In which I realize my shame-o-meter is broken

I fell coming out of Costco tonight. My feet shot out from under me and I heard my grandmother's voice coming from my mouth in a terrified and cartoonish "whoooooooa!" before I hit the ground.

A passing woman gathered my dropped groceries, and another asked if she could help me up.

I shook my head no, got to my feet, thanked the kind woman and took my groceries, averting my face.

And then the whole way to the car I cried hot tears of shame and embarrassment.

My friends.

I am aware, logically, that I did nothing wrong. I didn't get in someone's way, I didn't swerve or race or trip over my own feet. I wasn't careless or impatient. I didn't have anyone to be sorry for or to, and I didn't even harm anyone or get in anyone's way as I fell. My shoes simply slid in the slush and snow and I went down.

But when I gathered myself together and walked away, the prevailing emotion I felt was ... shame.

Why?

It isn't hurtful or cruel to slip and fall. It isn't wrong or bad.

But something in me, in my life or my perceptions (or maybe my misperceptions?) equates making a mistake, even something as innocuous as a misstep, with being bad. And being scared to make even an innocent mistake can make you scared to do anything at all.

I almost decided not to write these posts this year. For all the kind comments, there are usually a few unkind ones (and those are the ones that seem to stick in my teeth). And it's scary to put my thoughts and feelings on a screen for anyone to see. 

But scared is a pointless way to live.

And shame can be a useful feeling but I know my shame-o-meter needs recalibrating. 

So I will likely write something dumb, or silly, or cringe. But I might also write something hopeful, or comforting, or glad. I just might be another arrow pointing to the everlasting love, and I'll take those odds.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

a frostbitten milkweed, from my walk with Eevee today.