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General Parenting
A description of a rage
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<blockquote data-quote="Marguerite" data-source="post: 9492" data-attributes="member: 1991"><p>You know, reading that it does help me understand. But I remember the few times when I had a huge rage as a child, when I was so angry with someone that I wanted to hurt them physically, grind them into the ground - and then I felt so bad at myself for being so hatefully angry. But nowhere in there did I ever feel I could go home and hug my mother, find some comfort in her arms. Instead, I would go home and find some quiet, solitary place where nobody could see into my heart, then deal with my pain alone until I could come out and continue pretending that everything was alright. I just didn't want to have to explain, because I felt so evil for having such awful, angry thoughts.</p><p></p><p>When I look back now, I understand why I was angry. I can sympathise but also recognise that I didn't have the coping skills to deal with some of the stuff I had to.</p><p></p><p>One of the last times I remember hugging my mother (as a young child; not when I was an adult and making the usual goodbye-hello quick hugs) was when we were at a concert and I was tired and wanting to sleep in her arms. I must have only been about three years old. After that I had to hold her hand when crossing the street but that was all.</p><p></p><p>It's been husband who taught me to touch again.</p><p></p><p>It's strange, the things that help us remember.</p><p></p><p>Marg</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Marguerite, post: 9492, member: 1991"] You know, reading that it does help me understand. But I remember the few times when I had a huge rage as a child, when I was so angry with someone that I wanted to hurt them physically, grind them into the ground - and then I felt so bad at myself for being so hatefully angry. But nowhere in there did I ever feel I could go home and hug my mother, find some comfort in her arms. Instead, I would go home and find some quiet, solitary place where nobody could see into my heart, then deal with my pain alone until I could come out and continue pretending that everything was alright. I just didn't want to have to explain, because I felt so evil for having such awful, angry thoughts. When I look back now, I understand why I was angry. I can sympathise but also recognise that I didn't have the coping skills to deal with some of the stuff I had to. One of the last times I remember hugging my mother (as a young child; not when I was an adult and making the usual goodbye-hello quick hugs) was when we were at a concert and I was tired and wanting to sleep in her arms. I must have only been about three years old. After that I had to hold her hand when crossing the street but that was all. It's been husband who taught me to touch again. It's strange, the things that help us remember. Marg [/QUOTE]
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