Last night was not a good night. First my dry, sore throat woke me up (the consequence of blocked sinuses from a head cold), then oppressive heat wouldn’t allow me to sleep, followed by a persistent mosquito (why is there always just that one?), and then my two Jack Russells joined me on the bed because of thunder.

This ‘chaos’ brought on an interesting dream. In my house I have a wall covered in mirrors of various shapes and sizes. In wandering around my house I noticed that this wall was now blank…the mirrors all lay shattered on the floor. Immediately I was angry and searching for someone to blame but, as I walked around the house, I started to realise that it wasn’t actually mine…that it is all a dream and that I have the power to pull myself out of it.

This dream comes at a really significant time for me as I realise and deal with some shame that is being covered by an addiction in relating. (continue reading…)

I do not think of myself as excessively image conscious. I like to look good but in no way am I a label queen. I do not aspire to drive an over the top expensive car. I like cars that are different – that have a distinct design that does not appeal to all tastes because then it will not be a common sight on the road. This is why I chose a Renault Megane. It is now seven years old and still it is distinct in so many ways – the handbrake still draws comments from passengers!

But last week the Megane broke. The turbo went on a long trip and that’s where I started to learn something about myself. Did I fear for my safety while standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere? No. Was I angry that this went wrong at the start of my holiday? Not really. The issue was this: the car lost power to such an extent that I was struggling up a slight incline in second gear with smoke billowing out the exhaust over a queue of cars behind me. When I pulled over I was mortified that there was an audience witnessing the demise of my beautiful vehicle. I have always looked at people in similar situations with disdain, asking why they don’t bother to maintain their vehicle properly. I was hearing the driver of every passing car saying the same thing about me. Okay, I couldn’t hear them but I’m sure they were.

We were eventually picked up and the vehicle towed into a workshop. I breathed a sigh of relief having survived my shame on the side of the road.

When back from holiday it made sense for me to borrow my mom’s car while the Megane succumbed to the woes of a lack of spares that is so typically Renault. My mom kindly obliged and I’m saving on the cost of a hired car. But there’s a catch: my mom’s car is a 20-something year old Toyota. Hey, it goes well and gets me around…but it is 20-something years old. It has no fuel injection and remote locking. But it does have power steering and auto transmission. Oh, and the brakes need to be applied well in advance of needing to stop anywhere. But hey, it’s free transport while I wait to get my baby back.

However, I have developed an issue. I would never have thought that this would happen to me but I don’t want anyone I know to see me in this car. Do I judge others in older cars? Or is it the bumper sticker reading “702 Stuck on you” that is the deal breaker? I can’t put my finger on it. I think my thoughts are ridiculous. I have rationalised things by looking at the other cars on the road and seeing that there are other old vehicles out there. Ah, but none have an aerial that is buckled so that it phallically tends gently upwards like mine.

So I have this shame that will not go away. I have told myself that it is out of character and ridiculous. I have tried to rationalise it away. I have told myself to be grateful that I have free wheels for the unknown period that my car will be in the shop.

Then I go to gym. I arrive unnoticed and breathe a sigh of relief. After gym I climb in the car and turn the ignition and it fails to start. I try again but no. Stubbornly, in public, the car added to my feelings as people started to turn to see who was having car trouble. On the fourth try it started but, for me, my reputation was lying like a pool of oil in that parking bay as I sped off.

On the way home I laughed at me. I laughed that it has become such an issue. I laughed that I manifested the gym parking lot incident. Every time I think of how the car makes me feel I smile. It doesn’t make the feeling go away but it does make me feel better about it. Hey, I’m driving a classic!

I loved visiting one of my friends during my childhood, not only because they always had Tropika in the fridge (yum), but also because his parents were Dutch and liberal. There was a freedom given to you as you entered the house: to be who you wanted to be. Don’t get me wrong; there was discipline and manners but no forced censorship.

Censorship fascinates me and is a bone of contention in many countries. South Africa is no exception. I find it intriguing that Hollywood appears to produce more violent films than those with nudity and sex. Do the exercise yourself: take note of the age restrictions of films that you watch on TV and you will notice this (and remember to look out for the nudity – it is often only a glimpse of a bottom). DSTV has an Action channel and yet there is an uproar about a proposed pornography channel. Why is violence condoned more than sex or nudity when the latter is so natural and something that most of the world’s population indulge in at some point in their life? We would wish that violence would not be necessary in real life and yet this practice is what is put all over our screens. Bizarre? I think so.

Just recently the South African Arts and Culture Minister Lulu Xingwana walked out of an exhibition of women’s art, offended by photographs of naked black women. Xingwana is now looking to debate when art becomes pornography. How can naked people lying together looking lovingly into each other’s eyes be considered pornography unless there is something shameful about nudity?

On Facebook I am a member of a page called “Conscious Parenting” – I recommend it to anyone who deals with children. The page administrators, a lovely Scandinavian couple who epitomise innocence and love, posted pictures of their young boy (I would guess he’s around four or five years old) enjoying the garden on the first warm day of spring. The pictures illustrated the innocence of children and were posted in that innocence. They were beautiful. Most of the fans loved them but then there were those who were disgusted because their son was naked in the pictures. They eventually removed some of the “offensive” pictures.

Nudity and sex are natural and normal. Those who don’t view it as such demonise and condemn and make it shameful. In some European countries it is not unusual for people to swim naked in public, yet there is no evidence of public nudity increasing the level of sexual violence, as opponents often argue. In fact, the situation is quite the opposite.

We are born of sex and naked. This is how we enter the world and then the judgement begins and with the judgement follows shame. This shame, grouped with low esteem, results in sexual obsession and sometimes abuse. It is not the nudity or exposure to sex that is the problem, but the judgement of it.

Let’s think twice before we censor for children because we are perpetuating the problem.

Addiction is a phenomenon that affects the majority of us. There are societies, support groups, lectures and rehab centres around the world to help with these addictions. And yet the addictions don’t go away. How often do we hear: “I didn’t smoke for years and then, without warning, I started again”. The source of the addiction is buried deep inside; in a place we have created for ourselves, far out of everyone’s sight, even our own. A place we have created because we cannot stand to see it. A place we have created because we don’t want it to exist. What we are hiding is shame.

I was very excited to read an article this week where George Michael admitted something very big and brave to himself and the world about getting arrested for cruising in a Los Angeles public toilet in 1998, which led to him being outed by the media.

In an interview on Good Morning America the star said that “It was a very eventful and bizarrely dark period for me that I thought was going to go on forever. It was a huge relief and it took me about a year to admit to myself that I had done it, deliberately.” He went on to add, “The truth is, cruising has gone on for as long as there have been men trying to hide their sexuality.”

The key to breaking the hold of shame is exposing it to the world, once we have discovered it for ourselves. This helps us realise that it is something that we have created entirely for ourselves based on nothing but our own fears, which also only exist in our paradigm. Few others may even relate to or understand our shame. This is what continues the cycle: others shame us for having carried the shame in the first place. Therefore, we must not allow ourselves to perpetuate the cycle but to see the shame for what it is: a figment of our imagination.

You can start your journey by identifying your addiction (and it may not be as obvious as alcohol, drugs or smoking). Less obvious addictions include being nice to others, lying and seeking the love of others. What lies beneath the addiction is an important and exciting journey of self-discovery that will open up a life you didn’t even know was there. Scary? Sure. Worth it? Oh yeah!