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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 652942" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>It's so hard to see ourselves or our sibs through anything but the filters erected by our abusers. When I become conscious of the cost, of the theft, in what was done to all of us for the sake of the abuser's grandiosity, I hardly know what to think.</p><p></p><p>So I don't think anything.</p><p></p><p>I devote those energies to trying to see it for what it was, and to putting it behind me.</p><p></p><p>An ugly story, but mine, all mine.</p><p></p><p>and in doing that, I see that I am here, that I am present enough, to make that declaration.</p><p></p><p>Good for me.</p><p></p><p>And maybe, if we are very lucky, good for us all.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Like a witch's magic spell, it begins to fall apart without constant infusions of the hatred that made it real in the first place.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Horrifying, isn't it.</p><p></p><p>When you really begin to see it, I mean.</p><p></p><p>Here again, as we have had to do with our difficult child children, we can only understand that, whether we see it or not, there is a purpose, here.</p><p></p><p>And we are very strong.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I am glad you both are able to see what was true.</p><p></p><p>That is an incredible gift.</p><p></p><p>My father passed first. These kinds of understandings, the relationship you are forging with your father now, that will not happen, for me.</p><p></p><p>How amazing that it is happening for you, and for your father, too.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>You do.</p><p></p><p>I do, too.</p><p></p><p>Here is a strange true thing: After my father's death, my mother spent the time I had given her, the time I took away from being present while our house was built ~ a thing we should have been able to celebrate unencumbered, but which paled in significance, compared to what my mother was doing ~ anyway, <em>my mother spent that time I gave her lying to me about my father and about his mother. Night after night, she said the most venomous things about my father, and about my grandmother.</em></p><p></p><p>I listened, believing that once the venom had been emptied, she would be able to gain perspective and forgive.</p><p></p><p>That was never to happen.</p><p></p><p>My mother continues to hate to this day.</p><p></p><p>It has been something like six years since my father died.</p><p></p><p>My grandmother has been dead for thirty.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 652942, member: 17461"] It's so hard to see ourselves or our sibs through anything but the filters erected by our abusers. When I become conscious of the cost, of the theft, in what was done to all of us for the sake of the abuser's grandiosity, I hardly know what to think. So I don't think anything. I devote those energies to trying to see it for what it was, and to putting it behind me. An ugly story, but mine, all mine. and in doing that, I see that I am here, that I am present enough, to make that declaration. Good for me. And maybe, if we are very lucky, good for us all. Like a witch's magic spell, it begins to fall apart without constant infusions of the hatred that made it real in the first place. Horrifying, isn't it. When you really begin to see it, I mean. Here again, as we have had to do with our difficult child children, we can only understand that, whether we see it or not, there is a purpose, here. And we are very strong. I am glad you both are able to see what was true. That is an incredible gift. My father passed first. These kinds of understandings, the relationship you are forging with your father now, that will not happen, for me. How amazing that it is happening for you, and for your father, too. You do. I do, too. Here is a strange true thing: After my father's death, my mother spent the time I had given her, the time I took away from being present while our house was built ~ a thing we should have been able to celebrate unencumbered, but which paled in significance, compared to what my mother was doing ~ anyway, [I]my mother spent that time I gave her lying to me about my father and about his mother. Night after night, she said the most venomous things about my father, and about my grandmother.[/I] I listened, believing that once the venom had been emptied, she would be able to gain perspective and forgive. That was never to happen. My mother continues to hate to this day. It has been something like six years since my father died. My grandmother has been dead for thirty. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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