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Please share your stories about how you were able to tell your difficult children "NO"
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<blockquote data-quote="trinityroyal" data-source="post: 614576" data-attributes="member: 3907"><p>As I've been reading this thread, I've been struggling a bit with how to share my thoughts. I think this is another "from the difficult child side of the fence" post (tee hee. fence post. Sorry...) </p><p>Anyway, please know that my words are not meant as a criticism, or to be hurtful, or to judge. They're just my experience and perspective, and I hope you can find something helpful in them.</p><p></p><p>My mother was (is?) as difficult child of the first water in her own right. I've mentioned her neglect of me, but she was also a co-dependent writ large. And I think I was always the target of her co-dependence, except that I wouldn't play along. </p><p></p><p>Throughout my childhood, I always felt somehow that my mother's emotions were my responsibility. If she wanted company but I wanted to be alone, she heaped on the guilt and implied that I was selfish for wanting to look after my own need for space, time and quiet rather than her need for company and constant noise. If she was sad or angry about something and she needed an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on, it was my ear and my shoulder that she turned to. She sought my input, asked my advice, wanted my company. Constantly.</p><p></p><p>And I resented it. Constantly. I always felt that it was unfair of her to burden me with her emotional baggage. The harder she clung, the more forcefully I pulled away. The more she tried to manipulate me, and to involve me in her drama, the more I removed myself from it and from her. I worked very very hard in school and finished high school a year early, all so that I could go away to university that much sooner, leave home in the one way that would not cause a scandal in our old-world, traditional community.</p><p></p><p>I remember the pain of having my mother try to squash me into a mother-shape. Her little girl, just like her. But I wasn't her. I was nothing like her. Actually that's not quite true. We have an astonishing physical resemblance. I look just like her. At 45, I look just as she did at 45. At 10, I looked exactly like she did back then. It's hard to tell pictures apart -- except for identifying details like furniture, and other people. I think that contributed. She saw herself in me, and tried so very hard to turn me into her. And it backfired. Badly. Very badly, to the point that in 8 or 9 years now, I haven't spoken more than 10 words to her, nor set eyes on her in all that time.</p><p></p><p>I guess at the heart of what I'm trying (badly) to say is, each one of your children seems to understand that they have power over your emotions. Instead of abdicating the seat of power like I did, they use the power the way a malevolent dictator does, to bend you to their will. They use the weapon of your own emotions against you, to get their way.</p><p></p><p>I love my children to distraction, with every fibre of my being. BUT, my emotions are not theirs and they do not have power over mine. I wear my Meanest Mom In The World tiara with pride. I think it goes nicely with my outfit. If my child says, "I hate you!", I say, "That's nice dear. I love you." If my child says, "Mom, you're mean and heartless." I say, "Why yes, I am darling. Would you prefer peas or corn with dinner."</p><p></p><p>***EDITED: This statement, "my children do not have power over my emotions" is so wrong. They have tremendous power. I just don't let them play me like a violin. I don't take personally all of the nasty teenage BS that they can dish out. I wrote the rule book back when I was in my teens, so I know all too well how the game is played. ***</p><p></p><p>I love me. To distraction. With every fibre of my being. Every bit as much as I love my children. I don't look to them for validation of myself, but step back and let them be themselves.</p><p></p><p>You need to love yourselves. Fully and completely. Without reference to your children. Then you'll be able to weather their storms, because you'll be whole without them.</p><p></p><p>Then, saying "no" is easy.</p><p></p><p>Hugs and love to all of you.</p><p>Trinity</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="trinityroyal, post: 614576, member: 3907"] As I've been reading this thread, I've been struggling a bit with how to share my thoughts. I think this is another "from the difficult child side of the fence" post (tee hee. fence post. Sorry...) Anyway, please know that my words are not meant as a criticism, or to be hurtful, or to judge. They're just my experience and perspective, and I hope you can find something helpful in them. My mother was (is?) as difficult child of the first water in her own right. I've mentioned her neglect of me, but she was also a co-dependent writ large. And I think I was always the target of her co-dependence, except that I wouldn't play along. Throughout my childhood, I always felt somehow that my mother's emotions were my responsibility. If she wanted company but I wanted to be alone, she heaped on the guilt and implied that I was selfish for wanting to look after my own need for space, time and quiet rather than her need for company and constant noise. If she was sad or angry about something and she needed an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on, it was my ear and my shoulder that she turned to. She sought my input, asked my advice, wanted my company. Constantly. And I resented it. Constantly. I always felt that it was unfair of her to burden me with her emotional baggage. The harder she clung, the more forcefully I pulled away. The more she tried to manipulate me, and to involve me in her drama, the more I removed myself from it and from her. I worked very very hard in school and finished high school a year early, all so that I could go away to university that much sooner, leave home in the one way that would not cause a scandal in our old-world, traditional community. I remember the pain of having my mother try to squash me into a mother-shape. Her little girl, just like her. But I wasn't her. I was nothing like her. Actually that's not quite true. We have an astonishing physical resemblance. I look just like her. At 45, I look just as she did at 45. At 10, I looked exactly like she did back then. It's hard to tell pictures apart -- except for identifying details like furniture, and other people. I think that contributed. She saw herself in me, and tried so very hard to turn me into her. And it backfired. Badly. Very badly, to the point that in 8 or 9 years now, I haven't spoken more than 10 words to her, nor set eyes on her in all that time. I guess at the heart of what I'm trying (badly) to say is, each one of your children seems to understand that they have power over your emotions. Instead of abdicating the seat of power like I did, they use the power the way a malevolent dictator does, to bend you to their will. They use the weapon of your own emotions against you, to get their way. I love my children to distraction, with every fibre of my being. BUT, my emotions are not theirs and they do not have power over mine. I wear my Meanest Mom In The World tiara with pride. I think it goes nicely with my outfit. If my child says, "I hate you!", I say, "That's nice dear. I love you." If my child says, "Mom, you're mean and heartless." I say, "Why yes, I am darling. Would you prefer peas or corn with dinner." ***EDITED: This statement, "my children do not have power over my emotions" is so wrong. They have tremendous power. I just don't let them play me like a violin. I don't take personally all of the nasty teenage BS that they can dish out. I wrote the rule book back when I was in my teens, so I know all too well how the game is played. *** I love me. To distraction. With every fibre of my being. Every bit as much as I love my children. I don't look to them for validation of myself, but step back and let them be themselves. You need to love yourselves. Fully and completely. Without reference to your children. Then you'll be able to weather their storms, because you'll be whole without them. Then, saying "no" is easy. Hugs and love to all of you. Trinity [/QUOTE]
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