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Family of Origin
Family of Origin (FOO) Support Thread Part 2
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 663179" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I try to be so conscious of that with my own kids and grands. </p><p></p><p>That must be what is meant when they say someone did or did not give a particular blessing to their child. It is true, too. The words we speak echo down the generations.</p><p></p><p>We can change that.</p><p></p><p>That much, we can do.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Copa, this is so beautiful.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I feel this way too, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>This is what I am trying to describe when I say that I must shift perspective from seeing myself being abused to seeing the abuser doing terrible things to a child or a young girl, or a woman who is her daughter, or to a man who is her son.</p><p></p><p>There is such power in those namings we are named, for better or for worse. Not just from our moms or dads, but from everyone in our lives. This is what Maya Angelou writes about too ~ the power in our words. That is why, so she wrote, she did not speak at all for something like six years.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>It was her intention to hurt you, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>That's the thing we have such trouble with, as we try to understand our lives. The words spoken by our mothers were not just things that came out in conversation. They were words chosen and spoken with intent.</p><p></p><p>It's hard to know what to do with that.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>"When they brought you to me and I saw that you had red hair, I told them they had the wrong baby, and I sent you back. They came back with the same baby, and said you were mine after all, red hair or not."</p><p></p><p>I never felt badly about that story, actually. I wished many times that somehow, a mistake had been made, and I were not my mother's. </p><p></p><p>On the other hand, there are many things I admire about my mother, and am proud to claim. It's important for us to acknowledge those things too, I think. We are working toward compassion for all of us, here. We cannot truly love ourselves or hold ourselves in compassion, until we can acknowledge the truths in our upbringings and hold all of it in some way that hatred has no part in it.</p><p></p><p>How does that go? Hatred got us into this; only love will get us out.</p><p></p><p>Pretty tall order, but I think we can do it.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I think this is true too, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>Where we should have the strength and safe harbor of family, we have only ~ whatever it is that runs in our families, instead.</p><p></p><p>Hatred, maybe ~ and a desperate wish that this were not so.</p><p></p><p>Okay.</p><p></p><p>Except for my sister and my mom.</p><p></p><p>Ha!!!</p><p></p><p>Denial strikes again.</p><p></p><p>I will just slip back in there, then. Comfy, here where I can believe whatever I want.</p><p></p><p>If I were never to see them again? I could safely believe that they love me.</p><p></p><p>"They just can't see it, that's all." Cedar says, pulling that same beautiful rabbit out of her hate.</p><p></p><p>I meant hat.</p><p></p><p>I meant hat, you guys.</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>I feel more and more this way. I sometimes feel that I should not have turned away as I did, but the truth is I was excluded in every way that matters before I ever stopped granting them access to me.</p><p></p><p>In fact, my brother still has access to me but appears not to want it.</p><p></p><p>Huh.</p><p></p><p>Dirty rates.</p><p></p><p>Rats.</p><p></p><p>I meant rats, you guys.</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></p><p></p><p>I don't know. I think this is true of us, though.</p><p></p><p>Probably it has to do with the vulnerability in stepping into adult lives where mistakes and the growth that attends them are interpreted through those toxic, abuser-installed filters as terminal errors, as a validation of the abuser's assessment of who we were and whether we were capable people. Each of us came away from our childhoods believing we were stupid or bad or inept or that we had terminally dysfunctional thinking. And here is the thing: It was when we had our abusers on the defensive that these terrible labels were affixed. So, any time we face a challenging situation, any time we are challenging ourselves to learn a new thing even...the energy required to keep at it and the belief systems that would tell us we could do it ~ all that would have been subverted by emotional flashback to our abuser's responses to those same feelings of having figured things out.</p><p></p><p>Emotional flashback, again.</p><p></p><p>Great terminology, SWOT.</p><p></p><p>Thank you.</p><p></p><p>It wasn't until I needed to know whether I was stupid in some way I couldn't see, or evil in some way I couldn't see, and was that why these things were happening to my daughter, that I was able to push through those feelings of "Don't you dare."</p><p></p><p>My mom used to say that, alot. Don't you dare, Cedar. And it would be about my thinking, about thinking she was not normal. They like you to believe they are all knowing and all powerful, right? Difficult to do that, once you see the discrepancies between the moms of your friends and the moms on television and your own. </p><p></p><p>I graduated with honors. After having been out of school for something like eighteen years, after having been a mom at home, while I was falling apart and after what happened with that first therapist, I graduated with honors. (On the am I stupid part.) And received scholarships every year but the first one, from the Benedictine Sisters. So, that pretty much takes care of the evil part, then.</p><p></p><p>I am just sayin'.</p><p></p><p>Those internal barriers our abusers set up within our psyches are real, and are very, very hard to break through.</p><p></p><p>Things have always been pretty easy for me. </p><p></p><p>So probably I never was stupid. And I sort of knew that? But at the same time, I didn't.</p><p></p><p>How strange.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Ha! SWOT, I have red hair! I would see that people dyed their hair my color (or some variation thereof) and wonder why they did that.</p><p></p><p>Isn't that something.