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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 661236" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>As she was dying and my Mother lost control of her life, there was a brief period during which I took a stand for myself.</p><p></p><p>I put my needs first. My Mother became enraged. </p><p></p><p>I reacted dramatically and immediately. I went to bed.</p><p></p><p>I had horrible, intolerable psychic pain. I had caused this to happen to my Mother.</p><p></p><p>This was the first time.</p><p></p><p>When she died, I felt grief. I had lived my life apart from her, and now that she had died, that choice had become irrevocable. That was a very hard time.</p><p></p><p>But still I was more or less OK. We had turned our house into a hospital to take care of her. We had put her and her needs first.</p><p></p><p>Within a couple of weeks, I took that online Color Art Class. I was OK enough to do that. I did fall back. But a month later when the instructor wrote to ask what had happened to me, I responded. The work I had done when I started had gotten her attention. I decided to finish the class. I was still enough OK to decide for me.</p><p></p><p>For 6 weeks or more I worked night and day feverishly producing meaningful images. I used the Art to grieve my mother and celebrate MY life.</p><p></p><p>Then my son went off the rails. I think that was when he was homeless the first time.</p><p></p><p>I went to bed. This time in earnest. And except for a few hours to do this or to do that, I never really got up. There are days I can work in the house pretty much all day, but do not sustain this for more than a few days at a time. I may go do an errand or a few. But the locus of control of my life is the bed. It has been such for over a year and a half.</p><p></p><p>My default is in bed. Still.</p><p></p><p>Wednesday my son called to tell me that he had voluntarily entered a mental health treatment facility. He sounded strong and optimistic.</p><p>I was then strong and optimistic. All day yesterday I felt strong and optimistic.</p><p></p><p>Last night I called him. He was in a funk. He was angry. He seemed hopeless. He will not take psychiatric medications. Still, he has not resumed the anti-viral for his liver. He saw not one good thing on the horizon. And after the phone call, neither did I.</p><p></p><p>Again, I have sunk into gloom.</p><p>Yes, Cedar. You are right. I spent a lifetime exploring self-efficacy. Essentially a cripple emotionally, I did it anyway. I did way more and I did it better than my mother and my sister combined.</p><p></p><p>And then when my Mother fell ill, and my son fell apart, I felt as if their conditions were an accusation of me. That I had failed first one and then the other. Instantly I renounced everything about me that I had achieved in defiance of the basic rule that my My son's vulnerability took over as the siren song, after my Mother's voice could no longer beckon me.</p><p></p><p>Looking at it now, it seemed at the time as if the same voice which said the same thing. It was my mother's voice and she was enraged: How could you abandon your mother? Leave me like I am garbage. Leave me to rot here alone like garbage.</p><p></p><p>My mother's words in my head. Which are so deeply buried I do not hear it. As long as my son is vulnerable, I am vulnerable to that buried voice in my head. </p><p></p><p>And as long as I do not respond to his need, by sacrificing myself, I will suffer by my own hand.</p><p></p><p>It is as if my options are these: worse or still worse.</p><p></p><p>Either you sacrifice yourself or I will sacrifice you. And that were the rules of my mother's home. Which almost 50 years after I left it, still seem the rule.</p><p></p><p>While I hope my son will mature and stabilize, I have no reason at all to believe that he will substantively change. </p><p></p><p>That would mean a life sentence, for me. My choices will be these: to sacrifice my life for him or be sacrificed at my own hand for not doing so.</p><p></p><p>The only thing to save me, a sleeping beauty kiss. </p><p></p><p>If I continue as I am, my life will be tied to his moods. He is diagnosed with a mood disorder, for which he refuses medication. I understand that should I not change, I will suffer alongside of him and be subject to his lifestyle choices, as well.</p><p></p><p>M and I will go to the new Big City. We have decided. And he wants to go fairly soon, before the climate begins to cool. His idea is to go by the end of August.</p><p></p><p>That was his plan <em>last year</em>, too. I had told him as August approached, It is not realistic M, to believe that I can make this trip and make a life in a new place. After all, I do not get out of bed. So we did not go. For one more year I did not leave my bed.</p><p></p><p>AA has a concept called a geographic. As I understand it, people believe that a move away from somewhere to somewhere will give them a new start, a new beginning. It does not.</p><p></p><p>I understand that the change needs to be in me. But first I have to get out of bed. In the new Big City, this bed will not be there. If only for that, I will do a geographic. There will be dozens of Al Anon meetings. If only for that, I will go. I must. But there is the hope of much more.</p><p></p><p>I will have one goal and that will be to leave here by the end of August. While I am bed now, I will get up soon, and do something, anything each day to meet that goal.