The Parts We Hide: A Conversation About Shame, Desire, and Becoming Whole
A few days ago, I shared how an unexpected prompt with AI cracked something open in me. It wasn’t about technology, really—it was about asking a mirror, “Who am I becoming?” and bracing for the answer. [here’s the post incase you missed it]
Today, I want to share a different kind of mirror: a conversation with another human being—real, raw, and disarmingly familiar.
Edward Wilson, founder of Brown Bear Coaching and the Confident & Courageous Gay Men community, invited me to record a lesson with him on shame and shadow work. What unfolded wasn’t a polished presentation. It was tender, honest, sometimes hilarious, and deeply real.
🎥 Watch the full conversation here
We talked about:
Internalized shame and how it festers when left in the dark
Erotic shadow and the danger of suppressing our desires
Projection—how what irritates us in others often reflects what we can’t face in ourselves
The power of being witnessed in community
And the aching relief of being told, “You don’t need to change a damn thing.”
One of the metaphors I offered was that shame is like an ingrown toenail. It hurts. It gets infected. And we often hide it, letting the pain spread. But when we expose the wound to air and light, healing begins. Edward, with characteristic humor and clarity, nodded and named it: “internal bullshit.”
We’ve all got some.
The truth is, we can’t think our way out of shame. It dissolves when we share it—out loud, in the presence of someone safe. That’s what this conversation offered both of us. And I hope it offers a bit of that for you, too.
“Nothing about you is too much or too strange. You are not broken. You are not the exception to belonging.”
— From our shared conversation
That’s all true. And yet, as I rewatched the recording, I noticed something else: nearly every metaphor I used came from pain. Shame as infection. Rejection as wound. Trauma as thorn.
But the shadow isn’t just where our pain lives. It’s also where joy, eros, and creative fire have been buried. The parts of me that love with abandon—the ones that dance, flirt, write, and long to be seen—were also hidden in those dark corners. They, too, waited to be welcomed home.
Shadow Work, for me, is not just a healing of what was broken. It’s a recovery of what was brilliant.
There are parts of me that run barefoot through the moonlit forest of Sheol. There are parts that laugh too loud, love too deeply, and want more than I was ever taught to ask for. And tucked in the deepest part of my memory, I found a sketch I drew in 2004. A figure I now know as Vincent. He’s there—curly-haired, green-eyed, peering over a great book. Watching. Waiting.
That was the year I first began to come out. And now, 20 years later, I wonder what other hints he left me. What other seeds he quietly planted. What parts of me were already reaching toward joy, even when I thought I was still only surviving.
Post #3 is coming soon. It’s a blessing—for you, for me, and for the selves we've hidden and are now beginning to welcome home.
With care,
Will