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Family of Origin
Do the holidays bother those of us with little to no FOO?
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 673013" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I am coming to believe we have no choice about loving. Our people or pets who witnessed our lives or the landscapes that formed our lives even, are always with us. Think of a sunny day in your childhood. All the scents and colors and sounds and your emotional tone ~ all of that will be there in the memory of the sunny day. That is the way it is for us, well or poorly raised, as we live our lives. The prevailing emotional tone will be how we came to understand how to perceive ourselves and everything else <em>unless, and I could be wrong here, unless we have been abused. In those traumatic instances, we will have learned to see and not see, to feel, and not feel.</em> That is why, as I heal now, scents are sweeter. The quality of the light is brilliantly brighter. There was a time last summer, just after we went through the promised/threatened phone call from my sister. Remember how scared I was about what to do, what to say, when she called or if they should come to my door, demanding to know who I thought I was to say true things as I believed them to be? And when the call came, I was healed enough through the work we had done here to say: "I love you too much to love you this way."<em> </em>And I hadn't even planned those words. I was just present to the phone conversation. Not guilty because she was crying, but almost. We had also worked through whether crying <em>while watching someone watch your eyes fill with tears</em> was a manipulation, and had decided it was.</p><p></p><p>I still love my family. I know them so well, and I miss the feel of them <em>even as I recognize the killing toxicity in what they require.</em></p><p></p><p>The point I intended to make here (and I do, as Ellen Degeneress says too, have a point)</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>is that as I came through this, I came into possession of a house and a husband in ways I had not had them, ever in my life, before. It was during this time that I fell in love with D H with such appreciation for the fineness of the human he is. I think I became roomier where my children and grands were concerned too, but I am not so sure about that. I pretty much always loved to play with my children and grands, because I had had my grandmother.</p><p></p><p>Appreciation, and presence. Everyone is always talking about presence like it is some spiritual miracle only highly advance spiritual people can do. That stuff has nothing to do with it. Presence is "Just chop onions".</p><p></p><p>And appreciate the wonder of being there, of being anywhere, at all.</p><p></p><p>And we never got to be anywhere really, because the abuser insists they are what matters. We were children. We took them at their words.</p><p></p><p>And they lied about that, too.</p><p></p><p>Or it could be that everyone else's awakening is a beautiful thing filled with flowers and etc and mine is especially ugly.</p><p></p><p>Nonetheless, I am awakening.</p><p></p><p>Note I did not say awake. You know what the response is, when someone declares themselves awake?</p><p></p><p>"So you believe."</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I don't know, Copa.</p><p></p><p>There are my memories of my grandmother, and there are the horrible ways my mother interpreted her. </p><p></p><p>So, there are two realities there, maybe.</p><p></p><p>My grandmother was very strong. White teeth, laughing in the sun. </p><p></p><p>Very strong.</p><p></p><p>Glamour shots from the 1920s, when glamour shots did not exist, my grandmother in fur, glancing back into the camera. Huge blue eyes.</p><p></p><p>Blond hair.</p><p></p><p>I love her, very much.</p><p></p><p>She would bring us to restaurants, and teach us that ladies never eat everything on their plates. That if company is coming, put yourself in order, then the house, then change the baby. You can change a baby after they arrive without it seeming rude.</p><p></p><p>She had a mangle in her kitchen. That is a huge machine to iron sheets.</p><p></p><p>She taught us: When the iron approaches the shirt, the shirt would cry out if it could. But, like God does to us, we iron the shirt to smooth the wrinkles and make it beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>She was my father's mother.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 673013, member: 17461"] I am coming to believe we have no choice about loving. Our people or pets who witnessed our lives or the landscapes that formed our lives even, are always with us. Think of a sunny day in your childhood. All the scents and colors and sounds and your emotional tone ~ all of that will be there in the memory of the sunny day. That is the way it is for us, well or poorly raised, as we live our lives. The prevailing emotional tone will be how we came to understand how to perceive ourselves and everything else [I]unless, and I could be wrong here, unless we have been abused. In those traumatic instances, we will have learned to see and not see, to feel, and not feel.[/I] That is why, as I heal now, scents are sweeter. The quality of the light is brilliantly brighter. There was a time last summer, just after we went through the promised/threatened phone call from my sister. Remember how scared I was about what to do, what to say, when she called or if they should come to my door, demanding to know who I thought I was to say true things as I believed them to be? And when the call came, I was healed enough through the work we had done here to say: "I love you too much to love you this way."[I] [/I]And I hadn't even planned those words. I was just present to the phone conversation. Not guilty because she was crying, but almost. We had also worked through whether crying [I]while watching someone watch your eyes fill with tears[/I] was a manipulation, and had decided it was. I still love my family. I know them so well, and I miss the feel of them [I]even as I recognize the killing toxicity in what they require.[/I] The point I intended to make here (and I do, as Ellen Degeneress says too, have a point) :O) is that as I came through this, I came into possession of a house and a husband in ways I had not had them, ever in my life, before. It was during this time that I fell in love with D H with such appreciation for the fineness of the human he is. I think I became roomier where my children and grands were concerned too, but I am not so sure about that. I pretty much always loved to play with my children and grands, because I had had my grandmother. Appreciation, and presence. Everyone is always talking about presence like it is some spiritual miracle only highly advance spiritual people can do. That stuff has nothing to do with it. Presence is "Just chop onions". And appreciate the wonder of being there, of being anywhere, at all. And we never got to be anywhere really, because the abuser insists they are what matters. We were children. We took them at their words. And they lied about that, too. Or it could be that everyone else's awakening is a beautiful thing filled with flowers and etc and mine is especially ugly. Nonetheless, I am awakening. Note I did not say awake. You know what the response is, when someone declares themselves awake? "So you believe." I don't know, Copa. There are my memories of my grandmother, and there are the horrible ways my mother interpreted her. So, there are two realities there, maybe. My grandmother was very strong. White teeth, laughing in the sun. Very strong. Glamour shots from the 1920s, when glamour shots did not exist, my grandmother in fur, glancing back into the camera. Huge blue eyes. Blond hair. I love her, very much. She would bring us to restaurants, and teach us that ladies never eat everything on their plates. That if company is coming, put yourself in order, then the house, then change the baby. You can change a baby after they arrive without it seeming rude. She had a mangle in her kitchen. That is a huge machine to iron sheets. She taught us: When the iron approaches the shirt, the shirt would cry out if it could. But, like God does to us, we iron the shirt to smooth the wrinkles and make it beautiful. She was my father's mother. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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Do the holidays bother those of us with little to no FOO?
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