</p><p></p><p>Here is a secret. When my color first started to fade, I would color my hair to cover the greying, right? And one time? I used this cheap dye because daughter (who was the one who told me I should color it in the first place), said that would be okay. And it turned this whole clump of my hair the strangest shade that was almost pink!</p><p></p><p>It was so funny and so embarrassing but I just left it. I never did dye my hair again. </p><p></p><p>Last time daughter was here? She had artificial hair braids. She said I should do that, too. So far? I have been able to resist.</p><p></p><p>Oh, that daughter!</p><p></p><p>So, that's my hair dye story.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I love this.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 663179, member: 17461"] I try to be so conscious of that with my own kids and grands. That must be what is meant when they say someone did or did not give a particular blessing to their child. It is true, too. The words we speak echo down the generations. We can change that. That much, we can do. Copa, this is so beautiful. I feel this way too, SWOT. This is what I am trying to describe when I say that I must shift perspective from seeing myself being abused to seeing the abuser doing terrible things to a child or a young girl, or a woman who is her daughter, or to a man who is her son. There is such power in those namings we are named, for better or for worse. Not just from our moms or dads, but from everyone in our lives. This is what Maya Angelou writes about too ~ the power in our words. That is why, so she wrote, she did not speak at all for something like six years. It was her intention to hurt you, SWOT. That's the thing we have such trouble with, as we try to understand our lives. The words spoken by our mothers were not just things that came out in conversation. They were words chosen and spoken with intent. It's hard to know what to do with that. "When they brought you to me and I saw that you had red hair, I told them they had the wrong baby, and I sent you back. They came back with the same baby, and said you were mine after all, red hair or not." I never felt badly about that story, actually. I wished many times that somehow, a mistake had been made, and I were not my mother's. On the other hand, there are many things I admire about my mother, and am proud to claim. It's important for us to acknowledge those things too, I think. We are working toward compassion for all of us, here. We cannot truly love ourselves or hold ourselves in compassion, until we can acknowledge the truths in our upbringings and hold all of it in some way that hatred has no part in it. How does that go? Hatred got us into this; only love will get us out. Pretty tall order, but I think we can do it. I think this is true too, SWOT. Where we should have the strength and safe harbor of family, we have only ~ whatever it is that runs in our families, instead. Hatred, maybe ~ and a desperate wish that this were not so. Okay. Except for my sister and my mom. Ha!!! Denial strikes again. I will just slip back in there, then. Comfy, here where I can believe whatever I want. If I were never to see them again? I could safely believe that they love me. "They just can't see it, that's all." Cedar says, pulling that same beautiful rabbit out of her hate. I meant hat. I meant hat, you guys. :mcsmiley1: I feel more and more this way. I sometimes feel that I should not have turned away as I did, but the truth is I was excluded in every way that matters before I ever stopped granting them access to me. In fact, my brother still has access to me but appears not to want it. Huh. Dirty rates. Rats. I meant rats, you guys. For heaven's sake. :mcsmiley1: I don't know. I think this is true of us, though. Probably it has to do with the vulnerability in stepping into adult lives where mistakes and the growth that attends them are interpreted through those toxic, abuser-installed filters as terminal errors, as a validation of the abuser's assessment of who we were and whether we were capable people. Each of us came away from our childhoods believing we were stupid or bad or inept or that we had terminally dysfunctional thinking. And here is the thing: It was when we had our abusers on the defensive that these terrible labels were affixed. So, any time we face a challenging situation, any time we are challenging ourselves to learn a new thing even...the energy required to keep at it and the belief systems that would tell us we could do it ~ all that would have been subverted by emotional flashback to our abuser's responses to those same feelings of having figured things out. Emotional flashback, again. Great terminology, SWOT. Thank you. It wasn't until I needed to know whether I was stupid in some way I couldn't see, or evil in some way I couldn't see, and was that why these things were happening to my daughter, that I was able to push through those feelings of "Don't you dare." My mom used to say that, alot. Don't you dare, Cedar. And it would be about my thinking, about thinking she was not normal. They like you to believe they are all knowing and all powerful, right? Difficult to do that, once you see the discrepancies between the moms of your friends and the moms on television and your own. I graduated with honors. After having been out of school for something like eighteen years, after having been a mom at home, while I was falling apart and after what happened with that first therapist, I graduated with honors. (On the am I stupid part.) And received scholarships every year but the first one, from the Benedictine Sisters. So, that pretty much takes care of the evil part, then. I am just sayin'. Those internal barriers our abusers set up within our psyches are real, and are very, very hard to break through. Things have always been pretty easy for me. So probably I never was stupid. And I sort of knew that? But at the same time, I didn't. How strange. Ha! SWOT, I have red hair! I would see that people dyed their hair my color (or some variation thereof) and wonder why they did that. Isn't that something. Here is a secret. When my color first started to fade, I would color my hair to cover the greying, right? And one time? I used this cheap dye because daughter (who was the one who told me I should color it in the first place), said that would be okay. And it turned this whole clump of my hair the strangest shade that was almost pink! It was so funny and so embarrassing but I just left it. I never did dye my hair again. Last time daughter was here? She had artificial hair braids. She said I should do that, too. So far? I have been able to resist. Oh, that daughter! So, that's my hair dye story. I love this. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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