In the grocery store check-out line yesterday morning, the woman behind me, a self-described retiree sporting a delightful t-shirt featuring dogs dressed as astronauts, complimented my dandelion tattoo. I thanked her, and turned my arm for her to see it more clearly. She gasped, “Ooo! There’s writing.” As she drew closer, I explained: “It says ‘fierce vulnerability.’ I’m a nonviolence practitioner, and in the nonviolence community, some use the phrase fierce vulnerability interchangeably with living nonviolently.”
“Wow,” she effused. “God bless you in your work.”
I thanked her, while feeling a bit sheepish about the gap between my purported (and permanently inked) values and my practice of nonviolence. Specifically, I had just been internally chastising myself for leaving my reusable grocery bags at home, a cart full of plastic bags to show for my oversight. My spoken words to the clerk were, “Sorry, I forgot my bags at home,” while my internal monologue was more like, “Idiot. Here you go again, contributing to the destruction of the planet.”
I know. Suuuuuuper harsh. Not to mention pretty egotistical — that’s a heckuva lot of influence to confer on myself given all the powerful, interlocking systems that contribute to the climate crisis and ecocide.
While my integrity was at play — I seek to align my values and practice — mostly, this was about my inner critic having a field day. As in, “You can’t even do this one small thing right?!”
The unexpected kindness of this frozen-blueberries-buying stranger was the gentle invitation I needed to return to my practice of nonviolence. She lifted me out of my myopia and nudged me to show kindness toward myself.
Practicing nonviolence means remembering that I am human, and I am worthy of the same compassion which I seek to show everyone else. There’s room to be forgetful, and there’s always going to be a gap between my highest values and my daily way of life. Expectations of perfection are laughably unrealistic and also crushingly heavy to bear. Perfectionism is a form of self-imposed violence. And I’m not about that violent life.
I can’t help but think of the monks of Monty Python infamy, banging their heads with boards as they dolefully chant lines from the Requiem, the traditional Catholic funeral mass. One has to wonder: Don’t they have enough suffering to deal with, given the Black Plague and all, without this self-afflicted headache?!
I don’t believe self-flagellation does anyone any good. No sea turtles were saved by my inner critic. No oil company producing the raw materials used to make the plastic bags I used had its pipelines’ valves turned off because I flipped on the shame switch in my brain. The only person hurt by my self-recrimination was me.
And shame, my friends, is not a renewable resource. I know it can feel like it is, since it’s always lurking in the shadows, ready to unload its narrative of inadequacy. It can be tempting to think that, because shame is so readily available, that it can help us make better choices in the future.
But the truth is that shame is debilitating — it imposes a dichotomous worldview where there are good people and bad people, and if you misstep you are most assuredly unable to ever do anything good. Shaming ourselves — or anyone else for that matter — doesn’t produce positive results toward flourishing. It short-circuits creativity, courage, compassion — all the things we need to be able to work together toward healing and justice.
So what’s the alternative? Is there a renewable, emotional energy that can sustain the positive change we seek in our lives and in our world?
I believe it’s nonviolence — and my practice is teaching me this.
Kazu Haga, in his book Healing Resistance, reminds readers that nonviolence is not something you suddenly, miraculously become. It’s a practice, the way meditation or karate are practices. You practice meditation daily and it deepens your breath and alters your neural pathways. You practice karate daily and it prepares you for calm, strategic, nonreactive response to threat. Similarly, nonviolence is comprised of the moment by moment choices we make to honor the inherent goodness of our own humanity, of those around us, and of the Earth we call home.
Shame may sweep us off course, but we needn’t be overcome by it. We can let grace wash over us like the kindness of an unexpected grocery store encounter. We can begin again by remembering our belonging: to ourselves, to the Earth community, to a movement for justice that is far more powerful than any mistake we could make (or our feelings of helplessness in the face of monumental injustice and violence).
Our culture is swimming in a theology of shame and punishment, and it’s easy to fall into. But I don't believe in a god who is constantly waiting for us to slip up. If there is a God — and I sincerely hope there is — then that God is loving us toward our truest selves — toward deep awareness of our interdependence with one another, all living things, and the Earth we call home.
Perhaps even more importantly, this God likes us. Like, really likes us!1 The God of nonviolence enjoys our company, and wants to be our friend.
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had six principles of nonviolence, the second of which is: “Nonviolence seeks to win friendship and understanding.” Core to a practice of nonviolence is the counterintuitive work of befriending those whom we have learned to see as unlikeable, other, even enemy — including ourselves.
It helps me to believe that God wants to be my friend, especially when I don’t find myself very likable, or don’t particularly want to be my own friend. It helps to ask, how would my most beloved friend want me to see myself? To treat myself?
My friend Andre Henry recently released a shame-busting song called “Make it to Tomorrow,” which tackles the topic of suicidality. Courageously beginning, “Sometimes I feel suicidal,” Henry invites listeners into his self-loving practice of resilience as he sings:
I’m bout’ to go outside
Get a little sunlight into my skin
Bout take a jog for the endorphins
It’s a sure thing
No! This depression won’t take out
Bout’ make a call to my closest friend
Get a laugh in
Hug myself in the mirror for minute
I’m tryin’
You know
Cause I
Wanna’ make it to tomorrow
All these little moments of self-love add up to a radical practice of nonviolence. In the face of systems that seek to belittle, violate, and oppress our humanity, we stand in the strength of our dignity. Showing such kindness toward ourselves, we also become more capable of extending it to others.
Which brings me back to the plastic grocery bags and my check-out aisle companion. If we wanna make it to tomorrow, rather than despairing of the gap between our values and practices, we can see human moments like these as blessed invitations to pay attention to Love.
Here: a chance for connection. Here, an opportunity to say “yes” to kindness extended, to be spurred on by that moment toward greater love throughout the day: Love of self, love of neighbor, and yes, love of the planet.
Love reminds us that we are part of a community. Alone, it is impossible to bring our values and practices into total harmony. Together, we can seek to collectively embrace rhythms of sustainability and habits of health, for a whole world.
This is what a practice of nonviolence is about, for me.
What about you? What shame-busting practices do you find helpful? Whose kindness lately has helped you show kindness to yourself?
See James Allison’s On Being Liked.