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Holidays & Trauma, Holding Both
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 673667" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Excoriate is an excellent word for us, Leafy. I was thinking in the medical sense. I suppose it could work in the social sense, and would be called an adult version of abandonment, of shunning publicly and in place, replete with victim and victimizer and power-over and pointless cruelty. I think that for us, the physical version applies more, because our kids are ill or addicted or both. There is no one to blame or to call a bully, and we love them and ourselves and watch all of our lives play out and it is heartbreaking and we are helpless.</p><p></p><p>But I read this morning that Leonardo da Vinci was a total loser until, at 46, he painted the Last Supper. So, we will just sit tight then, because my kids are not yet 46. Miraculous, unpredictable things happen every minute of every day and night. </p><p></p><p>We need to not write the end of the story.</p><p></p><p>Because literally, we don't know how this story will end. </p><p></p><p>We will choose love, then; however we do that, which I don't exactly know how. But I do know there are hidden undercurrents that weaken us, so we are trying to make that visible and choose how to see and define those places and ourselves.</p><p></p><p>Add in the information on brain plasticity Leafy, and we are good.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>This has me thinking about the way my mom would poison us against our grandmother, Leafy.</p><p></p><p>It's almost like there really is some evil engine grinding away at the center of things, once empathy is destroyed.</p><p></p><p>That is so hurtful a thing. I am very sorry this happened in your family.</p><p></p><p>I love my grands too much. They are fascinating, with their complexities and their sweetness and anger and conclusions.</p><p></p><p>I miss them most when I am cooking holiday things alone.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>More unspoken, indefinable until we define it, rage and pain and loss. These are elements of our lives every holiday brings, as the neighbors' kids and grands come home and ours don't (or worse yet sometimes, do) and we make our celebration with what we have left. The question, for us, is whether to name the pain or ignore it; if we choose to ignore and function around it, will believing hard enough that it doesn't matter make it not matter? Or is it better to name and know and incorporate and stop responding to cues that are no longer unconscious?</p><p></p><p>Or, do we harbor memories of what we had, once, and let that sustain us in the face of what is? </p><p></p><p>I don't know.</p><p></p><p>Going North wrote in for us about addictions in a way that was helpful to me, Leafy ~ a way I could understand and name and refute some of the feelings.</p><p></p><p>Because the hardest part about everything that has happened to all of us, and to our families, is that we don't know what to do with the feelings once we get them named and separated into neat, acidic little piles.</p><p></p><p>So, we name the piles.</p><p></p><p>There is sanity in the naming.</p><p></p><p>Then, we can go on. We can choose to love ourselves and everyone else in place, where they are, which is actually helpful, to them and to us. We can see shunning for what it is and let go of the shame of abandonment.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I don't know, Leafy. I believe naming the feelings and taking a stand regarding how to respond to what is happening to all of us is the way to do it. I could be wrong; could be wasting my time in depressing circling over territory of the heart that is not going to change. I know there are some parents who believe living the moment is the thing. So, whatever we need to do to be in the moment, and to make that moment a pleasurable one, that is what they do. In essence, they shower themselves with the love they have in such abundance for their child or children, the theory being that love begets love. Manicures, lovely things to wear or eat or drink, opening to the beauty in the world and refusing to entertain the darkness.</p><p></p><p>I am not sure they are wrong.</p><p></p><p>That too is a balancing act. We listen to meditations, we read positive, uplifting things, we cherish and pamper and appreciate ourselves. We find support systems and understand that our children being where and as they are is nothing we can control.</p><p></p><p>We let go.</p><p></p><p>It may be the only way to come through this happily.</p><p></p><p>And I was able do that for a time.</p><p></p><p>Until I could not.</p><p></p><p>I sound like a drama queen this morning.</p><p></p><p>In my opera voice.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>What kind of pie, please?</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>Yum.</p><p></p><p>I love pie.</p><p><em></em></p><p><em>"As if we were a recently discovered universe...."</em></p><p></p><p>This is how I think I am thinking today. There were feelings like guilt, and shame, and terrible grief and frustration too, when we thought about our lives and our children and grands. As we acknowledge what was so skillfully covered and hidden and carried in silence, the fear of the hurt in it will drain away. Not the hurt, because it is what it is, but we can walk through that upright and have done so for years. But the fear of breaking in public, or the fear of being honest with ourselves about why or how we believed this could have happened to our children; the fear of questioning our motivations in our responses to them, and to ourselves when we awaken in the night. Those fears, those nasty, hurtful questions we discuss here, those emotional tar pits will have been addressed.</p><p></p><p>But even if they haven't, even if this effort to name and require real of ourselves doesn't work, then we will just do our best with what is left.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Like Jung, with his talisman in the attic, safely hidden away so he could function with bravery and courage. Or when, in the fulfillment of Jung's life, he made sense of all of it with his carvings in rock.</p><p></p><p>Like that.</p><p></p><p>This will be mine, and ours.</p><p></p><p>Motherlove. </p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="https://img1.etsystatic.com/102/0/8162103/il_340x270.839783757_bwkq.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Leafy:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Copa:</p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="http://cdn0.rubylane.com/shops/784332/RL-1303-00143.1L.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>Serenity:</p><p></p><p><img src="http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTYwMFgxNDk3/$%28KGrHqR,!hYFCb5JNBw%29BQzn0e8OYQ~~60_35.JPG" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>IC:</p><p></p><p><img src="https://static1.artfire.com/uploads/product/5/815/63815/5563815/5563815/large/fine_horse_red_agate_cameo_pendant_sterling_silver_jewelry_cc84df89.