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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 678819" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I added the chart for us after your question about a continuum. That was a good question. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Who we believe ourselves to be matters more than anything, I think this is true. Leafy: Who are you <em>without referencing your sister</em>?</p><p></p><p>In my life, the things I most valued were not real. They were hopeful things, they were faith-filled things having to do with some future that never happened ~ that could never happen. I let my mother and my sister walk all over me and never once acknowledged there was anything the matter with my allowing that. "Oh, that's just my mom. Oh, that's just my sister." Had I not known already who they were Leafy with crystalline clarity, I would not have taken such care to hide it from myself. </p><p></p><p>I see something like that happening with you, too. </p><p></p><p>But I am not the one who can see it or address it or heal it, Leafy. Only you can do that.</p><p></p><p>I can tell you what happened to me. I can tell you that as we come through it, we gather strength along the way for the next step. That much I do know.</p><p></p><p>I believed in that Family Dinner I always used to post about because the reality of my family of origin was, as I am finally, finally beginning to understand, so ugly and hurtful a reality. </p><p></p><p>I have a little sense of that when you describe yourself, Leafy.</p><p></p><p>Of the way I was determined to create what I wanted, and what everyone else seemed to have, out of a very much uglier reality than I was able to face <em>while I was still seeing my family of origin.</em></p><p>Then, shunned again after a series of machinations that would have made Machiavelli whistle admiringly (where do they get the energy to do these things ~ to hate us, as they seem to?!?) I had to grieve the loss of them.</p><p></p><p>I love my mother. I admire her and find her fascinating and think she is cute except that she can be embarrassing in public and boring in private. (So, how fascinating. It is a day for examining the undersides of pretty things, maybe.) While those things I just wrote are true, I actually do love my mother very much. She is fascinating in the dangerous way a beautifully green serpent is fascinating. Like, I cannot look away. My sister...clacks along. Making the strangest noises and doing the strangest things. </p><p></p><p>Until she hurt my child.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Memory lane is especially mercilessly bright, today. Makes me feel all toothy. </p><p></p><p>Which means I am afraid.</p><p></p><p>Unless it means something worse.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>And now, finally, I am actually seeing some really nasty stuff that is actually true stuff ~ and that leaves me wondering, one more time, just who is the liar, here?</p><p></p><p>In the past, the liar turned out to have been my mother, whose version of reality I never questioned. Or my sister, clack and clatter, whose version doesn't matter.</p><p></p><p>Until she hurt my child.</p><p></p><p>And so, I woke up.</p><p></p><p>A different kind of Sleeping Beauty kiss, Copa.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>We each felt that way at first too, New Leaf. For me, it began with an acknowledgment and a determination to heal both for my own sake and so that I can be a stronger, healthier mother for my kids who are so much in need of a stronger me. Next to that, anything my FOO might have to say about anything I need to do to accomplish that goal pales into insignificance. (Which turned out not to matter anyway because I am still shunned as shunned could be. Fortunately, as it turns out, after all.) The fear of exposure we feel in telling these truths is only fearsome until we come clear and step away from the victim mentality we were hurt into when we were little girls or little boys.</p><p></p><p>And that kind of hurt? That kind of shame and embarrassment poured all over those beautiful little kids who were us?</p><p></p><p>That is the wrongness, Leafy.</p><p></p><p>Not what we need to do to recover from it.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 678819, member: 17461"] I added the chart for us after your question about a continuum. That was a good question. Who we believe ourselves to be matters more than anything, I think this is true. Leafy: Who are you [I]without referencing your sister[/I]? In my life, the things I most valued were not real. They were hopeful things, they were faith-filled things having to do with some future that never happened ~ that could never happen. I let my mother and my sister walk all over me and never once acknowledged there was anything the matter with my allowing that. "Oh, that's just my mom. Oh, that's just my sister." Had I not known already who they were Leafy with crystalline clarity, I would not have taken such care to hide it from myself. I see something like that happening with you, too. But I am not the one who can see it or address it or heal it, Leafy. Only you can do that. I can tell you what happened to me. I can tell you that as we come through it, we gather strength along the way for the next step. That much I do know. I believed in that Family Dinner I always used to post about because the reality of my family of origin was, as I am finally, finally beginning to understand, so ugly and hurtful a reality. I have a little sense of that when you describe yourself, Leafy. Of the way I was determined to create what I wanted, and what everyone else seemed to have, out of a very much uglier reality than I was able to face [I]while I was still seeing my family of origin.[/I] Then, shunned again after a series of machinations that would have made Machiavelli whistle admiringly (where do they get the energy to do these things ~ to hate us, as they seem to?!?) I had to grieve the loss of them. I love my mother. I admire her and find her fascinating and think she is cute except that she can be embarrassing in public and boring in private. (So, how fascinating. It is a day for examining the undersides of pretty things, maybe.) While those things I just wrote are true, I actually do love my mother very much. She is fascinating in the dangerous way a beautifully green serpent is fascinating. Like, I cannot look away. My sister...clacks along. Making the strangest noises and doing the strangest things. Until she hurt my child. *** Memory lane is especially mercilessly bright, today. Makes me feel all toothy. Which means I am afraid. Unless it means something worse. *** And now, finally, I am actually seeing some really nasty stuff that is actually true stuff ~ and that leaves me wondering, one more time, just who is the liar, here? In the past, the liar turned out to have been my mother, whose version of reality I never questioned. Or my sister, clack and clatter, whose version doesn't matter. Until she hurt my child. And so, I woke up. A different kind of Sleeping Beauty kiss, Copa. We each felt that way at first too, New Leaf. For me, it began with an acknowledgment and a determination to heal both for my own sake and so that I can be a stronger, healthier mother for my kids who are so much in need of a stronger me. Next to that, anything my FOO might have to say about anything I need to do to accomplish that goal pales into insignificance. (Which turned out not to matter anyway because I am still shunned as shunned could be. Fortunately, as it turns out, after all.) The fear of exposure we feel in telling these truths is only fearsome until we come clear and step away from the victim mentality we were hurt into when we were little girls or little boys. And that kind of hurt? That kind of shame and embarrassment poured all over those beautiful little kids who were us? That is the wrongness, Leafy. Not what we need to do to recover from it. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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