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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 656905" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Gah. That made my stomach tighten up just to read it. Something about the heavy legs.</p><p></p><p>I am serious.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That is how my mom is too, SWOT. She was just awful about my father immediately after he was dead. <em>She did not grieve my father, did not filter her life through what the loss of her husband meant. </em>She would say things like, "It's all mine. The house, the stuff, <em>the stories</em> ~ the how the family will see itself going into the future." They don't see the way we do, SWOT. They don't have the capacity. That is how they could do what they did to their own children. We were / are not real to them. D H told me for years and years that my own mother was jealous of who I was and what I had, and that she hated him because he wasn't afraid of her and so, could not be dominated by her and so, could keep me safe <em>from her</em>, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>And I didn't believe him but he was very right. And I always wonder how my D H could have stayed with me, given what he knew. About who I am really, about what really happened, to me. He says I am the only one who sees the ugly, and that it isn't real; it's my internal mother. That is what I have been figuring out on the other thread, SWOT. That sense of ugly? <em>That is our internal mother.</em> They are in there punching us in the nose and kicking us in the pants every day to this very day, SWOT. But I have a solution for that and I put it on the Watercooler thread. I thought you were wanting not to talk about FOO issues anymore, so I have been working like a fiend over there but not posting. Some of the things I have come up with are quite valuable. Like: resentment and how to see and recognize and heal it; like how to recreate my internal mother and sisters. </p><p></p><p>Like how to save our own lives, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>We never have to listen to that uglified internal mother we plugged in to that place where we need our mothers, again.</p><p></p><p>We need our mothers. This is true. Everyone needs a mother, a wise person who loves us and for whom we cannot do wrong. We need our sisters and brothers, too.</p><p></p><p>I have our backs on that one, too.</p><p></p><p>Briefly: <em>Choose another.</em> Make a compilation of mothers you feel a response to and create your own. Maya Angelou is mine. She has like, a million books filled with mother. She was willingly Oprah's mother figure; she understood the need of a mother <em>because she did not have one, either.</em> So, she rewrote her mother and her life and the next thing she knew, she was Maya Angelou.</p><p></p><p>Now you don't have to go to the Watercooler thread.</p><p></p><p>Sisters: Oprah and Anne Lamott. Know who I am going to pattern my brother on? Jabber.</p><p>I think I will have Lil for a sister, too. She is very strong. I loved that last post she did, about being disgusted with her child.</p><p></p><p>Now, that's a mother.</p><p></p><p>You read all the time, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>Find your people.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I believe she did, too. What I don't get is why. I never get what the win is. I have seen my mother play some pretty complex games for no benefit I can see. Or, what was in it for that therapist? I was freaking <em>paying</em> him, and he still couldn't maintain himself. Maybe we are just such juicy victims SWOT that they cannot resist.</p><p></p><p>Instead of being bad, I mean.</p><p></p><p>Maybe, we are Juicy, and irresistable.</p><p></p><p>Juicy Lucy, like the hamburger shop.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I keep going back to this. Why would someone see their own little girl in this way? Is it true, do you think, that they think we are them and that in hating us, they are hating themselves? Or could it be that they don't feel they deserve us? So, like the vampire child in the Anne Rice stories, they destroy every beautiful, expensive porcelain doll?</p><p></p><p>There is something here ~ something that will lead to compassion. I can feel it. Something about the way the dolls' faces are painted, something about human.</p><p></p><p>I sound a little like a dork.</p><p></p><p>I get that. As one of my lady friends says? "You do have that geek thing going on, Cedar."</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Very like my own mom. I'm sorry that happened to you too, SWOT. I think they wanted us to be scared/horror. Here is the truth: They must have been amazed we survived it, every time and whatever it was, and that we came through with flying colors.</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>needlepoint</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>D H would say: It was that scent of independence you were giving off that froze her solid on the spot.