I just finished reading The Shame of Me, and it felt more like a mirror than a book. Ryan Lefebvre didn’t just tell his story—he told mine, in a way. Not the exact circumstances, of course, but the emotional and spiritual journey underneath: the quiet, deep-running shame, the wounds of the inner child, and the exhausting effort it takes to keep looking put-together on the outside while things unravel on the inside.
There was something grounding about the parallels in our lives. We both went to the University of Minnesota in the ’90s. We both now live in the Kansas City area. And, maybe most significantly, we’ve both worked with the same Life Coach—someone who doesn’t just help fix behaviors, but helps uncover and heal the deeper wounds and stories underneath. That connection made Ryan’s voice feel familiar and trustworthy, like hearing from someone who has walked just a few steps ahead on a similar path. And I got to listen to him in person when he came and presented at my recent Life Coach Training Workshop.
His honesty about growing up in a high-profile family and struggling to feel seen and secure resonated with me deeply. While I didn’t have the same public spotlight, I did build a professional identity that became a mask. I lived in a world where I was respected, needed, and successful—but beneath that was fear, striving, and shame I didn’t want to admit. Like Ryan, I didn’t have language for it until life forced it out into the open.
For me, that breaking point came after my indictment, the loss of my career, and the unraveling of my marriage. Everything I used to define myself—doctor, provider, husband—was gone. All that was left was the boy inside, the one who had never felt fully safe, the one who thought he had to perform or prove his worth to be accepted. Reading Ryan’s story reminded me that I’m not the only one who’s carried that belief or built a life around it.
What I appreciated most is that Ryan didn’t offer a polished recovery narrative. He told the truth about the work he did, his ongoing process of healing, about what it means to live with openness and vulnerability as a daily choice, not a one-time breakthrough. He described how he began reconnecting with the child inside, not to fix him, but to finally listen, comfort, and bring him into the light. That’s the work I’m doing now—learning to show up honestly, especially when it’s uncomfortable, and letting others see me as I am, not as I think I should be.
The Shame of Me didn’t give me new answers as much as it confirmed that I’m finally asking the right questions and there are other men just like me. Questions about identity, worth, connection, and truth. And more importantly, it reminded me that transformation happens not when we clean up our story, but when we own it, speak it, and let grace move through it.
This is the path I’m on now—rebuilding not just my life, but my heart. One honest step at a time. And I really appreciate strong men like Ryan who are passionate about sharing their story and helping others.
