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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 618953" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Child, there are so many kinds of pain as we move through this with our kids. There is that endless, hopeless kind that tells us we are letting ourselves know what is real. Then, there is that other kind of pain, that kind that we feel almost by choice. That kind of pain happens as we gain clarity. We choose to see, choose the pain; accept it. How could you not grieve when everything you believed in is just...gone? </p><p></p><p>It is such a bewildering place.</p><p></p><p>In time, the shock of what we've learned to accept, the shock of the true things we had the courage to see and know and taste mellows into an agonizing but, at last, a steady state. Once that happens, we begin rewriting the music of our lives. I know (and am happy) you are following the thread on the change process that seems to happen for us, as we choose to see true things about our children, about our dreams for them, about our truly unrecognizable dreams for ourselves as mothers, and for our own lives. Whatever our dreams may have been, our children are our children. We can practice detachment because that is the right thing...but it never stops excoriating us. And they're in such pain, our kids! And they are not who they wanted to be either, and it hurts so much, and we never knew that much pain existed, and we fight it with everything we have. But once we choose to see what is there Child? It's like...nothing else scares us, ever again.</p><p></p><p>Abusive childhood? POW </p><p>Poor self esteem? Laughter. </p><p>Someone, friend or family member you need to confront? Pardon my French, but they are suddenly no more important, no more frightening than, a fart on the wind.</p><p></p><p>I read that somewhere. Fart on the wind, I mean.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>I am having one of those out of temper days.... Good. Something must have let loose somewhere and more of me must be here. Always, that comes with anger. Probably the very emotion it was sealed beneath.</p><p></p><p>I am sorry you are in this kind of pain. I would never choose it for me, for you, for anyone. I hope there is a plan, a progression, a meaning. Have you read Viktor Frankl? He survived and wrote about what it meant to survive, a concentration camp. He writes less of the horror of the thing than of how that dehumanization changed him, changed his view of what it is to be, at all. Elie Wiesel is another writer whose pain echoes my own. I find comfort, there. Find comfort in knowing others have survived, have put what I feel into words.</p><p></p><p>Ellie Wiesel wrote that telling of a thing, trying to find words adequate to describing it, somehow defiled the sacred horror of what it was, to go through it.</p><p></p><p>That is how I feel.</p><p></p><p>I see that in you too, Child.</p><p></p><p>You are coming through it, coming through changed. </p><p></p><p>It's so sad, so sad. I pray there is a purpose.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 618953, member: 17461"] Child, there are so many kinds of pain as we move through this with our kids. There is that endless, hopeless kind that tells us we are letting ourselves know what is real. Then, there is that other kind of pain, that kind that we feel almost by choice. That kind of pain happens as we gain clarity. We choose to see, choose the pain; accept it. How could you not grieve when everything you believed in is just...gone? It is such a bewildering place. In time, the shock of what we've learned to accept, the shock of the true things we had the courage to see and know and taste mellows into an agonizing but, at last, a steady state. Once that happens, we begin rewriting the music of our lives. I know (and am happy) you are following the thread on the change process that seems to happen for us, as we choose to see true things about our children, about our dreams for them, about our truly unrecognizable dreams for ourselves as mothers, and for our own lives. Whatever our dreams may have been, our children are our children. We can practice detachment because that is the right thing...but it never stops excoriating us. And they're in such pain, our kids! And they are not who they wanted to be either, and it hurts so much, and we never knew that much pain existed, and we fight it with everything we have. But once we choose to see what is there Child? It's like...nothing else scares us, ever again. Abusive childhood? POW Poor self esteem? Laughter. Someone, friend or family member you need to confront? Pardon my French, but they are suddenly no more important, no more frightening than, a fart on the wind. I read that somewhere. Fart on the wind, I mean. :O) I am having one of those out of temper days.... Good. Something must have let loose somewhere and more of me must be here. Always, that comes with anger. Probably the very emotion it was sealed beneath. I am sorry you are in this kind of pain. I would never choose it for me, for you, for anyone. I hope there is a plan, a progression, a meaning. Have you read Viktor Frankl? He survived and wrote about what it meant to survive, a concentration camp. He writes less of the horror of the thing than of how that dehumanization changed him, changed his view of what it is to be, at all. Elie Wiesel is another writer whose pain echoes my own. I find comfort, there. Find comfort in knowing others have survived, have put what I feel into words. Ellie Wiesel wrote that telling of a thing, trying to find words adequate to describing it, somehow defiled the sacred horror of what it was, to go through it. That is how I feel. I see that in you too, Child. You are coming through it, coming through changed. It's so sad, so sad. I pray there is a purpose. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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