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In a totally new place and need perspective? Cedar? Anyone?
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 665510" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Here's the question: Why should I accept who they say I am. Why should I not fight for the right to have a mother like everyone else I know has a mother?</p><p></p><p>Why should I accept her contempt, skulk away like a dog with her tail between her legs?</p><p></p><p>I am like, spitting mad about this. About this time and about the last time, and about the time that was twisted and wasted grieving over who they insist that I am.</p><p></p><p>roar</p><p></p><p>Pray for their peace; therein, find your own.</p><p></p><p>(Cedar prays fervently, slipping the occaisional "F you, f you, f you mom" in and hoping God doesn't notice.) </p><p></p><p>I feel like I am crazy with madness this morning.</p><p></p><p>Like Lieutenant Dan.</p><p></p><p>That is because I am seeing through my own eyes. And not through the eyes of my abusers.</p><p></p><p>Took long enough.</p><p></p><p>Pray for their peace; therein, find your own.</p><p></p><p>roar</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I only know this about that, Copa. The kids do love us. What they want, what they need from us, is to know we love them. Whatever we say, if we can think through why we say it before we say it, if they know we love them, if they know we believe in them and respect them for the hardness of their battle (and it is hard ~ whatever they're going through (or, we are) and however it go to be what it is, the present is hard, and scary and they feel without options.</p><p></p><p>I love you; I mean it. I love you. That makes a place for each of us to love ourselves. </p><p></p><p>And then, we can do it.</p><p></p><p>We can stop doing the things that got us where we are.</p><p></p><p>That is triumph enough; that is courage enough. Our job, I think this is true but I don't know either, is to tell them they are right. They are between a rock and a hard place. We can tell them our stories, if they apply. Times we didn't think we could do it, but somehow, we did. We can tell them we want that for them; that we want them to know they can do it and if we continue to be the ones who can do it, they will never be able to know that they don't have to be afraid. They have everything they need, and more, because we love who they are and we are so glad they are ours and we know they can do this.</p><p></p><p>And whether they do or not, we will be there.</p><p></p><p>We will love them, and we will try to do the right thing by them.</p><p></p><p>We want to see them; we miss them.</p><p></p><p>I think this way because I did not have those things. I could be wrong in a million ways. But that's okay. I am good enough mom.</p><p></p><p>Not perfect; just human, like they are, too.</p><p></p><p>And good things and bad things happen to all of us, and we believe they are very strong, very good people.</p><p></p><p>I think that matters, Copa. We were so far into enabling that all of us forgot that true thing: Son and daughter are good, good people.</p><p></p><p>We are good people, too.</p><p></p><p>Good enough.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Oh, Copa. I am proud and happy for you. He does want you. You are his mother. That is the thing we forget, when we interact with them though our worry, through our sure sense that they cannot make it unless they do it the way we say they must.</p><p></p><p>We forget that they love us.</p><p></p><p>Just that little, tiny, place of acceptance explodes into loving them, into cherishing the sound of their voices instead of that feeling of forcing them to do the right thing at the cost of our anger, our disgust with their choices. In a way, for me and for D H, for all of us I suppose, whose kids are so troubled and are in such danger ~ how can we possibly let go and just love them when they are harming themselves?!?</p><p></p><p>How can we do that.</p><p></p><p>I don't know.</p><p></p><p>We have to be good enough mom. I don't even know what they need, or what they need to do or how it feels, to be them.</p><p></p><p>But I do know that once I can see it that way, then whatever I've said from my mother heart is...good enough. Our kids know what they need to do. What they don't know is who they are in our hearts.</p><p></p><p>That is how it seems to me this morning.</p><p></p><p>Just like I wish for my mom and my sister to love me, they wish for me to love them, to respect the essence of who they are even if they are messing up big time. So, I get to say that. "You are messing up big time. I love you."</p><p></p><p>You know what else I do, whenever one of my people calls me, Copa and Serenity and everyone reading along? I thank them. I tell them I've been thinking about them and I am so glad they called me; called us.</p><p></p><p>Because that is true.</p><p></p><p>I think that's the right thing, the thing they need from me more than anything else. And I can so easily give that to them, can so easily tell them the true thing that I love them so much; more than anything in the world.</p><p></p><p>So, that would feel pretty good, I think.</p><p></p><p>If I were the child hearing that, I mean.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I know. I can't even hardly believe it! Our families were just awful people in their choices of how to see. They are still choosing to do that. Isn't that something. <em>Who is the fool, here.</em></p><p></p><p>You know why I could never figure out the win for them in what they do, in how the are determined to do this?</p><p></p><p>There isn't one.</p><p></p><p>Literally, there is no winning position. Once they have whatever it is that they gain through right out in the open or through thinly disguised hatred (couched in religious grandiosity in my sister's case), they can never relax. They must be eternally sifting, assessing, condemning.</p><p></p><p>No win.</p><p></p><p>No trust.</p><p></p><p>I wish those terrible things never happened to you, Copa. You are amazing. You think you are weak because you've gone back to bed. I see you attending to business and going back to bed. </p><p></p><p>Stubbornly.</p><p></p><p>You are like the samurai warrior in the story. Refusing to accept who he named himself, he defiantly leaped into the community cesspool and, certain of where and who he was because he named himself the guy who chose cesspool over a lie, stayed there until, one moonlit night, the lotus was born.