In the middle of a three-hour psychology class, I observe one of my peers stand up, march to the front of the room and face the class, recite a joke, bow, and return to her seat. We all look around in disbelief. It takes us a long moment to realise what is happening, she is doing the exposure exercise from our Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) assignment – the ominously named ‘shame attack exercise’.
The brief is straightforward on paper: choose a shame or anxiety-inducing activity, do it, and reflect. As fifth-year provisional psychologists (meaning L-plates on, still figuring it out), this assignment is designed to familiarise us with exposure-based tasks, but also to make us walk the talk.
I hadn’t planned to do it. My assignment is already a polished Word document – reflection, analysis, insights – drafted out of thin air. I assumed most people would do the same. But during the lunch break, I am surprised to hear how many of my peers have actually followed through. On the tram ride home, my attitude oscillates between disdain over their conscientiousness, and the creeping recognition of my own fraudulence.
Calling Myself Out
Later that night, I reopen my draft and read it over. Then, without much ceremony, I delete it. I revisit the assignment brief and the examples our teacher provides:
- Appearance-related discomforts (e.g. going out in mismatched clothes, talking with food in your teeth)
- Outgoing or socially odd behaviours (e.g. singing in public, walking a banana on a leash)Acts of self-consciousness (e.g. taking selfies in public, going to a movie alone, being late)
Some examples, like eating alone or sending back a bad meal, feel well within my comfort zone. But others? I wouldn’t be caught dead. This, of course, is the entire point.
To choose an activity, I make a list of the small rituals I rely on to feel in control: checking my appearance, walking with good posture, avoiding trip hazards, not drawing attention. One by one, they reveal themselves as safety behaviours — tiny acts of ego-management I hadn’t realised until now.
Yoga in Speedos
Still, now that I’ve committed, none of these feel like the right option. I keep returning to the image of my peer leaping up in class, and to the friend who completes her exposure exercise by ordering her usual coffee and adding “honey pie” to the end. Then I spot my Speedos on the floor, discarded following my morning swim, and think of the yoga class I’ve booked. Just like that, my shame attack is clear: yoga in Speedos.
It’s not an easy morning. In fact, the anxiety starts the night before. I wake up several times, and for a moment everything feels normal – until I remember what I’ve committed to doing in the morning.
I arrive at the studio very early, flooded with anticipatory anxiety and that strange conviction I’m about to unleash hell. I change, emerge – and see two people waiting. Panicking, I retreat, and start pulling my clothes back on. Then I catch my reflection in the mirror.