Do you ever find yourself spiraling, thinking about something you did eight years ago? Ten years ago? Ten months ago? Eight days ago?

I do. Like all the fuckin' time. Do other people feel this way? Do others spend hours replaying every moment they looked like a fool?

I sit and think and think and think until I can't think anymore. I dissect every moment of past interactions, every decision I made, every word I said. Why the hell do I do this? It's stupid. It's the past. I don't live in the past.

But then again... those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it, right?

This experience of replaying and dissecting past actions until I'm emotionally drained isn't some unique personal flaw. It's actually my brain running a sophisticated algorithm designed for social survival. It's trying to figure out how to belong, how to be accepted, how to avoid future rejection.

Apparently, though, my brain processes shame and guilt very differently. Guilt whispers, "What I did was bad," and actually motivates me to make things right. But shame? Shame screams something far more devastating: "I am bad. I am fundamentally broken."

And here's the kicker: shame literally activates the same pain networks in the brain as physical injury. So when I'm lying awake at 2 AM cringing over something I said two years ago, my brain is experiencing real, physical pain. It's not just being dramatic. The hurt is visceral and real.

I carry a lot of shame. I'm embarrassed by who I've been at times. Geez, there are so many things I regret. Choices I made that make me want to crawl under a rock. I embarrass myself even now, looking back, because the woman I am today would never make those same decisions. Didn't I have any shame back then?! If I could time travel, I'd probably spend the whole trip yelling at my younger self. 

That relentless inner critic, that voice that never seems to shut up, often comes from internalizing all the negative messages I absorbed growing up. For those of us who've survived trauma, this critic becomes like a toxic roommate in our heads, creating a vicious cycle where shame gives the voice more power, trapping us in self-hatred.

This is what I'm slowly figuring out: I need to give myself the same acceptance I preach to others. I try to be accepting of everyone... except myself, apparently.

And maybe that's my biggest flaw. I need to learn to love myself. All of myself. Even the parts that make me cringe.

I do wonder if spending most of my life wearing a neurotypical mask while surviving a chaotic family finally broke something in me. Maybe I needed to explode a little, since I'd never been allowed to before. I was always supposed to be quiet, smart, and meek. But I'm NOT meek. I'm rarely quiet. I'm smart in some ways, completely clueless in others. What I actually am is bold, direct, and, yes, very wild. A woman who runs with wolves, as Clarissa Pinkola Estes would say.

Shouldn't I be proud of that wildness? Shouldn't I want to share that passionate authenticity with the world?

Yes, I should but I can't. Not fully. People hurt those who are vulnerable. I've learned that lesson the hard way and I've learned it well. It doesn't mean I'll ever stop pushing for authenticity and acceptance. I'm always going to be this intense woman. I might as well embrace it, right?

The path forward, I'm learning, comes through what Dr. Kristin Neff calls self-compassion, three simple but revolutionary practices:

Being kind to myself when I mess up, instead of unleashing that inner critic. Talking to myself like I would talk to my best friend going through the same thing.

Remembering I'm not alone in this struggle. My failures and inadequacies aren't proof that I'm uniquely broken; they're proof that I'm human. Everyone has moments they'd rather forget.

Staying present with difficult emotions without drowning in them. I can acknowledge the pain without becoming it.

The shame spiral, as painful as it is, isn't evidence that I'm broken. It's proof that I care deeply about growth, about becoming better, about living authentically. My brain is processing the past and searching for a path toward a future that feels more aligned with who I really am.

Maybe the answer isn't to stop the spiraling entirely. Maybe it's recognizing that it means I give a damn. It means I'm evolving. It means I'm beautifully, messily human.

And maybe, just maybe, that wild, authentic, wolf-running woman deserves love. All of her. Even the parts that make me want to run away when they surface in my memory at 3 AM.

The human shame spiral isn't a sign of weakness. It's a map to resilience. It's validation of the messy, magnificent truth that sometimes we have to get a little lost to find our way home to ourselves.