The shame you carry belongs to the past, to a story the mind keeps retelling about who you were. This accumulated pain becomes a kind of second self, feeding on old wounds, insisting that you are what happened to you. It calls itself your identity, but it is only pain that has learned to think.
When you bring presence to this pain instead of resisting it or feeding it with thought, it loses its hold. You forget the shame of your youth not by force but because you stop drawing your sense of self from memory. Freed from the past, you find that who you truly are was never harmed, only hidden.