Out Of Poverty: Like Cancer

Layers Of Shame

I created a stir at a support group, a while back, by comparing poverty to cancer. What I meant was that when I talked about my situation, even with close friends, they looked at me funny — like I was a hopeless case, a goner; like there was nothing they could do for me. They were embarrassed FOR me; ashamed FOR me. I was a fool who put all his eggs in one basket. They had a hard time processing the notion that someone they knew and loved, and even admired, could be so stupid.

Needless to say, I was projecting a great deal of my own self-loathing onto these people. But it’s been my experience that even good people find it difficult to weep with those who weep. The other part of that injunction — rejoice with those who rejoice — of course, is easy. But taking the time to step away from one’s own egocentricity and empathize with someone else’s pain . . . well, that’s an interruption in one’s day!

One of the purposes of a support group is to offer those in pain the consolation of belonging. And in this case, I was far from being the only fool on the hill. By the end of 2010, millions of other homeowners had watched their American Dream die.

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Confident, zealous brokers told me that I couldn’t go wrong by investing everything I had in real estate; and I believed them.
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People blamed the banks for giving them easy loans. The banks blamed people for taking easy loans. I blamed myself, primarily, for being so naïve. Confident, zealous brokers told me that I couldn’t go wrong by investing everything I had in real estate; and I believed them. It was little comfort to me that millions of other intelligent people had been as gullible.

Nevertheless, support groups do offer a safe environment for unwise decision makers to shed the layers of shame that block recovery. And with my cancer analogy, I was becoming emotionally naked. Let the healing begin! And so it did . . . until I saw, across the room, a gaunt, middle-aged bald woman with dry lips and a colorful scarf. She gave me a dirty look. And suddenly, I was once again clothed in shame.

Painful Lessons Learned In Mortgage Crisis