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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 653869" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>This is how I see things, too.</p><p></p><p>Being able to see through this, to get to the other side of it, meant I needed to let go of "perfect". It is okay for me to see their rottenness for the stupidly hurtful stuff it is. It is okay for me to name what I see. I think our right of refusal, our ability to give ourselves permission to see what it for what it is and to stand up and declare bulls*** has to do with excusing ourselves for our perfectionism. (Cedar wrote, pretty sure the censors will cut that out, though pretending to be brave enough to write bad words. Like the bull word, I mean.)</p><p></p><p>Okay.</p><p></p><p>So I went back and amended the bad word just in case the censors let it through. </p><p></p><p>That is called letting go of perfectionism a step at a time.</p><p></p><p>I did leave the concept in there. Against my better, perfectionistic judgment, I mean.</p><p></p><p>Where was I going with this.</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></p><p>Me, too.</p><p></p><p>I even wrote a story about it, once.</p><p></p><p>"Once upon a time, in a faraway land where time and distance had lost all meaning, there was born to the peasantry a generation of female children whose task and whose talent it would be to unravel the tangled skeins of deceit, viciousness, and trickery that bound the hearts, the souls, and the bloodlines of those families into which each would be born."</p><p></p><p>The story goes on to describe the souls chosen, and choosing, to incarnate to accomplish this task. It describes the strengths <em>or weaknesses</em> each would choose, to help her clear the curse from the genetic line.</p><p></p><p>In the end, the key is shame.</p><p></p><p>That is the signpost for each of us. When we feel it, we need to face it, have it, taste it, and set it to rest.</p><p></p><p>That is how to clear the curse.</p><p></p><p>It was a great story.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Mine too, but I never even knew it until just recently.</p><p></p><p>For heaven's sake.</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>Those familiar with Motorcycle Cedar will know about the cross stitching in my saddle bag. Given that all this is imaginary, that cross stitched phrase in my saddle bag is now in flashing neon.</p><p></p><p>And everyone can see it glowing away and know about it.</p><p></p><p>Okay, wait a minute.</p><p></p><p>Cedar slinks away, tucking the glowing, flashing, neon-bright piece of cross stitch into an internal pocket with a strong zipper on the inside of her motorcycle jacket.</p><p></p><p>Notice how it flashes now to the beat of her heart, forever Cedar's truth, hidden away or not.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That happens to me too, Billy. I think it is part of that perfection thing, again. We have seen so much that was stupidly hurtful that we make a promise to ourselves, somewhere along the line, that we will not add to the wrongness in the world, that we will do our best to try to understand, to not condemn, to not hurt anyone, family or stranger.</p><p></p><p>The key to healing or at least, to seeing this aspect of self differently has to do with perfectionism for me. I am not through it yet though, so I only know perfectionism (and shame, of course) are the places where I will heal.</p><p></p><p>Your story is so similar to ours, Billy. Could that be a place for you to begin to heal, too?</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Mine, too. And she suffered at the hands of her daughter, my mother.</p><p></p><p>My father's mother was the grandmother who loved and made me strong. Well, who loved me enough that I had the courage to go back and see true things. It feels so wrong to name what happened to us what it was.</p><p></p><p>I mean, to really see how stupidly, pointlessly evil so much of what our parents or relatives do is. </p><p></p><p>I am always saying I don't get the win for them.</p><p></p><p>It must be that some of us only feel safe when they have destroyed something vital in everyone around them, so no one can confront or change them.</p><p></p><p>?</p><p></p><p>I don't know. I do know they seem always to need to do that. There seems never to be a place where they finally can say enough, or see a different truth.</p><p></p><p>But once we get that, once we understand that about our people, then we can give ourselves permission to heal, and to be very strong. There are so many places in me where I was taught not to think for myself, where I was taught to believe my locus of control was for someone else to decide. It is frightening to confront those lessons taught so painfully while I was only a little girl.</p><p></p><p>Nonetheless, that is what we have to do, so I try to do that when I can see that there is a place opening, another layer or level of healing to be done.</p><p></p><p>I think we risk insanity a little to heal those layers, though.</p><p></p><p>We have to relive it.</p><p></p><p>I cannot imagine what it must have been truly to be the child I was.</p><p></p><p>How awful, how really awful, given the way every one of us, every human and every animal, should be cherished and welcomed into the world.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Me, too.</p><p></p><p>I think that is what I meant about feeling insane when I correctly name what I see happening. It is mind boggling to know someone we love hates us, and doesn't even know us and does not have the capacity to know us because they are wired differently than we are.</p><p></p><p>It is never going to change.</p><p></p><p>I wonder whether I will be able to safely interact with my family once I am healed.</p><p></p><p>I think, sadly, that when I am healing is when my family condemns me the hardest. I think this may be true.</p><p></p><p>They gather round and justify hating someone or something. That is the core of how they unite.</p><p></p><p>Hatred.</p><p></p><p>We have had to be imaginary creations to them.</p><p></p><p>But we are real.</p><p></p><p>It is very confusing, because we can't understand they are different than we are.</p><p></p><p>And then, it takes a little more time to understand they are the wrong ones.