</p><p></p><p>I know! I could never believe him, either. But you know what? Now that I am determined to get to the bottom of this once and for all? I am finding he was absolutely right. Now, how could he know that about me when I cannot see it?</p><p></p><p>Good thing D H thinks I'm cute. Otherwise, knowing what he knows? He could destroy me too, any time he wanted.</p><p></p><p><em>Just like she did.</em></p><p></p><p><em><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/2012/mcsmiley1.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":mcsmiley1:" title="mcsmiley1 :mcsmiley1:" data-shortname=":mcsmiley1:" /></em></p><p></p><p><em>needlepoint</em></p><p></p><p><em>Grrrr....</em></p><p></p><p><em></em></p><p><em></em></p><p>I agree with this very much. Every night ~ <em>every night</em> ~ the last thing I would think about was how the day had gone. Had I lost my temper inappropriately (D H mom would run around biting her own hand when her kids were little and they upset her. Another thing she would do is to use a wooden spoon to spank them when that was what she felt they needed. I did those things, too. Not being legitimately Italian, I did not say, "Madonne, madonne."</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>D H mom taught me how to love and celebrate and hold my babies. She loved to watch me nurse them, and she loved to hold them and ask them what was up.</p><p></p><p>So cool.</p><p></p><p>I have been very fortunate, that D H mom loved me, too.</p><p></p><p>She and D H father went to that first treatment center, to see daughter. My parents did not, of course. They came to see me in the hospital too, both times I gave birth.</p><p></p><p>My mother did not, of course. Neither did my father.</p><p></p><p>That was pretty freaking embarrassing. I have been embarrassed about things like that in front of D H parents since the beginning. I wonder what they thought, and I feel so badly for myself about these things.</p><p></p><p>Maya Angelou would at least have written me a book.</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>Actually, this is me putting distance between what I once believed and what is true. And in addition to that needlepoint "F you, mom" in that little saddlebag on the back, there is a beautifully done room with a fireplace where we all meet and burn those letters we've written. It looks like an English club house. Leaded glass in the beautiful windows and all the butlers look like Lurch. "You rang?"</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>D H says that what my mother wants is me, dead. She also wants her other children, dead. She wants to be dead, herself.</p><p></p><p>I want to live.</p><p></p><p>That is the difference.</p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p>So, I don't know how good a mother I was, after all. But I do know I get such a charge out of my kids and their babies and dogs and all their stuff like you do too, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>We are alive.</p><p></p><p>Our children are alive to us. And we get to talk to them and about them and about their Buddha babies and their musical appliances.</p><p></p><p>How cool is that?</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 656905, member: 17461"] Gah. That made my stomach tighten up just to read it. Something about the heavy legs. I am serious. That is how my mom is too, SWOT. She was just awful about my father immediately after he was dead. [I]She did not grieve my father, did not filter her life through what the loss of her husband meant. [/I]She would say things like, "It's all mine. The house, the stuff, [I]the stories[/I] ~ the how the family will see itself going into the future." They don't see the way we do, SWOT. They don't have the capacity. That is how they could do what they did to their own children. We were / are not real to them. D H told me for years and years that my own mother was jealous of who I was and what I had, and that she hated him because he wasn't afraid of her and so, could not be dominated by her and so, could keep me safe [I]from her[/I], SWOT. And I didn't believe him but he was very right. And I always wonder how my D H could have stayed with me, given what he knew. About who I am really, about what really happened, to me. He says I am the only one who sees the ugly, and that it isn't real; it's my internal mother. That is what I have been figuring out on the other thread, SWOT. That sense of ugly? [I]That is our internal mother.[/I] They are in there punching us in the nose and kicking us in the pants every day to this very day, SWOT. But I have a solution for that and I put it on the Watercooler thread. I thought you were wanting not to talk about FOO issues anymore, so I have been working like a fiend over there but not posting. Some of the things I have come up with are quite valuable. Like: resentment and how to see and recognize and heal it; like how to recreate my internal mother and sisters. Like how to save our own lives, SWOT. We never have to listen to that uglified internal mother we plugged in to that place where we need our mothers, again. We need our mothers. This is true. Everyone needs a mother, a wise person who loves us and for whom we cannot do wrong. We need our sisters and brothers, too. I have our backs on that one, too. Briefly: [I]Choose another.