Unshaming Privilege
Hola wise woman,
It's been a while since I last landed in your inbox, I've been in snake mode. You know, shedding what no longer serves.
This past weekend was the culmination, or rather, the beginning of something that has been waiting to be shed for some time now.
What happens when you let go of a part of your identity that has been with you for the past 20 years? Before I get into it, I'm delving into something that fascinates me deeply in the work I do with women like you. Identity & Belonging.
When I first moved to the UK, back in April 2004, I knew no one, I came here alone with a luggage, a dream and the full support of my family - financial support to be precise. Especially my mum's. This woman - fuck I'm getting all chocked up now - has challenged and supported me all in one fell swoop with the gentle touch of a nurturing mother and the powerful grip of a matriarch.
The story of a Latin American immigrant is not an uncommon one - however the assumption is, in general, that there's deep, deep, struggle. True for some but not for all.
It dawned on me, I've been playing the role (and depending on my environment and the people around me) that mine is an immigrant story of struggle. To be clear, there have been challenges - absolutely - but the truth is I came to this country with a level of privilege (just by virtue of speaking English, for example or attending one of the best universities in the country for art & design) that many who come here don't have.
This level of privilege came with a massive dose of shame. It was the worst kind at that - not obvious, it was very insidious, in small things. I remember saying once, I'd come here through a scholarship - because lying felt “better” in my body than celebrating my mother's wealth. I made myself small, less bright, quieter, extremely realistic and more in-line with the identity of the struggling Latin American immigrant.
I remember joining a beautiful community of Latin American women here in London, in a desire to reconnect with my indigenous roots. The women in this group shared a lot of pain, struggle, anger, intense trauma and sadness. In an effort to belong, I lied about were I lived, how I supported myself in this country, how I came here, what my desires were (or rather were not) and almost everything else in between just so I could fit in. This is isn't easy to admit but when you're shedding a part of your identity that is slathered in sneaky and sometimes overt shame it's massively helpful to say it, name it and own it.
So, what happened this past weekend? I hear you ask…
I was at an event at BAFTA and I sat there listening to many stories of struggle of women from different backgrounds, thinking…
“Shit, I don’t have that story - the rags to riches - does that make my dreams and desires any less valuable and real? That insidious slather of shame is still here, fuck.” 😳
I stood up, and waited for what seemed like an eternity to walk up to the mic in front of about 60 people, my body shaking, hands sweating, heart beating, hyper focused vision…I swear I was about to faint. The shame had taken over my entire being.
“How dare I want more when I already have plenty? How dare I speak of Spirituality, Colonisation + Decolonisation whilst wearing a Gucci watch, Bottega Veneta shoes and Caro Gomez from head to toe? ”
It was an intense wave of emotion and my only recourse was my own medicine.
Breath + Remember
Who are you? Really? Before the drama and the bullshit?
A vision. My ancestors standing right there next to me and behind me, for generations. My great great grandmother's hand on my shoulder - oh, she knew struggle, deep, shitty struggle and she says:
“it is of THE ESSENCE you own your joy and ease, we did this for you”
and all that shame dissipated in an instant.
It was nothing short of MAGIC.
I spoke my truth.
I had about 10 women afterwards come to me and say, “that’s exactly how I feel.”
I owned that I love beautifully designed clothes and places that feel like temples built for celebration and smell divine.
I owned that I believe that Spirit (God, Universe whatever you call it) loves beauty, eloquence, fine clothes, great music, fine poems, jewellery, bravery, high animal spirits, adornment and gratitude. This is like honey to Spirit.
It’s why the Maya create such beautiful opulent things. Spirit doesn’t have thumbs and we do, so we create. If we don’t create we dishonour them.
And that even if all of that wasn’t rooted on anything more than “I just love beautiful shit” it’s still valid AF.
What does this mean for my work going forward?
I’m excited to curiously explore and have super juicy, nuanced conversations about Identity, Belonging, Unshaming Privilege (in all its many guises), Ancestry, and Playful Spirituality. I desire for all of us to acknowledge that sometimes opposite truths can feel right at the same time - and that reality is deeply layered.
I'd love to continue to play with you and if you're feeling it too then get on the waitlist for Ancestral Awakening, this work will fundamentally strip away the fuckery and reveal your tender, honest and joyful Soul.
In Joy + Power,
X
Caro
