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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 658155" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>I was given the title of prettier and smarter one. Because I looked like my Mother. In another, healthier family, there could of been two pretty girls.</p><p></p><p>To solve the problem I renounced pretty. Looked sloppy, covering my face with my hair. Self-conscious. I could not see myself, be myself compensate for the inequity for which I held myself responsibility. Whatever pretty there was about me, had been responsible for so much hurt and badness. I didn't want to own it. Not any of it.</p><p></p><p>I do not know why this is coming to mind but there are men who choose to emasculate themselves. They do so to rid themselves of their weapon, of their desire...with which they want to be rid, and hold culpable for exactly what that to, I cannot now remember or never did.</p><p></p><p>Female beauty has been through the ages, held as something alluring, powerful, corrupting, even evil. Where I am going with this...I am now not certain.</p><p></p><p>My sister has wanted to own beauty, of all the attributes that she was not bestowed by others, she wanted this. And she is claiming it more and more as she ages. Voluptuous, she dresses to enhance this. Youth, stridently she claims. One hundred pounds more than my mother she wants that power of beauty that my mother wielded for herself.</p><p></p><p>Where I fit into this, probably matters. A lot. As to why I have so aggressively negated my beauty. Maybe if I feel smarter a little bit down the road I will be able to remember why.</p><p></p><p> Of course they do. Because we embody pieces of themselves. Our pieces of ourselves they have introjected. Claimed. Taken over. Whole body parts and pieces, they have wanted to rob. And take for themselves. They remain tethered us until we are completely consumed and eliminated. The digestive pun there not overlooked.</p><p></p><p>Cedar, you are whole now. Any missing piece that has been robbed you have restored. Regrown. The powerlessness and the incompleteness is itself a memory that no longer exists.</p><p></p><p>She can no longer hurt you your sister, as long as you remember that the little girl stands beside you, with you. Your arm over her shoulder. But you are now not her.</p><p></p><p>Your sister is a complete sham. She is huff and puff. She barely exists except for an outline. Why is it that I am not thinking of the Three Little Pigs? </p><p></p><p>There is a story I want to tell you. We adopted an abused Boxer dog 5 years ago. 10 months old, I called her Dolly the term of endearment my Grandmother used for me. Not allowed to adopt her...because she was too damaged, sick and abused, I persisted and I prevailed.</p><p></p><p>Skin and bone and mange and broken was all she was. Except her eyes...and tail....What was left was love.</p><p></p><p>I taught her to bark. She had lost her voice. She shivered and shook at noise. Wanting only to be with us, near us.</p><p></p><p>Little by little, she changed. She became robust. Still afraid of noises, to be out on the leash (she had been afraid of people, of noises) she changed.</p><p></p><p>Over the years. This was slow going. But she changed.</p><p></p><p>15 months ago she got the type of skin cancer that dogs get. We operated twice and the cancer kept coming back...there were growths. More growths in different places.</p><p></p><p>There was a medicine, the doctor told us. New. OK. I will not say how much it cost. M still makes fun of me in front of his family for paying it. I get mad.</p><p></p><p>As part of her treatment I brought home another dog. Romy a Yorkie, himself just 10 mos.</p><p></p><p>Because Romy has a bathroom problem they spend the bulk of the time in the yard.</p><p></p><p>The upshot and reason for indulging me with this story is that Dolly changed.</p><p></p><p>Her instincts as a dog were triggered. Her strength and duty, bred for centuries. Tapped.</p><p></p><p>Her dogness triumphed I(with Romy's help) over all of the abuse and neglect that she had experienced. She needed Romy to support her and to help her in this, to reconnect with who she had been meant to be, who she was at heart still was, and is. She came to have no memory of it. None what so ever. She was whole. Completely whole.</p><p></p><p>Every day for her now is Joy. And Duty. While she wants to be near to us in the house, she is ambivalent. After all she has duties. A job. To do.</p><p></p><p>What I asked M are those? Bow Wow at the fence? </p><p></p><p>To her, he said, she is protecting us and her house. Is that not as important as anything else, we do or do not do?</p><p></p><p>We are all like Dolly. Please do not see this as disrespect. We love Dolly.</p><p></p><p>We can reclaimed ourselves. Fully. In full. It happens.</p><p></p><p>Dolly even got over her fear of the crate. After all, she had been caged and beaten. We had needed to crate Romy as he slept. He has a bathroom problem still. We could not crate but one dog.</p><p></p><p>Our solution, we took off the door. She was free to enter and leave at her will. And she chose it, with those terms. Dolly loves her crate. So does Romy. Go figure?