[/I] Make a compilation of mothers you feel a response to and create your own. Maya Angelou is mine. She has like, a million books filled with mother. She was willingly Oprah's mother figure; she understood the need of a mother [I]because she did not have one, either.[/I] So, she rewrote her mother and her life and the next thing she knew, she was Maya Angelou. Now you don't have to go to the Watercooler thread. Sisters: Oprah and Anne Lamott. Know who I am going to pattern my brother on? Jabber. I think I will have Lil for a sister, too. She is very strong. I loved that last post she did, about being disgusted with her child. Now, that's a mother. You read all the time, SWOT. Find your people. I believe she did, too. What I don't get is why. I never get what the win is. I have seen my mother play some pretty complex games for no benefit I can see. Or, what was in it for that therapist? I was freaking [I]paying[/I] him, and he still couldn't maintain himself. Maybe we are just such juicy victims SWOT that they cannot resist. Instead of being bad, I mean. Maybe, we are Juicy, and irresistable. Juicy Lucy, like the hamburger shop. I keep going back to this. Why would someone see their own little girl in this way? Is it true, do you think, that they think we are them and that in hating us, they are hating themselves? Or could it be that they don't feel they deserve us? So, like the vampire child in the Anne Rice stories, they destroy every beautiful, expensive porcelain doll? There is something here ~ something that will lead to compassion. I can feel it. Something about the way the dolls' faces are painted, something about human. I sound a little like a dork. I get that. As one of my lady friends says? "You do have that geek thing going on, Cedar." :O) Very like my own mom. I'm sorry that happened to you too, SWOT. I think they wanted us to be scared/horror. Here is the truth: They must have been amazed we survived it, every time and whatever it was, and that we came through with flying colors. :mcsmiley1: needlepoint D H would say: It was that scent of independence you were giving off that froze her solid on the spot. I know! I could never believe him, either. But you know what? Now that I am determined to get to the bottom of this once and for all? I am finding he was absolutely right. Now, how could he know that about me when I cannot see it? Good thing D H thinks I'm cute. Otherwise, knowing what he knows? He could destroy me too, any time he wanted. [I]Just like she did.[/I] [I]:mcsmiley1:[/I] [I]needlepoint[/I] [I]Grrrr....[/I] [I] [/I] I agree with this very much. Every night ~ [I]every night[/I] ~ the last thing I would think about was how the day had gone. Had I lost my temper inappropriately (D H mom would run around biting her own hand when her kids were little and they upset her. Another thing she would do is to use a wooden spoon to spank them when that was what she felt they needed. I did those things, too. Not being legitimately Italian, I did not say, "Madonne, madonne." :O) D H mom taught me how to love and celebrate and hold my babies. She loved to watch me nurse them, and she loved to hold them and ask them what was up. So cool. I have been very fortunate, that D H mom loved me, too. She and D H father went to that first treatment center, to see daughter. My parents did not, of course. They came to see me in the hospital too, both times I gave birth. My mother did not, of course. Neither did my father. That was pretty freaking embarrassing. I have been embarrassed about things like that in front of D H parents since the beginning. I wonder what they thought, and I feel so badly for myself about these things. Maya Angelou would at least have written me a book. :mcsmiley1: Actually, this is me putting distance between what I once believed and what is true. And in addition to that needlepoint "F you, mom" in that little saddlebag on the back, there is a beautifully done room with a fireplace where we all meet and burn those letters we've written. It looks like an English club house. Leaded glass in the beautiful windows and all the butlers look like Lurch. "You rang?" D H says that what my mother wants is me, dead. She also wants her other children, dead. She wants to be dead, herself. I want to live. That is the difference. So, I don't know how good a mother I was, after all. But I do know I get such a charge out of my kids and their babies and dogs and all their stuff like you do too, SWOT. We are alive. Our children are alive to us. And we get to talk to them and about them and about their Buddha babies and their musical appliances. How cool is that? Cedar [/QUOTE]
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