</p><p></p><p>We are not "romantic" or "foolish".</p><p></p><p>That is how my mother describes me. As the romantic one. Implied there is "the stupid one, the easily duped one."</p><p></p><p>And she should know.</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>Ahem.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>P.S. But I think at the heart of their motivations is fear. Maybe, more fear than we can ever know exists.</p><p></p><p>There is something that they see, something they believe, that we do not.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 653869, member: 17461"] This is how I see things, too. Being able to see through this, to get to the other side of it, meant I needed to let go of "perfect". It is okay for me to see their rottenness for the stupidly hurtful stuff it is. It is okay for me to name what I see. I think our right of refusal, our ability to give ourselves permission to see what it for what it is and to stand up and declare bulls*** has to do with excusing ourselves for our perfectionism. (Cedar wrote, pretty sure the censors will cut that out, though pretending to be brave enough to write bad words. Like the bull word, I mean.) Okay. So I went back and amended the bad word just in case the censors let it through. That is called letting go of perfectionism a step at a time. I did leave the concept in there. Against my better, perfectionistic judgment, I mean. Where was I going with this. :mcsmiley1: Me, too. I even wrote a story about it, once. "Once upon a time, in a faraway land where time and distance had lost all meaning, there was born to the peasantry a generation of female children whose task and whose talent it would be to unravel the tangled skeins of deceit, viciousness, and trickery that bound the hearts, the souls, and the bloodlines of those families into which each would be born." The story goes on to describe the souls chosen, and choosing, to incarnate to accomplish this task. It describes the strengths [I]or weaknesses[/I] each would choose, to help her clear the curse from the genetic line. In the end, the key is shame. That is the signpost for each of us. When we feel it, we need to face it, have it, taste it, and set it to rest. That is how to clear the curse. It was a great story. :O) Mine too, but I never even knew it until just recently. For heaven's sake. :mcsmiley1: Those familiar with Motorcycle Cedar will know about the cross stitching in my saddle bag. Given that all this is imaginary, that cross stitched phrase in my saddle bag is now in flashing neon. And everyone can see it glowing away and know about it. Okay, wait a minute. Cedar slinks away, tucking the glowing, flashing, neon-bright piece of cross stitch into an internal pocket with a strong zipper on the inside of her motorcycle jacket. Notice how it flashes now to the beat of her heart, forever Cedar's truth, hidden away or not. :O) That happens to me too, Billy. I think it is part of that perfection thing, again. We have seen so much that was stupidly hurtful that we make a promise to ourselves, somewhere along the line, that we will not add to the wrongness in the world, that we will do our best to try to understand, to not condemn, to not hurt anyone, family or stranger. The key to healing or at least, to seeing this aspect of self differently has to do with perfectionism for me. I am not through it yet though, so I only know perfectionism (and shame, of course) are the places where I will heal. Your story is so similar to ours, Billy. Could that be a place for you to begin to heal, too? Mine, too. And she suffered at the hands of her daughter, my mother. My father's mother was the grandmother who loved and made me strong. Well, who loved me enough that I had the courage to go back and see true things. It feels so wrong to name what happened to us what it was. I mean, to really see how stupidly, pointlessly evil so much of what our parents or relatives do is. I am always saying I don't get the win for them. It must be that some of us only feel safe when they have destroyed something vital in everyone around them, so no one can confront or change them. ? I don't know. I do know they seem always to need to do that. There seems never to be a place where they finally can say enough, or see a different truth. But once we get that, once we understand that about our people, then we can give ourselves permission to heal, and to be very strong. There are so many places in me where I was taught not to think for myself, where I was taught to believe my locus of control was for someone else to decide. It is frightening to confront those lessons taught so painfully while I was only a little girl. Nonetheless, that is what we have to do, so I try to do that when I can see that there is a place opening, another layer or level of healing to be done. I think we risk insanity a little to heal those layers, though. We have to relive it. I cannot imagine what it must have been truly to be the child I was. How awful, how really awful, given the way every one of us, every human and every animal, should be cherished and welcomed into the world. Me, too. I think that is what I meant about feeling insane when I correctly name what I see happening. It is mind boggling to know someone we love hates us, and doesn't even know us and does not have the capacity to know us because they are wired differently than we are. It is never going to change. I wonder whether I will be able to safely interact with my family once I am healed. I think, sadly, that when I am healing is when my family condemns me the hardest. I think this may be true. They gather round and justify hating someone or something. That is the core of how they unite. Hatred. We have had to be imaginary creations to them. But we are real. It is very confusing, because we can't understand they are different than we are. And then, it takes a little more time to understand they are the wrong ones. We are not "romantic" or "foolish". That is how my mother describes me. As the romantic one. Implied there is "the stupid one, the easily duped one." And she should know. :mcsmiley1: Ahem. Cedar P.S. But I think at the heart of their motivations is fear. Maybe, more fear than we can ever know exists. There is something that they see, something they believe, that we do not. [/QUOTE]
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