“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” is a refrain I heard often from my mother. It always seemed a little cynical and negative to me, yet many times I encountered unintended consequences to even my best efforts. I’m sure she thought the maxim would soothe me in the wake of my failures. But it wasn’t until much later in life when I really got to experience the full impact of that phrase.
Growing up in New York City in the 1960s and 70s as the runt of the litter in a predominantly Jewish family, sarcasm and witty insults were a defense mechanism, if not a way of life, and held more sway than authentic expressions of love and appreciation. There was certainly no point in attempting to gain sympathy or empathy when our feelings were hurt. That was an invitation to more derisive insults.
Many years ago, I was on staff at a men’s weekend. I had come to genuinely love one of the men who was certified to lead the weekend. I felt such an instant connection to him and thought to myself that he could have easily been a direct relative. One of the few Jewish men in the Project at the time, I connected with his sense of humor, his acute intellect, his huge heart, and his ability to lead men in a mature, logical, wise, and responsible way.
It turned out that we staffed quite a few consecutive weekends together, and I was always delighted to see his name on the roster. Whenever I would see him for the first time on any given training, I would always extend my arms in the air and playfully call out to him “Rabbi!” To me, it was a humorous term of endearment, an expression of my appreciation for him, as for me at least, he embodied those qualities I identified to be like those of a rabbi.
One afternoon while the staff was initially assembling, I had greeted him in my familiar way. He came to me shortly afterward in a somber mood. “You know, growing up, I carried a lot of shame around my Judaism. And whenever you call me Rabbi, it brings up a lot of that pain for me.” I was stunned and deeply saddened. Not only had I inadvertently wounded someone I loved, but realized that in doing so, I had also set the stage for re-wounding myself. Growing up, I held a tremendous amount of pain around being misunderstood. Once more, despite my best intentions, I had caused pain with my words. I never called him Rabbi again.
It was a huge learning piece for me and none of it would have been possible had he not spoken his truth authentically and vulnerably. Carl Jung’s definition of “shadow” is that part of ourselves that we hide, repress, and deny. I don’t think I’m going too far out on a limb to say that most men conceal those wounded parts of their hearts. Yet, it is in revealing ourselves so honestly that we not only pave the way for our own healing, but for that of others as well.
Of course, trust and safety must be there. Most of us hold deep fear in revealing our hearts’ darkest secrets. And for good reason. Rejection is real and it hurts like hell. I know many seemingly fearless men who are deathly afraid of being rejected. But one of the ironic consequences of outing ourselves is that frequently, other men are also holding some of the same secrets, and when we reveal our wounds authentically, the net result is that not only are we not rejected but are in fact, trusted and accepted even more.
Having a trusted circle is essential for revealing one’s heart. One of the issues I carried with myself when I participated in my own men’s initiatory experience is that I did not trust men. It was not until I did my deepest work around my father wounds that I realized that what I was truly afraid of was my own deeply rooted shadows. Only after I confronted my own anger and shame was I able to look men in the eye with confidence. And the work continues.
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Thank you for this most insightful personal
Story. It relates so deep
For me as someone processing shadow material. Fascinating and scary but always leads back to beauty.
Thank you for sharing your heart, Regina. How true that processing our shadows can be scary, but so worth it! How much scarier what our lives be if we didn’t do the work?