</p><p></p><p>I am clear that the dynamic we are describing is true in my situation.</p><p></p><p>The thing is, I do not know how to change it. Especially involving my son.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 661236, member: 18958"] As she was dying and my Mother lost control of her life, there was a brief period during which I took a stand for myself. I put my needs first. My Mother became enraged. I reacted dramatically and immediately. I went to bed. I had horrible, intolerable psychic pain. I had caused this to happen to my Mother. This was the first time. When she died, I felt grief. I had lived my life apart from her, and now that she had died, that choice had become irrevocable. That was a very hard time. But still I was more or less OK. We had turned our house into a hospital to take care of her. We had put her and her needs first. Within a couple of weeks, I took that online Color Art Class. I was OK enough to do that. I did fall back. But a month later when the instructor wrote to ask what had happened to me, I responded. The work I had done when I started had gotten her attention. I decided to finish the class. I was still enough OK to decide for me. For 6 weeks or more I worked night and day feverishly producing meaningful images. I used the Art to grieve my mother and celebrate MY life. Then my son went off the rails. I think that was when he was homeless the first time. I went to bed. This time in earnest. And except for a few hours to do this or to do that, I never really got up. There are days I can work in the house pretty much all day, but do not sustain this for more than a few days at a time. I may go do an errand or a few. But the locus of control of my life is the bed. It has been such for over a year and a half. My default is in bed. Still. Wednesday my son called to tell me that he had voluntarily entered a mental health treatment facility. He sounded strong and optimistic. I was then strong and optimistic. All day yesterday I felt strong and optimistic. Last night I called him. He was in a funk. He was angry. He seemed hopeless. He will not take psychiatric medications. Still, he has not resumed the anti-viral for his liver. He saw not one good thing on the horizon. And after the phone call, neither did I. Again, I have sunk into gloom. Yes, Cedar. You are right. I spent a lifetime exploring self-efficacy. Essentially a cripple emotionally, I did it anyway. I did way more and I did it better than my mother and my sister combined. And then when my Mother fell ill, and my son fell apart, I felt as if their conditions were an accusation of me. That I had failed first one and then the other. Instantly I renounced everything about me that I had achieved in defiance of the basic rule that my My son's vulnerability took over as the siren song, after my Mother's voice could no longer beckon me. Looking at it now, it seemed at the time as if the same voice which said the same thing. It was my mother's voice and she was enraged: How could you abandon your mother? Leave me like I am garbage. Leave me to rot here alone like garbage. My mother's words in my head. Which are so deeply buried I do not hear it. As long as my son is vulnerable, I am vulnerable to that buried voice in my head. And as long as I do not respond to his need, by sacrificing myself, I will suffer by my own hand. It is as if my options are these: worse or still worse. Either you sacrifice yourself or I will sacrifice you. And that were the rules of my mother's home. Which almost 50 years after I left it, still seem the rule. While I hope my son will mature and stabilize, I have no reason at all to believe that he will substantively change. That would mean a life sentence, for me. My choices will be these: to sacrifice my life for him or be sacrificed at my own hand for not doing so. The only thing to save me, a sleeping beauty kiss. If I continue as I am, my life will be tied to his moods. He is diagnosed with a mood disorder, for which he refuses medication. I understand that should I not change, I will suffer alongside of him and be subject to his lifestyle choices, as well. M and I will go to the new Big City. We have decided. And he wants to go fairly soon, before the climate begins to cool. His idea is to go by the end of August. That was his plan [I]last year[/I], too. I had told him as August approached, It is not realistic M, to believe that I can make this trip and make a life in a new place. After all, I do not get out of bed. So we did not go. For one more year I did not leave my bed. AA has a concept called a geographic. As I understand it, people believe that a move away from somewhere to somewhere will give them a new start, a new beginning. It does not. I understand that the change needs to be in me. But first I have to get out of bed. In the new Big City, this bed will not be there. If only for that, I will do a geographic. There will be dozens of Al Anon meetings. If only for that, I will go. I must. But there is the hope of much more. I will have one goal and that will be to leave here by the end of August. While I am bed now, I will get up soon, and do something, anything each day to meet that goal. I am clear that the dynamic we are describing is true in my situation. The thing is, I do not know how to change it. Especially involving my son. [/QUOTE]
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Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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