The Medicine for Shame

I have been thinking a lot about shame lately. It’s a familiar subject in my work, but recently, questioning my underlying assumptions about it has taken me somewhere unexpected. I didn’t expect that learning how to work with shame would lead me directly to understanding the emotion of awe.

It’s timely for me. Ever since my son was born—really, since I was pregnant, but definitely since he arrived nine months ago—I have been in awe every single day. And in experiencing it so frequently now, I realize how absent it was in my life before. I also realize how deeply drawn to it I have always been. The experiences I crave, the ideas I want to learn, the way I notice things—there has always been a part of me gravitating toward awe. But it always felt like something that had to happen to me, not something I could foster myself.

So, I’ve been learning about this emotion. It has captured my attention. And what I’m learning is fascinating, particularly in how it relates to the very thing it cures.

You cannot feel shame and awe at the same time.

Awe works in our minds by quieting the default mode network. This is the part of the brain that gets stuck in self-referencing loops. If you have ever experienced shame, you know exactly what that loop feels like—it is the relentless, internal monologue about how much you suck, how you failed, how you are fundamentally flawed.

When you experience awe, your brain simply cannot go there. It cannot enter that self-referencing loop. The two emotions cannot coexist.

This is incredibly interesting to me because, in the process of Unbecoming, I am always looking for the innate aspects of being human. How do we already work? If shame is a biological function of belonging—a mechanism designed to keep us safe within the group—it can easily become pathological when we spend too much time in that self-referential loop. But lo and behold, our bodies have a built-in mechanism to get us out of it.

Awe is the medicine for shame.

Biologically and physiologically, awe operates differently from other emotions. It is one of the few emotions that releases dopamine—the neurochemical that encourages us to repeat a behavior. Our biology recognizes awe as an experience so important that it creates a strong positive feedback loop, urging us to seek it out again.

There is profound wisdom in that.

Awe is defined as arising from two core components: perceived vastness and a need for accommodation. Vastness is anything experienced as being much larger than the self, or one’s ordinary frame of reference. This is why the default mode network quiets down. When you are up against something bigger than yourself, the self-referencing mind goes still. Accommodation refers to the way awe forces us to revise our mental models of the world to make sense of what we are experiencing.

A simpler definition that I love: Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast and mysterious that you don’t understand with your current knowledge.

It is the best feeling in the world. To become oriented to how small you are, in an exhilarating way.

I experience this with my son constantly. Being pregnant was a trip—I wasn’t doing anything, yet a human was multiplying and dividing inside me, becoming a whole self. And now, watching him discover himself and the world, every little thing is awe. It forces me to see through his eyes. Not just seeing what he sees, but watching him see what he sees, which is even more miraculous.

It alters your perception of time. It creates time dilation, allowing you to savor the moment. (I’m blaming this for why my sense of time is so terrible right now.)

But the thing I love most about this emotion is the “small self” effect. It immediately puts you in your place, in the best possible way. And one of the greatest side effects of feeling small in the vastness of everything is that it leads you to feel more connected.

Studies show that individuals who experience collective awe—experiencing it with other people—are more generous and kind for up to a year afterward. When we experience awe, the individual self dissolves. You are reminded that you are part of something bigger, that your life is not just about you. I don’t think there is anything more grounding than that feeling.

Awe even has a universal sound across cultures. There is a recognizable vocalization we make when we experience it, regardless of language barriers, suggesting it has deep evolutionary roots, much like fear or joy.

If we were out in the wild, away from the modern manipulation of dopamine (like social media notifications), we would only release dopamine for experiences critical to our survival. It is fascinating to consider that awe falls into that category. How important it must be to have these shared experiences—the common humanity, the small self, the humbling reminder that you are part of a bigger mystery.

It is good for the soul, and our culture lacks it. Today, you often have to intentionally put yourself into experiences of awe. It isn’t as in-your-face as it once was.

Researchers have identified eight universal sources of awe across 26 countries:

1. Moral Beauty: Witnessing extraordinary acts of kindness, courage, or virtue.

2. Collective Effervescence: Shared emotional experiences in groups.

3. Nature: Vast landscapes, weather phenomena, or even microscopic perfection like the geometric shape of a honeycomb.

4. Music: Which also unites listeners, tying back to collective effervescence.

5. Visual Art and Film: Tapping into transcendent creative spaces.

6. Spiritual and Religious Experiences: Ritual, prayer, and encounters with the sacred.

7. Life and Death: The miracle of birth and the mystery of mortality (natural orienters that teach us how to be here).

8. Big Ideas: Conceptual encounters with vast or paradigm-shifting knowledge.

These are all ways we can access awe more intentionally.

Einstein called awe the most fundamental emotion. And one of its most beautiful characteristics is its tendency to linger, if you let it. Because of that time dilation, you can just bask in the experience.

One of the best practices you can do with awe is to resist the urge to break the spell. Resist the urge to get your phone out, take a picture, record it, or immediately Google what is happening.

Years ago, I was driving home from Cave Creek, Arizona, after listening to some live music. I saw a huge streak of light across the sky. I didn’t know what it was. This was before the urge to Google everything had completely taken over my life. I remember saying to my friend, “We should look up what’s happening.” But then I stopped. “No,” I said. “I’m just going to imagine what it could be.”

At the time, I was super into UFOs and aliens. I decided to just wonder, be curious, and soak in the feeling. It was a beautiful sight. It turned out to be one of SpaceX’s early launches, but I didn’t look it up until the next morning. It was so fun to just be in that space.

How often do we let ourselves live in the question? How often do we live in the uncertainty of what something might be, living in the awe without immediately having to document it or break the feeling?

The urge to document or find the answer can be strong. I know it is for me. So, the practice is to not do that. Give yourself time just to be in the feeling. Sit in it. Let yourself wonder and ponder before you go do the next thing. The next time you have an experience in a beautiful place, try keeping your phone away for a little while. See what it’s like.

Another practice is taking an “awe walk.” Go out with the intention to notice what feels wondrous or mysterious. Let yourself be awe-inspired. When you do this, you realize how much we take for granted—the everyday miracles around us.

If you are feeling down, a little shamey, or just flat, maybe take an awe walk. Notice something interesting. It doesn’t have to be a gra1nd experience. It could just be going outside and staring at a leaf for a while.

For me right now, it’s just looking at my son. The coolest thing in the world.

Find your awe. Let it quiet the noise. Let it remind you of how beautifully small you really are.

Listen to the podcast episode on this topic here.