Last weekend I went to a yoga festival in Napier. This was the second time I went, and I had a lot of fun. I love spending time with my yoga crew — we laugh our guts out every time.

The power yoga was the first class I attended — one of the most popular of the whole festival. The class had around 60 people. The teacher opened by admitting how nervous she was, since she wasn’t expecting so many attendees. So far, so good. As the class went on, though, her fast breathing echoed through the microphone. It was impossible for her to hide how nervous she was. She started creating funny, messy sequences of poses, and even forgot some. Suddenly, people began looking at their watches. Some even stopped altogether and just sat there.

Have you ever felt shame on behalf of someone else? That’s what I felt, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. It could easily have been me on that stage trying to give a class. I was in her shoes. The buzzy thing is how much her energy leaked into the whole room.

These events in life are a total debacle — or better said: a shit show we want to forget as quickly as possible, but instead we ruminate over it until all that’s left are the ashes of our burnt brains.

I hope the yoga teacher didn’t burn her brain on that.

Shame is universal — who has never felt it? There are different levels of it: the very light ones that feel more like embarrassment that we move on quickly; the heavier ones, rooted in who we are and even in heritage. And then the middle level of shame, the kind of moments that stick with you forever – like what happened with the yoga teacher.

And I am no different. I can recall it vividly.

Everyone remembers Covid times. Back then, I went to the protest in Wellington — which was more like a settlement than a protest. It had a bit of everything, people from all walks of life. The contrast between protesting in New Zealand and in Brazil is huge. In Brazil, letting emotions spill out feels more welcome, almost expected. In New Zealand, by contrast, people seem more organised, objective, and direct about their political issues – like a tidy version of protesting, let’s say. One thing I hadn’t reflected on until then…

So there were big concrete blocks between the public and the police. My emotions got stirred up as they do, I jumped on top of a block, and started screaming at the police. Like, really screaming — from the top of my lungs! Just me! As if I were in Brazil…

Nobody joined in.

In fact, the opposite happened: everyone looked at me like they thought "poor girl, she’s out of control." And when I say everyone, I mean the protesters themselves. The police, of course, didn't even bat an eyebrow at my tantrum. And the icing on the cake? A Hare Krishna couple passed by, looked up and said something like: "We don't shout here, this is a peaceful protest."

That moment. 🥴

I wanted to disappear into the ground. Even writing about it makes my stomach churn.

Daniel was down there, looking at me: WTF is wrong with you? I quietly jumped down and kept walking like nothing had happened. But from inside I was burning — my stomach twisted, my face on fire, and my brain doing cartwheels in a full-on shame circus.

Why? Like, whyyy?!

I don’t know. Some shame you learn something from — like being more prepared for a yoga class. But even then, sometimes you can be very prepared and still feel nervous and off-compass in your first time. And then there’s shame like mine… that simply, didn’t need to happen!

And you? Ever felt your stomach churn from a cringe shameful moment of yours? I’d love to laugh about it…

Your sincerely cringe master,