on shame

to shed it or not to shed it

mindlessly scrolling on instagram reels, i stumble on a video from a dancing studio in chicago hosting classes for queer people. performing to gnarly, the levels of talent are amateur; the room, majority gay boys, visibly struggling with the choreo.

regardless, they’re feeling their fantasy: wide grins, aggressive pouts, enthusiastic posing. i cringe at the attempts at voguing, but smile at their dedication. the comment section goes in, ‘band of expired twinks with no rhythm and style,’ says one, ‘may this never happen to me’ says someone else, each antagonistic comment gathering thousands of supportive hearts.

i resent the part of me that also had an initial judgmental reaction to the video, how quickly cynicism emerged when all i was doing was watching people dance. i read the comments and feel heavy, at how comfortable we can be at not challenging those parts of ourselves, instead letting them confidently and proudly prevail, in this case in the form of disparaging comments to strangers.

i think of the bravery of creative expression, even more so when it is not attached to a talent that we may have been exercising our whole lives, instead one we’re choosing to invest in as an adult. i think of how quickly that bravery can be turned into shame, when faced with unprompted judgement.

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one of my 2025 new year’s resolutions was to publish on substack monthly, making sure my writing muscle was regularly exercised, overthink less, share more. i comically failed, ending up publishing one piece on here the whole year, overall writing the least i have since i first started dabbling in journalism in 2019, my days of making a living from writing and editing now inconceivable.

i can blame this on lots of things: working full time, falling in love, lack of discipline, regularly travelling, nurturing my friendships, australian tall poppy syndrome – all true. but, really, the primary reason behind my creative precariousness was, ashamedly, shame. riddled with invasive questions, on why anyone would care to read, on what do i even have to say, questioning the quality, and value, of my voice, cringing anytime my substack was mentioned - even more so when it is called a blog – shame froze me, causing a year long hibernation.

i’ve noticed shame pervades every aspect of my life.

it shows up in my relationship to religion, somehow the admission of a metaphysical belief in god feeling like an admission of intellectual inferiority and questionable morality, the topic of purity so antithetical to the identities i hold and circles i frequent.

i feel shame about being a sinner - from my mildly hedonistic tendencies, to my love of gossip, on most days father i have sinned. i am never quite godly enough.

i feel shame about my lack of money. broke with expensive taste less and less cute as i age; the more those around me buy homes, the more i resent my lack of financial acumen.

at the same time, i find myself feeling shame about being employed, not squatting, not making a living by scamming the system, the stability of a 9-5 feeling so deeply un-radical.

i feel shame about eating meat in front of my vegetarian friends. i feel shame about having (gay) sex. i feel shame about feeling shame about having (gay) sex. i feel shame about not ever accomplishing quite enough. i feel shame about my lust for love. i feel shame about being an absent son. i feel shame about never carrying cash for homeless people. i feel shame about how much i thought about how to write that to make sure it wasn’t problematic. i feel shame about being an anonymous neighbour. i feel shame about my lack of conviction. i feel shame about writing this. everywhere i look, i feel shame.

six months ago, running on a few hours sleep on a sunday morning, cycling downhill busy sydney road, a car started parking without noticing me. in an effort to avoid hitting it, i abruptly braked, halted, swerved and fell to the ground. embarrassed, i stood up, grabbed my bike and got off the road. passers by checked in, i reassured them i was all okay, smiling. a couple minutes later, sitting on the side of the road, i passed out. a few hours later doctors told me i had disintegrated my wrist.

there might be a medical reasoning behind my initial source of strength that got me and my bike off the road but, in the interest of this essay, i’m going to claim it was because of shame. before i felt pain, before i felt shock, i felt shame.

and whilst i write this in an effort to undo personal shame, i also wonder whether its arresting power has a place, in ourselves, in the world.

‘bring back public shaming!’ my friend says at a dinner party as we talk about our 2026 ins and outs. i think of the gays dancing to gnarly, and how cruel public shaming feels in that setting.

but, maybe, sometimes, shame has a place?

i think of boycotts and, how, every time i’ve participated in one, i’ve felt shame about my lack of critical consumption before partaking. imagine if we collectively boo’d every person who entered a starbucks?

i think of every time i’ve been called out on my actions - when i haven’t shown up in my friendships, when i’ve inadvertently used offensive language, when i’ve supported causes or people in precarious ways - and how, before i felt enlightened, i felt ashamed, and, from shame, found the willingness to change.

looking back at the year just gone, i find myself feeling pretty disappointed at my (lack of) creative effort; i look forward, feeling emboldened to shed the shame that has paralysed my motivation, whilst also making a promise to myself to feel the shame that encourages me to do better.

and i feel emboldened to keep on shaming others to also do better. to question people’s morally dubious actions, to encourage rich people to do more wealth redistribution, to keep people in positions of power accountable, in 2026 and/or in the year of the horse i encourage us all to reject the shame that makes us halt, and to feel the shame that galvanises us into actions, that makes us grow, that reminds us a better life and a better world is in our power.