The Hidden Shame of Privilege
My dad loved to tell stories during dinner. Heroic tales that invariably centered around men who came from nothing, overcame harrowing circumstances, and built their way to spectacular success. Babe Ruth, Andrew Carnegie, Jim Thorpe, Sam Walton.
These were the legends that I grew up with. And from the first, I knew I could never be the hero. Why? Because I was a prince in an Arthurian kingdom.
Born into Princehood
I grew up with a loving family in an upper-middle-class household, shielded from fear and disturbance by my family’s wealth. Mom believed I could achieve anything I put my mind to, and she told me so. And I believed her. By the time I struck out from my hometown, I was filled with ambition, confidence, and surrounded by a throng of cheering supporters.
It was the wealth, not the affirmation, that planted the seeds of my doom. I wasn’t spoiled, I was worse.
I was secretly ashamed.
Guilt is about what you’ve done, while shame is about who you believe yourself to be. Guilt says, “I did something wrong.” Shame says, “There’s something wrong with me.” One invites accountability; the other, isolation.
That shame spread like a noxious gas through the layers of my subconscious.
Guilt says, “I did something wrong.” Shame says, “There’s something wrong with me.” One invites accountability; the other, isolation.
The Wounds of the Fisher King
When it came time to strike out as an entrepreneur, I couldn’t shake the disquieting awareness of my privilege: the pedigrees, the cheerleaders, the gonnegtions.
I had onboarded a belief that this privilege undermined the legitimacy of my achievements. How could I live up to my dinnertime heroes if I myself did not come from nothing, if the most distressing of my circumstances happened on the gridiron? How could my success be a spectacle? How could my story be retold with pride at my father’s table?
For years upon years, there was a deep-seated need – illusive and inexplicable – that I would have to crash and burn before I rose to any great height. In order to fulfill the legendary hero’s journey, I had to come from nothing. So it follows that I had to fall like a phoenix for my success to count.
Whether through imprudence, misjudgment, or mystical self-sabotage, failure descended upon me every time success was within reach. I chose bad partners, made poor operating decisions, and opted for the easy wrong at precisely the moment when the hard right choice could have ushered material blossoming of the kingdom that I oversaw. In twenty years of entrepreneurship, I have nearly bankrupted four companies and properly bankrupted one. I have struggled to make payroll for half the years I’ve been in business. I toiled on the treadmill for years on end, only to find myself right where I started.
Failure became a pattern, a cycle I was trapped in until I faced the lie I had been mapping onto my life: that the boy with everything needed to reduce himself to penury before he was worthy of success.
Failure became a pattern, a cycle I was trapped in until I faced the lie I had been mapping onto my life: that privilege was a curse.
You and the Land Are One
The legend of the Fisher King takes place after Arthur’s knights have already secured the Holy Grail. The Fisher King is a wounded, infertile monarch who presides over a barren, desolate land. He is the last guardian of the Grail, but his wounds render him incapable.
The only hope for restoration lies in a third person – a worthy knight named Perceval – who, while serving the injured king, discovers the hidden truths of the Grail. First, the forgotten knowledge that the Grail serves justice, purity, and divine purpose. Second, that the King and his land are one – that is, the fate of the ruler’s kingdom is inextricably tied to the condition of the ruler himself.
The Cup of Salvation
In early 2017, with the help of my own personal Perceval, the scales fell from my eyes and I could see, for the first time, the chains that were pinioning me to the ground. I could put into words the hidden shame of privilege. I could understand my true and noble purpose. I could envision leading myself first so that my kingdom – the organizations I led – could prosper with me.
Psychologically speaking, shame is far and away the most difficult emotional state to cope with. And it thrives in darkness, secrecy, and self-condemnation. The one thing it cannot survive is the light of truth, compassion, and grace. It may take some pulling to extricate shame from the places it lurks, but this is an occasion where love really does conquer all. Self-love, beginning with self-forgiveness.
Whether I am the type of person my dad would tell stories about at the dinner table does not matter. What matters is that I know that I am worthy of both success and the celebration of that success. I am no longer doomed, and beyond lucky.
