying to be everything to everyone, that I no longer knew who I was without it.
I remember watching The Dark Knight with my husband about a week or two before my rock bottom. Watching Heath Ledger as the Joker with his thick makeup/mask I felt compassion for this villain. "I can relate to the Joker," I told my now horrified husband.
4. Shame Keeps Us in the Cycle
One of the cruelest tricks of shame is that it makes us believe we are alone in our suffering. It tells us, No one else feels this way. No one will understand. Keep it to yourself. The more we hide, the more ashamed we become. And the more ashamed we feel, the more we seek ways—alcohol, perfectionism, workaholism, etc.—to numb it.
Breaking the Cycle: Steps Toward Freedom
1. Speak Your Truth (Even When It Feels Impossible)
The first time I admitted my truth to the women in rehab, I felt exposed—like I had peeled away all my armor. But something remarkable happened. No one judged me. No one turned away. Instead, I was met with nods of understanding.
Speaking the words out loud took away shame’s power. Whether it’s in a recovery meeting, therapy, or with a trusted friend, sharing your story is the first step in breaking its hold.
2. Challenge the Lies of Shame
Shame thrives on distortion. It tells us, You’re weak. You’re unlovable. You’re broken. But none of that is true. Most of our thoughts aren't true - they're based on our underlying beliefs we created to survive some tough situations.
Here are some tools for dismantling our shame and questioning these thoughts:
Would I say this to someone I love?
Is this thought based on fact or fear?
What’s the worst that could happen if I let someone in?
3. Stop Performing for Approval
Recovering from people-pleasing and perfectionism means recognizing that our worth is not tied to how much we do for others. It’s okay to set boundaries. It’s okay to say no. Healing requires learning that we don’t have to earn love—we are already worthy of it.
Here are some tips for how to start setting boundaries:
Pause before saying yes – Give yourself time to decide if something aligns with your needs.
Reframe ‘no’ as self-care – Setting boundaries isn’t rejection; it’s honoring your well-being.
Embrace progress over perfection – Your worth isn’t measured by how much you do or how perfectly you do it.
4. Find Safe Spaces
One of my favorite authors, Johann Hari, said in his popular TED Talk, Everything You Think You Know About Addiction Is Wrong, 'The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, it's connection.'
I learned that firsthand. The moment I let myself connect, the first time my mask was questioned and lovingly removed by my recovery housemates, shame started losing its power.
"Shame cannot survive in an environment of empathy and understanding. That’s why I created Women in the Rooms—an online recovery community for women—so they have a space where they don’t have to explain or justify their pain. Women in the Rooms launches on March 22, from 9-10 AM EST.
Surrounding yourself with people who understand, whether in recovery groups, therapy, or close friendships, is essential.
5. Replace Shame with Self-Compassion
If shame says, You are broken, self-compassion says, You are human. Dr. Kristin Neff, an expert on self-compassion, explains that treating ourselves with kindness—not judgment—is what allows us to heal.
When we make mistakes, we don’t need to punish ourselves (a friend of mine says, "Put down the bat and pick up the feather.") We need to forgive ourselves and move forward.
The Power of Breaking the Silence
Looking back, I realize that my silence wasn’t protecting me—it was keeping me prisoner. Shame kept me isolated, convinced that I was the only one who felt this way. But the moment I spoke my truth, the moment I let others see the real me, everything changed.
That first day I finally spoke up in rehab, when I expected to feel judged, I felt understood instood. My deepest shame—the thing I had been convinced made me unlovable—was met with compassion, not condemnation.
Healing happens in connection. In community. In honesty.
"Honest, Open & Willing"—the words I had tattooed on my left arm after my first year in recovery—are a constant reminder of the foundation of my sobriety. They symbolize my commitment to removing the mask, staying open to change, and being willing to let go of control (Let Go and Let God).
If you’re carrying the weight of shame, know this: You are not alone. You are not broken. And you don’t have to suffer in silence anymore.
It’s time to break free. It’s time to break the silence.
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Join the Movement: Women in the Rooms
I created Women in the Rooms to give women a space to have real conversations. Recovery isn’t just about quitting alcohol or substances; it’s about waking up, healing, and taking back our lives.
If this post resonated with you, stay tuned—I’ll be launching Women in the Rooms March 22, at 9-10:00 am EST. It's our online recovery community where we can support, encourage, and speak our truths.
Download my free tips and tools for early sobriety - you're not alone.
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