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Family of Origin
Family of Origin (FOO) Support Thread Part 2
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 663147" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>We cannot see ourselves as others see us, Copa.</p><p></p><p>I have told this story here on the site before, but you may not have read it. So, I will tell it, now. </p><p></p><p>There is a Blind Melon video about a fat little red headed girl in a bee costume. She tap dances her heart out, but no one is impressed. Whenever she moves, her bee antennae bounce around in the most distracting way and there is just no way for her not to stick out like a very sore and red headed thumb. Everyone rejects her. Finally, she comes to the gates of some new place.</p><p></p><p>BOOM.</p><p></p><p><em>Every is wearing bee costumes.</em></p><p></p><p>Until I went back to school at the Benedictine university, I was very sure there were not so many people like me in the world.</p><p></p><p>BOOM</p><p></p><p>They were all wearing bee costumes.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>[MEDIA=youtube]3qVPNONdF58[/MEDIA]</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>To learn to see the unkindness in the ways we judge ourselves Copa is why we are working so hard on this thread. Remember my parting words to myself once I was dressed?</p><p></p><p>"That'll do, pig."</p><p></p><p>And I would go out into the world, Copa, thinking that was funny and got me out the door without the usual self hatred. It makes me very sad to know that now? But "That'll do, pig." was a thousand times better than feeling so ugly I gave up and just went wherever it was I was going.</p><p></p><p>Mother. Always and forever, my mother's voice; my mother's sly contemptuous look. Here is the flavor of my mother. In an adolescence where one had to have smooth, flat lengths of hair, mine was outrageously red, and naturally curly. And as I was leaving one day, my mom said: "With as much time as you spend on that hair, you should look better than you do." So I spent even more time on my ugly, ugly hair and never even knew it was beautiful until now, when I can believe that it is. And here is the funny thing: It is beautiful in old pictures, too. The very pictures I believed were so ugly!</p><p></p><p>Now, how could that be.</p><p></p><p>Thanks, mom.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Regarding the person who wrote the letter...if that was her position, a friend would have said so before she agreed to write a letter in your behalf. Given that you brought your boy up to be well-mannered and kind, managed his complex medical needs and bonded closely with him until his drug use began, I would say your friend was as wrong as could be.</p><p></p><p>She can be safely disregarded then, as can so many predators we allow, until we are healed, to feast in the wounds our mothers created.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Shallow. I think people are only shallow when we have not taken the time to see beyond our assessments <em>of who they believe themselves to be. </em></p><p></p><p>My sister is an excellent salesman, whether in selling actual things to people or in selling herself. It lasts until she has what she wanted, whether in attention or money or time, and then, she must rest. I have a terrible time selling anyone anything, including myself. </p><p></p><p>But I make an excellent nurse.</p><p></p><p>If we have grown up in the shadow of a salesman type, we may well consider ourselves less valid people than, in fact, we are.</p><p></p><p>If our sisters are salesman types, and if they have hated us (which mine certainly does seem to have done and yours too and SWOT's as well) there will have been sabotage and ridicule and envy instead of love for the pseudo mom sister whom the mother has taught to believe she is nothing but a receptacle for the abusive mother's rage.</p><p></p><p>And who the sister perceives in that exact same way.</p><p></p><p>I could be wrong, but I don't imagine we came out of that thinking well of ourselves in the ways that matter. We came out of that thinking well of our physical attributes because that was the only place neither our moms nor our sisters could define who we were allowed to be. </p><p></p><p>Which led to a whole other set of problems, but that is why they invented high heels.</p><p></p><p>Heh.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>And you know how we feel about high heels at my house. They say, on Beverly Hills Housewives, which I used to watch so hard after daughter's beating: The higher the heel, the closer to God.</p><p></p><p>On we go.