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If there is someone that would be my friend...I would be grateful.
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 654401" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I am so glad. We found that, too. But because we had enabled for so long, the relationship with our children grew into a twisted thing. There was love there, but it was encrusted with resentment, hard as stone. When you get down to it, the kids' resentment had to do with who they had become, rewarded for begging and hatred and disrespect instead of for standing up to the consequences of their choices and moving through them. </p><p></p><p>Those were such desperate times, for all of us.</p><p></p><p>And I think it might be true too that though we resented the money, time, effort, and horrible pain of it, we took a martyr's (again twisted) perpetual victim kind of pleasure in those roles of savior.</p><p></p><p>Twisted, encrusted with resentment, hard as stone.</p><p></p><p>It was such a sad and lonely time, so painful. But nothing like what was coming.</p><p></p><p>Ew.</p><p></p><p>But see how beautifully we are all coming through it because we were able to see a way out, to find a little emotional wiggle room and a breath of fresh air.</p><p></p><p>I wonder whether this is true, or whether this is just how I am putting this away. I still feel physically sick when I remember what it was like, going through it.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>Maybe it is true that, as long as we were there in the background functioning as a safety net no matter how bad it got, the kids' felt they would not be hurt even if they did fall. But that is a very different thing to believe about yourself than believing you are taking your own risks and plotting your own path and that you are strong and wise enough to survive it on your own.</p><p></p><p>The difference there would be fear; maybe, a twisted version of locus of control, too.</p><p></p><p>The absolute lack of judgment, the absolute refusal to judge ~ that is part of this healing, too.</p><p></p><p>I wish, for their sakes and my own, that I'd let them take their consequences the first time. Well, I did do that, at first, when I was stronger. It seemed that as the paths the kids took got more twisted, I lost my strength, somewhere.</p><p></p><p>I have been a long time coming back.</p><p></p><p>But at least I am in that emotional head space, now.</p><p></p><p>Someone well on her way to healing posted once that the pain was like the painting "The Scream". She knew it was there in her heart. But it was not the only thing, there in her heart. It was a simply true thing, something horrifying, and nothing more. I think she described it as a part of her life, but not the defining factor. I have never forgotten that. As I approach a place of balance with all that has happened, I feel myself developing that ability to see it, to see and know fully what happened and how it happened, and to let that be just what it is. I am letting go of a kind of all-encompassing guilt, and of the fear, that fear of inadequacy, that attends it. I know what I did. I am addressing it, now that I know. </p><p></p><p>I had an abusive childhood too, and intended to be the mother I wish I'd had. Turns out it is the reason behind things that matters more than the action taken, sometimes. There are no purer, more strengthening phrases perhaps, than "I believe in you, You got this, I know you can do this. I love you, and I want to know what happens. I know you can do this."</p><p></p><p>Maybe I am going to add: "Tell me what you learned."</p><p></p><p>I am learning how to be quiet, how not to know a darn thing. Because, as it turns out, I don't know.</p><p></p><p>Letting go of that need to know is amazingly freeing.</p><p></p><p>Maybe that is what happened to us, to our family, I mean. It seems like that is what happened. Once we could get a toehold on this whole detachment thing, things started getting better for us right away, too. </p><p></p><p>It was an emotionally healthier place to be, and our hearts and those inside places where we had been so sad began to heal just that quickly. </p><p></p><p>It was still a hard thing, because I had a thousand reasons why I should help. It turned out that there were real reasons to help ~ real discomforts that we smoothed over for the kids...but it was also true that every time the kids turned to me instead of themselves, and every time I said yes instead of "I believe in you", I was weakening them.</p><p></p><p>I think that is true. It is easier for me to say "no" now, but it is still a very, very hard thing to not help. It is hard because I need to face my mother down, and I need to face down that terrible fear that I am becoming her when I take an action that seems cruel or manipulative. This mindset makes it hard for me to set and keep standards. When someone needs just about anything, I want to help. I do not want someone to be alone or afraid or ashamed. Again, "You can do this." is beginning to seem like the best response possible for anything that comes up in life.</p><p></p><p>It is good advice for ourselves, too.