I've had a reckoning late in life, involving a mass of shame and regret. I never hit my stride, to put it mildly, and have misrepresented myself, or not been true to myself, for virtually all my adult existence.
The truth of that was apparent and unmistakable to me once seen. There's comfort in the certainty. The comfort presents as compassion, firstly for myself and then it sorta spreads. Who am I to judge anybody?
Given the way I view my own life, I mean. With the world going to shit all around compassion helps, but it's still a struggle. Sadness on both fronts. But it's honest and there's truth in it. Shame is hard, though.
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