A pocket of shame

It’s been a week…

And wow - what a week.

The messages I’ve received via LinkedIn and WhatsApp since my public “fuck it, I’ll say it as it is” moment have been overwhelming (this post is still heating up).

The stories people have shared with me have been eye-opening.

I had no idea that so many others are - or have been - in a similar situation as I am, which is part of the problem.

We keep hiding, and this is where I want to start today.

Good Monday you sparkling bean,

I’m breaking the code. 😅 

It’s a Monday, not a Sunday evening.

With the hand on my heart, I was exhausted yesterday so I decided to put the finishing touches to this today and send you Monday energy instead of Sunday jazz.

Last week, I revealed my real, raw, and radical truth about why I’m experiencing homelessness.

And I finished by introducing another learning lesson: shame and embarrassment.

I was found out…

I used to think homelessness meant living on the streets.

With that misconception, I fell right into the largest category of homelessness worldwide: hidden homelessness.

• It was easier for me to live on a fistful of rice for 9 days straight than ask for help.

• It was easier for me to say, “I’ve got work to do”, and walk away on trembling legs when friends said, “Let’s go for pizza”.

• It was easier for me to take a roll of toilet paper from my next-door hotel and tea bags from the member’s club than accept I needed help.

I can feel a big lump in my throat and pressure build up behind my eyes as I write this.

Why did I put myself through so much suffering?

Eventually, I was found out.

It began with my friend Alexandra, she looked at me and said, “Erik, we are going grocery shopping NOW. I can’t believe you let me sit there and eat while you hadn’t eaten for weeks.”

She gave me the look of an Italian mother who means business, and I lowered my head and caved in - she was right.

Then, it was during another grocery run with Mareike, followed by accepting the invitation for dinner by Agnes, and when receiving money from Johanna.

This was embarrassment and shame on steroids

I just wanted to pull a blanket over my head and cry.

Here I was, a grown-ass man, unable to buy groceries for himself.

Here I was, with a woman I found attractive, admitting I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have money.

Ohh that part…

I don’t know how many men I speak for when I say this:

The last person we want to look weak or like a failure to is the woman we look up to. Admitting defeat to her is one of the hardest tasks in the world.

So, ladies, please don’t criticize us, make fun of us, or use it against us when we open up (but this is a story for another time).

A pocket of shame.

Thank you life for introducing me to a part I had to overcome to experience deeper joy, love, and freedom.

I’m homeless because:

• I believed I could figure it out on my own.

• I believed I just had to push a bit more and be a bit more resilient.

• I believed I would lose all credibility and chances to get new clients if I truly opened up.

So, I kept pushing, hoping, and making it look like I had it all together.

But I didn’t.

I was hiding my true situation from myself and others.

Liberation

One day, I reached out to Andrew Funk, Founder of Homeless Entrepreneurs, and told him my story.

And in his typical Andrew way, he tells me to “get in the program, you are experiencing hidden homelessness, we can support you.”

Me? Homeless? Part of the homeless entrepreneurs’ program?

Nooooo.

Every inch of my body wanted to run. “I’m not homeless. I’m not that bad”, screamed the voices within.

If I’m in this situation, it means I’m a complete failure, I’ll lose all credibility, and all possibilities to get new clients,” screamed my logic.

Waves of shame and embarrassment came crashing in and it took me a couple of conversations with Andrew, Mareike, and Alexandra (again) to accept it.

I was homeless.

Read that last part again.

Once I had accepted that I experienced homelessness, many people around me looked at me and said, “But Erik, you are not homeless”.

So, here I was, finally accepting my situation.

Finally opening up.

Finally processing the tsunami of shame and embarrassment - and people started to question me.

Sigh (more about that next week).

To close this edition, may I ask…

Woman or man, should it have to be so painful to be authentic and open up for help?