</p><p></p><p>So for me, a big part of healing what was happening to my family was doing the hard work of confronting not just what happened to me, but determinedly barreling through the levels of emotional recovery to a place of integrity.</p><p></p><p>It is what it is.</p><p></p><p>That is integrity.</p><p></p><p>No excuses, and no need of them.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 654401, member: 17461"] I am so glad. We found that, too. But because we had enabled for so long, the relationship with our children grew into a twisted thing. There was love there, but it was encrusted with resentment, hard as stone. When you get down to it, the kids' resentment had to do with who they had become, rewarded for begging and hatred and disrespect instead of for standing up to the consequences of their choices and moving through them. Those were such desperate times, for all of us. And I think it might be true too that though we resented the money, time, effort, and horrible pain of it, we took a martyr's (again twisted) perpetual victim kind of pleasure in those roles of savior. Twisted, encrusted with resentment, hard as stone. It was such a sad and lonely time, so painful. But nothing like what was coming. Ew. But see how beautifully we are all coming through it because we were able to see a way out, to find a little emotional wiggle room and a breath of fresh air. I wonder whether this is true, or whether this is just how I am putting this away. I still feel physically sick when I remember what it was like, going through it. * Maybe it is true that, as long as we were there in the background functioning as a safety net no matter how bad it got, the kids' felt they would not be hurt even if they did fall. But that is a very different thing to believe about yourself than believing you are taking your own risks and plotting your own path and that you are strong and wise enough to survive it on your own. The difference there would be fear; maybe, a twisted version of locus of control, too. The absolute lack of judgment, the absolute refusal to judge ~ that is part of this healing, too. I wish, for their sakes and my own, that I'd let them take their consequences the first time. Well, I did do that, at first, when I was stronger. It seemed that as the paths the kids took got more twisted, I lost my strength, somewhere. I have been a long time coming back. But at least I am in that emotional head space, now. Someone well on her way to healing posted once that the pain was like the painting "The Scream". She knew it was there in her heart. But it was not the only thing, there in her heart. It was a simply true thing, something horrifying, and nothing more. I think she described it as a part of her life, but not the defining factor. I have never forgotten that. As I approach a place of balance with all that has happened, I feel myself developing that ability to see it, to see and know fully what happened and how it happened, and to let that be just what it is. I am letting go of a kind of all-encompassing guilt, and of the fear, that fear of inadequacy, that attends it. I know what I did. I am addressing it, now that I know. I had an abusive childhood too, and intended to be the mother I wish I'd had. Turns out it is the reason behind things that matters more than the action taken, sometimes. There are no purer, more strengthening phrases perhaps, than "I believe in you, You got this, I know you can do this. I love you, and I want to know what happens. I know you can do this." Maybe I am going to add: "Tell me what you learned." I am learning how to be quiet, how not to know a darn thing. Because, as it turns out, I don't know. Letting go of that need to know is amazingly freeing. Maybe that is what happened to us, to our family, I mean. It seems like that is what happened. Once we could get a toehold on this whole detachment thing, things started getting better for us right away, too. It was an emotionally healthier place to be, and our hearts and those inside places where we had been so sad began to heal just that quickly. It was still a hard thing, because I had a thousand reasons why I should help. It turned out that there were real reasons to help ~ real discomforts that we smoothed over for the kids...but it was also true that every time the kids turned to me instead of themselves, and every time I said yes instead of "I believe in you", I was weakening them. I think that is true. It is easier for me to say "no" now, but it is still a very, very hard thing to not help. It is hard because I need to face my mother down, and I need to face down that terrible fear that I am becoming her when I take an action that seems cruel or manipulative. This mindset makes it hard for me to set and keep standards. When someone needs just about anything, I want to help. I do not want someone to be alone or afraid or ashamed. Again, "You can do this." is beginning to seem like the best response possible for anything that comes up in life. It is good advice for ourselves, too. So for me, a big part of healing what was happening to my family was doing the hard work of confronting not just what happened to me, but determinedly barreling through the levels of emotional recovery to a place of integrity. It is what it is. That is integrity. No excuses, and no need of them. :O) Cedar [/QUOTE]
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