</p><p></p><p>Regarding the other unkindnesses to yourself, Copa ~ inconstant. Timid. Fearful. The timidity and fear were undoubtedly symptoms of complex PTSD. Inconstancy...whose voice whispered that word into your ear, Copa?</p><p></p><p>Happy Hour, here. D H and I decided to stay home and eat bratwurst. After the hotdogs and the rest of the melon, no one is hungry enough to justify driving an hour for dinner.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 663147, member: 17461"] We cannot see ourselves as others see us, Copa. I have told this story here on the site before, but you may not have read it. So, I will tell it, now. There is a Blind Melon video about a fat little red headed girl in a bee costume. She tap dances her heart out, but no one is impressed. Whenever she moves, her bee antennae bounce around in the most distracting way and there is just no way for her not to stick out like a very sore and red headed thumb. Everyone rejects her. Finally, she comes to the gates of some new place. BOOM. [I]Every is wearing bee costumes.[/I] Until I went back to school at the Benedictine university, I was very sure there were not so many people like me in the world. BOOM They were all wearing bee costumes. :O) [MEDIA=youtube]3qVPNONdF58[/MEDIA] To learn to see the unkindness in the ways we judge ourselves Copa is why we are working so hard on this thread. Remember my parting words to myself once I was dressed? "That'll do, pig." And I would go out into the world, Copa, thinking that was funny and got me out the door without the usual self hatred. It makes me very sad to know that now? But "That'll do, pig." was a thousand times better than feeling so ugly I gave up and just went wherever it was I was going. Mother. Always and forever, my mother's voice; my mother's sly contemptuous look. Here is the flavor of my mother. In an adolescence where one had to have smooth, flat lengths of hair, mine was outrageously red, and naturally curly. And as I was leaving one day, my mom said: "With as much time as you spend on that hair, you should look better than you do." So I spent even more time on my ugly, ugly hair and never even knew it was beautiful until now, when I can believe that it is. And here is the funny thing: It is beautiful in old pictures, too. The very pictures I believed were so ugly! Now, how could that be. Thanks, mom. *** Regarding the person who wrote the letter...if that was her position, a friend would have said so before she agreed to write a letter in your behalf. Given that you brought your boy up to be well-mannered and kind, managed his complex medical needs and bonded closely with him until his drug use began, I would say your friend was as wrong as could be. She can be safely disregarded then, as can so many predators we allow, until we are healed, to feast in the wounds our mothers created. *** Shallow. I think people are only shallow when we have not taken the time to see beyond our assessments [I]of who they believe themselves to be. [/I] My sister is an excellent salesman, whether in selling actual things to people or in selling herself. It lasts until she has what she wanted, whether in attention or money or time, and then, she must rest. I have a terrible time selling anyone anything, including myself. But I make an excellent nurse. If we have grown up in the shadow of a salesman type, we may well consider ourselves less valid people than, in fact, we are. If our sisters are salesman types, and if they have hated us (which mine certainly does seem to have done and yours too and SWOT's as well) there will have been sabotage and ridicule and envy instead of love for the pseudo mom sister whom the mother has taught to believe she is nothing but a receptacle for the abusive mother's rage. And who the sister perceives in that exact same way. I could be wrong, but I don't imagine we came out of that thinking well of ourselves in the ways that matter. We came out of that thinking well of our physical attributes because that was the only place neither our moms nor our sisters could define who we were allowed to be. Which led to a whole other set of problems, but that is why they invented high heels. Heh. :O) And you know how we feel about high heels at my house. They say, on Beverly Hills Housewives, which I used to watch so hard after daughter's beating: The higher the heel, the closer to God. On we go. Regarding the other unkindnesses to yourself, Copa ~ inconstant. Timid. Fearful. The timidity and fear were undoubtedly symptoms of complex PTSD. Inconstancy...whose voice whispered that word into your ear, Copa? Happy Hour, here. D H and I decided to stay home and eat bratwurst. After the hotdogs and the rest of the melon, no one is hungry enough to justify driving an hour for dinner. :O) Cedar [/QUOTE]
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