</p><p></p><p>So, now that I see there are quotes remaining that need explaining, I remember why my Dolly story applies. This was Dolly, before:</p><p></p><p>And here, too:</p><p></p><p>And now, the growth, the change. Dolly is our sister.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Thank you, Cedar.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 658155, member: 18958"] I was given the title of prettier and smarter one. Because I looked like my Mother. In another, healthier family, there could of been two pretty girls. To solve the problem I renounced pretty. Looked sloppy, covering my face with my hair. Self-conscious. I could not see myself, be myself compensate for the inequity for which I held myself responsibility. Whatever pretty there was about me, had been responsible for so much hurt and badness. I didn't want to own it. Not any of it. I do not know why this is coming to mind but there are men who choose to emasculate themselves. They do so to rid themselves of their weapon, of their desire...with which they want to be rid, and hold culpable for exactly what that to, I cannot now remember or never did. Female beauty has been through the ages, held as something alluring, powerful, corrupting, even evil. Where I am going with this...I am now not certain. My sister has wanted to own beauty, of all the attributes that she was not bestowed by others, she wanted this. And she is claiming it more and more as she ages. Voluptuous, she dresses to enhance this. Youth, stridently she claims. One hundred pounds more than my mother she wants that power of beauty that my mother wielded for herself. Where I fit into this, probably matters. A lot. As to why I have so aggressively negated my beauty. Maybe if I feel smarter a little bit down the road I will be able to remember why. Of course they do. Because we embody pieces of themselves. Our pieces of ourselves they have introjected. Claimed. Taken over. Whole body parts and pieces, they have wanted to rob. And take for themselves. They remain tethered us until we are completely consumed and eliminated. The digestive pun there not overlooked. Cedar, you are whole now. Any missing piece that has been robbed you have restored. Regrown. The powerlessness and the incompleteness is itself a memory that no longer exists. She can no longer hurt you your sister, as long as you remember that the little girl stands beside you, with you. Your arm over her shoulder. But you are now not her. Your sister is a complete sham. She is huff and puff. She barely exists except for an outline. Why is it that I am not thinking of the Three Little Pigs? There is a story I want to tell you. We adopted an abused Boxer dog 5 years ago. 10 months old, I called her Dolly the term of endearment my Grandmother used for me. Not allowed to adopt her...because she was too damaged, sick and abused, I persisted and I prevailed. Skin and bone and mange and broken was all she was. Except her eyes...and tail....What was left was love. I taught her to bark. She had lost her voice. She shivered and shook at noise. Wanting only to be with us, near us. Little by little, she changed. She became robust. Still afraid of noises, to be out on the leash (she had been afraid of people, of noises) she changed. Over the years. This was slow going. But she changed. 15 months ago she got the type of skin cancer that dogs get. We operated twice and the cancer kept coming back...there were growths. More growths in different places. There was a medicine, the doctor told us. New. OK. I will not say how much it cost. M still makes fun of me in front of his family for paying it. I get mad. As part of her treatment I brought home another dog. Romy a Yorkie, himself just 10 mos. Because Romy has a bathroom problem they spend the bulk of the time in the yard. The upshot and reason for indulging me with this story is that Dolly changed. Her instincts as a dog were triggered. Her strength and duty, bred for centuries. Tapped. Her dogness triumphed I(with Romy's help) over all of the abuse and neglect that she had experienced. She needed Romy to support her and to help her in this, to reconnect with who she had been meant to be, who she was at heart still was, and is. She came to have no memory of it. None what so ever. She was whole. Completely whole. Every day for her now is Joy. And Duty. While she wants to be near to us in the house, she is ambivalent. After all she has duties. A job. To do. What I asked M are those? Bow Wow at the fence? To her, he said, she is protecting us and her house. Is that not as important as anything else, we do or do not do? We are all like Dolly. Please do not see this as disrespect. We love Dolly. We can reclaimed ourselves. Fully. In full. It happens. Dolly even got over her fear of the crate. After all, she had been caged and beaten. We had needed to crate Romy as he slept. He has a bathroom problem still. We could not crate but one dog. Our solution, we took off the door. She was free to enter and leave at her will. And she chose it, with those terms. Dolly loves her crate. So does Romy. Go figure? So, now that I see there are quotes remaining that need explaining, I remember why my Dolly story applies. This was Dolly, before: And here, too: And now, the growth, the change. Dolly is our sister. Thank you, Cedar. [/QUOTE]
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Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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