</p><p></p><p>Then he got out.</p><p></p><p>Life was good.</p><p></p><p>He was his own again.</p><p></p><p>It was a little like an "F you, mom" without the needlepoint.</p><p></p><p>Or a motorcycle.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/2012/mcsmiley1.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":mcsmiley1:" title="mcsmiley1 :mcsmiley1:" data-shortname=":mcsmiley1:" /></p><p></p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 665510, member: 17461"] Here's the question: Why should I accept who they say I am. Why should I not fight for the right to have a mother like everyone else I know has a mother? Why should I accept her contempt, skulk away like a dog with her tail between her legs? I am like, spitting mad about this. About this time and about the last time, and about the time that was twisted and wasted grieving over who they insist that I am. roar Pray for their peace; therein, find your own. (Cedar prays fervently, slipping the occaisional "F you, f you, f you mom" in and hoping God doesn't notice.) I feel like I am crazy with madness this morning. Like Lieutenant Dan. That is because I am seeing through my own eyes. And not through the eyes of my abusers. Took long enough. Pray for their peace; therein, find your own. roar I only know this about that, Copa. The kids do love us. What they want, what they need from us, is to know we love them. Whatever we say, if we can think through why we say it before we say it, if they know we love them, if they know we believe in them and respect them for the hardness of their battle (and it is hard ~ whatever they're going through (or, we are) and however it go to be what it is, the present is hard, and scary and they feel without options. I love you; I mean it. I love you. That makes a place for each of us to love ourselves. And then, we can do it. We can stop doing the things that got us where we are. That is triumph enough; that is courage enough. Our job, I think this is true but I don't know either, is to tell them they are right. They are between a rock and a hard place. We can tell them our stories, if they apply. Times we didn't think we could do it, but somehow, we did. We can tell them we want that for them; that we want them to know they can do it and if we continue to be the ones who can do it, they will never be able to know that they don't have to be afraid. They have everything they need, and more, because we love who they are and we are so glad they are ours and we know they can do this. And whether they do or not, we will be there. We will love them, and we will try to do the right thing by them. We want to see them; we miss them. I think this way because I did not have those things. I could be wrong in a million ways. But that's okay. I am good enough mom. Not perfect; just human, like they are, too. And good things and bad things happen to all of us, and we believe they are very strong, very good people. I think that matters, Copa. We were so far into enabling that all of us forgot that true thing: Son and daughter are good, good people. We are good people, too. Good enough. Oh, Copa. I am proud and happy for you. He does want you. You are his mother. That is the thing we forget, when we interact with them though our worry, through our sure sense that they cannot make it unless they do it the way we say they must. We forget that they love us. Just that little, tiny, place of acceptance explodes into loving them, into cherishing the sound of their voices instead of that feeling of forcing them to do the right thing at the cost of our anger, our disgust with their choices. In a way, for me and for D H, for all of us I suppose, whose kids are so troubled and are in such danger ~ how can we possibly let go and just love them when they are harming themselves?!? How can we do that. I don't know. We have to be good enough mom. I don't even know what they need, or what they need to do or how it feels, to be them. But I do know that once I can see it that way, then whatever I've said from my mother heart is...good enough. Our kids know what they need to do. What they don't know is who they are in our hearts. That is how it seems to me this morning. Just like I wish for my mom and my sister to love me, they wish for me to love them, to respect the essence of who they are even if they are messing up big time. So, I get to say that. "You are messing up big time. I love you." You know what else I do, whenever one of my people calls me, Copa and Serenity and everyone reading along? I thank them. I tell them I've been thinking about them and I am so glad they called me; called us. Because that is true. I think that's the right thing, the thing they need from me more than anything else. And I can so easily give that to them, can so easily tell them the true thing that I love them so much; more than anything in the world. So, that would feel pretty good, I think. If I were the child hearing that, I mean. I know. I can't even hardly believe it! Our families were just awful people in their choices of how to see. They are still choosing to do that. Isn't that something. [I]Who is the fool, here.[/I] You know why I could never figure out the win for them in what they do, in how the are determined to do this? There isn't one. Literally, there is no winning position. Once they have whatever it is that they gain through right out in the open or through thinly disguised hatred (couched in religious grandiosity in my sister's case), they can never relax. They must be eternally sifting, assessing, condemning. No win. No trust. I wish those terrible things never happened to you, Copa. You are amazing. You think you are weak because you've gone back to bed. I see you attending to business and going back to bed. Stubbornly. You are like the samurai warrior in the story. Refusing to accept who he named himself, he defiantly leaped into the community cesspool and, certain of where and who he was because he named himself the guy who chose cesspool over a lie, stayed there until, one moonlit night, the lotus was born. Then he got out. Life was good. He was his own again. It was a little like an "F you, mom" without the needlepoint. Or a motorcycle. :O) :mcsmiley1: Cedar [/QUOTE]
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