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>What we have found Leafy is that energy once repressed or coming out in splinters and shards is freed, somehow. Once we see it, we are clear there. Our internal realities become calmer, roomier.</p><p></p><p>So that is why we keep at this. </p><p></p><p>I have tried for a long time to be happy with what is, but there was that essential disconnect, a kind of frantic celebration I didn't get to attend feeling to my own life.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 673667, member: 17461"] Excoriate is an excellent word for us, Leafy. I was thinking in the medical sense. I suppose it could work in the social sense, and would be called an adult version of abandonment, of shunning publicly and in place, replete with victim and victimizer and power-over and pointless cruelty. I think that for us, the physical version applies more, because our kids are ill or addicted or both. There is no one to blame or to call a bully, and we love them and ourselves and watch all of our lives play out and it is heartbreaking and we are helpless. But I read this morning that Leonardo da Vinci was a total loser until, at 46, he painted the Last Supper. So, we will just sit tight then, because my kids are not yet 46. Miraculous, unpredictable things happen every minute of every day and night. We need to not write the end of the story. Because literally, we don't know how this story will end. We will choose love, then; however we do that, which I don't exactly know how. But I do know there are hidden undercurrents that weaken us, so we are trying to make that visible and choose how to see and define those places and ourselves. Add in the information on brain plasticity Leafy, and we are good. This has me thinking about the way my mom would poison us against our grandmother, Leafy. It's almost like there really is some evil engine grinding away at the center of things, once empathy is destroyed. That is so hurtful a thing. I am very sorry this happened in your family. I love my grands too much. They are fascinating, with their complexities and their sweetness and anger and conclusions. I miss them most when I am cooking holiday things alone. *** More unspoken, indefinable until we define it, rage and pain and loss. These are elements of our lives every holiday brings, as the neighbors' kids and grands come home and ours don't (or worse yet sometimes, do) and we make our celebration with what we have left. The question, for us, is whether to name the pain or ignore it; if we choose to ignore and function around it, will believing hard enough that it doesn't matter make it not matter? Or is it better to name and know and incorporate and stop responding to cues that are no longer unconscious? Or, do we harbor memories of what we had, once, and let that sustain us in the face of what is? I don't know. Going North wrote in for us about addictions in a way that was helpful to me, Leafy ~ a way I could understand and name and refute some of the feelings. Because the hardest part about everything that has happened to all of us, and to our families, is that we don't know what to do with the feelings once we get them named and separated into neat, acidic little piles. So, we name the piles. There is sanity in the naming. Then, we can go on. We can choose to love ourselves and everyone else in place, where they are, which is actually helpful, to them and to us. We can see shunning for what it is and let go of the shame of abandonment. I don't know, Leafy. I believe naming the feelings and taking a stand regarding how to respond to what is happening to all of us is the way to do it. I could be wrong; could be wasting my time in depressing circling over territory of the heart that is not going to change. I know there are some parents who believe living the moment is the thing. So, whatever we need to do to be in the moment, and to make that moment a pleasurable one, that is what they do. In essence, they shower themselves with the love they have in such abundance for their child or children, the theory being that love begets love. Manicures, lovely things to wear or eat or drink, opening to the beauty in the world and refusing to entertain the darkness. I am not sure they are wrong. That too is a balancing act. We listen to meditations, we read positive, uplifting things, we cherish and pamper and appreciate ourselves. We find support systems and understand that our children being where and as they are is nothing we can control. We let go. It may be the only way to come through this happily. And I was able do that for a time. Until I could not. I sound like a drama queen this morning. In my opera voice. :O) What kind of pie, please? :O) Yum. I love pie. [I] "As if we were a recently discovered universe...."[/I] This is how I think I am thinking today. There were feelings like guilt, and shame, and terrible grief and frustration too, when we thought about our lives and our children and grands. As we acknowledge what was so skillfully covered and hidden and carried in silence, the fear of the hurt in it will drain away. Not the hurt, because it is what it is, but we can walk through that upright and have done so for years. But the fear of breaking in public, or the fear of being honest with ourselves about why or how we believed this could have happened to our children; the fear of questioning our motivations in our responses to them, and to ourselves when we awaken in the night. Those fears, those nasty, hurtful questions we discuss here, those emotional tar pits will have been addressed. But even if they haven't, even if this effort to name and require real of ourselves doesn't work, then we will just do our best with what is left. Like Jung, with his talisman in the attic, safely hidden away so he could function with bravery and courage. Or when, in the fulfillment of Jung's life, he made sense of all of it with his carvings in rock. Like that. This will be mine, and ours. Motherlove. [IMG]https://img1.etsystatic.com/102/0/8162103/il_340x270.839783757_bwkq.jpg[/IMG] Leafy: Copa: [IMG]http://cdn0.rubylane.com/shops/784332/RL-1303-00143.1L.jpg[/IMG] Serenity: [IMG]http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/MTYwMFgxNDk3/$%28KGrHqR,!hYFCb5JNBw%29BQzn0e8OYQ~~60_35.JPG[/IMG] IC: [IMG]https://static1.artfire.com/uploads/product/5/815/63815/5563815/5563815/large/fine_horse_red_agate_cameo_pendant_sterling_silver_jewelry_cc84df89.jpg[/IMG] What we have found Leafy is that energy once repressed or coming out in splinters and shards is freed, somehow. Once we see it, we are clear there. Our internal realities become calmer, roomier. So that is why we keep at this. I have tried for a long time to be happy with what is, but there was that essential disconnect, a kind of frantic celebration I didn't get to attend feeling to my own life. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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