Post 11: Shame tried to climb my fence once. Bigfoot gave her a stern talking to.

Shame tried to climb my fence once. Bigfoot gave her a stern talking to.

        Let’s talk about shame the freeloading roommate you never asked for, raiding your fridge, eating your snacks, and loudly judging your Netflix choices. 

    Shame whispers nasty things in your ear, like a shitty gossip columnist who thrives on your insecurities and never takes a day off. It hides in plain sight, masquerading as perfectionism, people-pleasing, or "humility," but make no mistake: it's as toxic as moldy bread in the pantry.

        Here's the deal: shame thrives in silence, growing stronger every time you choose to hide your truth or shrink your light. It convinces you that you're the problem, making you apologize for simply existing. Well, newsflash your existence isn't a damn inconvenience. You're here to take up space, plant-warrior, unapologetically and fiercely. Your laughter deserves to be loud, your dreams deserve to be ambitious, and your heart deserves to be heard.

        So how do we spot shame? It’s lurking in those moments you say “sorry” when you mean “excuse me,” or when you tone down your brilliance to keep insecure people comfortable. 

    Shame loves it when you play small, because your shrinking makes room for bullshit expectations and self-doubt. Recognizing shame is like flipping on the basement lights it scatters and loses power the moment it’s exposed. Call it out by name, loud and clear, and watch how quickly it shrinks back into the shadows.

        Radical grace, my friends, is the antidote. This isn't fluffy self-help nonsense; it’s badassery in action. Radical grace means forgiving yourself quickly, fiercely, and without conditions. It’s loving your messy parts the ones you hide under filters or behind fake smiles. It’s reclaiming every piece of yourself shame tried to bury like a dog with a bone. It’s looking at every so-called flaw and seeing a unique detail that makes you authentically and spectacularly you.

        Start replacing shame’s scripts with your own story of resilience. Next time shame whispers, “You're too much," hit back with, “No, you're just too weak to handle my magnificence.” Your truth isn't up for negotiation, and shame doesn't get a seat at your table. Kick that toxic freeloader out, lock the door, and reclaim your damn snacks. Your story isn’t shame’s to write it’s yours, in permanent ink, bold font, and zero apologies.

 

       Owning your narrative means walking boldly through the world, wearing your scars like war medals. Shame wants to turn your victories into embarrassments, but every awkward stumble or loud laugh is proof you showed up, you lived, and you thrived. That cringe-worthy moment? Frame it like a trophy it's a receipt proving you dared to be fully human. Let shame know you're done playing its twisted game; your authenticity doesn't need an editor.

        Replace shame with radical grace, and watch your garden flourish. Plant kindness where shame once thrived, nurture authenticity in place of perfection, and sprinkle humor generously when shame tries to sneak back in. Your radical grace garden isn't neatly trimmed; it’s wild, vibrant, and beautifully chaotic just like you. 

        Every flower in your garden has grown from the compost of past shame, blooming into defiant beauty that refuses to be silenced. So here's your permission slip: Burn the shame scripts. Water your truth with grace, fertilize your badassery daily, and never apologize for the radiant chaos that is you. Shame? Sorry, never heard of that bitch. Because from now on, the only voice dictating your story will be yours, loud, proud, and unfazed by judgment. You're too busy thriving to listen to the whispers of shame anyway.

💬 SOUND OFF, PLANT-WARRIOR:

Ever caught shame trying to sneak through your fence?

What’s the boldest way you’ve told shame to fuck off,

or at least made it sit in the corner while you watered your truth?

👇 Drop it in the comments like a bag of expired guilt.

Tell us your story. Share your “cringe trophy.”

Hell, name that shame voice and roast it like a marshmallow over your bonfire of radical grace.

We don’t do perfect here we do real, raw, and radically resilient.

So let it rip: What does planting kindness and pulling shame look like in your wild-ass garden?