Shame, Shane, Same Difference
When I was about six or seven years old, I was convinced there was a song written specifically about me. I was certain of it.
The song was called SHAME (by the beautiful Evelyn “Champagne” King)—and to my kid-sized, egocentric brain, that obviously meant they were singing SHANE. I mean, why wouldn’t they? I was adorable, clearly legendary, and the world revolved around me.
I don’t remember exactly how long I believed this, but it was definitely over a year. Maybe two. Nobody corrected me, probably because it was hilarious and they didn’t have the heart to ruin my little rockstar moment. Eventually, someone broke the news. “Buddy, they’re not saying Shane. They’re saying SHAME.”
Well.
That was disappointing. First of all, rude. Second, what in the heck is shame anyway? I was seven. I had no real concept of it yet, beyond that feeling I got that time I peed my pants at daycare or knocked over my mom’s favorite lamp and blamed it on an earthquake (we lived in Arkansas, mind you).
Fast forward a few decades, and I am very well-acquainted with shame. We go way back. We’ve done some time together. But lately, shame has taken on a new and unexpected form—it keeps sounding like my name.
Shane? Shame? Zoom Confusion and Recovery Paranoia
I belong to a recovery community, which means I attend a lot of meetings. I hear the word shame tossed around constantly—probably a dozen times a week, if not more. And without fail, every single time someone says it, I instinctively look up, thinking they just called on me. This happens a lot. Maybe it’s the terrible Zoom audio. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m still in that paranoid phase of early recovery (even at 3.75 years sober, my brain still thinks I’m about to be called out for something). Or maybe it’s some kind of cosmic joke, payback for my childhood arrogance in thinking an entire song was about me.
Whatever the reason, the effect is the same—someone says shame, and I snap to attention like a substitute teacher just mispronounced my name during roll call.
Did they just say Shane?
What?
Huh?
Oh. Never mind.
Of course they didn’t.
Why would they?
Carry on.
At this point, it’s basically a Pavlovian response. But let me tell you, it is not great to have “shame” as your personal trigger word in recovery meetings. Because shame isn’t exactly something you want to be constantly reminded of—especially when you already have a brain that loves to marinate in self-loathing. There I am, sipping my LimonCello LaCroix, trying to stay engaged, when someone casually drops, “And we have to learn to let go of shame.”
And my brain immediately goes: LET GO OF SHANE? WAIT, WHAT DID I DO?!
Shame Is a Jerk, But So Is My Brain
Shame is already tricky enough to navigate in recovery. It’s the nasty little gremlin that whispers, you’re still not good enough. Look at all the damage you did. You think you deserve happiness? Pfft.
And now, thanks to this auditory mix-up, shame has gone from an emotion to an accidental nickname. I’ve started anticipating it. I’ll be in a meeting, listening intently, and the second I hear the “shh—” sound, I brace myself. Every time. It’s like playing verbal dodgeball with my own name.
Shame keeps us sick.
Shame is a liar.
Shame feeds addiction.
And meanwhile, I’m sitting there like, man, I really try not to do those things anymore. What did I do to deserve this much slander? I’d like to say I’ve gotten used to it, but I have indeed not. Every single time, my body reacts before my brain can catch up. And let’s be honest, the paranoia isn’t entirely unwarranted. In early recovery, I was always half-expecting someone to call me out in a meeting like, “You know who should really be listening to this part? SHANE.”
Recovery already makes you hyper-aware of your flaws. Add in the fact that every conversation seems to be calling me by name, and it’s a recipe for unnecessary anxiety.
Turning This Into Something Positive
At this point, I had two choices:
1. Continue to flinch like a startled raccoon every time the word “shame” is mentioned.
2. Find a way to make this work for me.
I decided on the second one, because frankly, the raccoon thing was getting exhausting. So now, instead of being annoyed by it, I’ve started using it as a cue—a little mental trick to flip the script.
Here’s how:
1. When I Hear “Shame,” I Remind Myself to Let It Go
Instead of hearing “Shane” and freaking out, I hear “Shame” and use it as a reminder to drop whatever shame I’m still carrying.
• Did I screw up in the past? Yes.
• Does my past define me? No.
• Am I making amends and trying to be better? Absolutely.
So now, every time I hear “shame” in a meeting, I take a breath and consciously let go of something. Maybe it’s guilt about something small, or maybe it’s a bigger regret that’s been weighing me down. Either way, I use it as a little reset button.
2. I Turn It Into a Joke
Humor is my best defense mechanism, so I’ve started embracing the awkwardness.
• If I visibly flinch when I hear it, I’ll just say, “Dang, y’all, can we start using ‘guilt’ instead? You’re stressing me out.”
• If I catch myself looking up in confusion, I remind myself: Nobody is actually talking about me, dude. Relax. Carry on.
Leaning into the joke makes it less of a trigger and more of a running gag.
3. I Use It to Check My Progress
When I first got sober, the mere thought of my past mistakes would send me into a spiral. I carried shame like a backpack full of bricks. But over time, as I hear the word shame again and again, I realize: It doesn’t hit as hard anymore.
The things I used to obsess over? They don’t sting as much.
The regrets I thought would haunt me forever? I’m starting to make peace with them.
The person I was? He’s not who I am today.
So now, when I hear the word shame, I take it as a progress check—a reminder that I am not stuck there anymore.
Final Thoughts: Turning Shame Into a Superpower
I’m still working on this. My brain still plays the “Did they just say my name?” game every time it hears shame. But instead of getting frustrated, I’ve decided to turn it into something useful. Because the truth is, I don’t need to run from shame anymore.
I’ve faced it. I’ve owned it. I’ve worked through it.
And now, when I hear it, I don’t have to flinch. I can use it as a reminder that I am no longer that person drowning in shame.
I am Shane.
Not shame.
And there’s a huge difference.
Love love and I loved and lived that song by Evelyn