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In a totally new place and need perspective? Cedar? Anyone?
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 664890" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>It is, Serenity. But at the same time, what is really going on here, what is really going on with any predator, is so unbelievable that we reject the truth that is plain as day and wonder instead what is the matter with us that we are thinking this way.</p><p></p><p>I have posted that very thing so many times as we all have gone through this.</p><p></p><p>And that is the key too, Serenity. They seem to be such ordinary people. Not excessively intelligent. Transparent in their motives, even. So...just like it was with Security Boy therapists, we did know. </p><p></p><p>And we all know where that got us.</p><p></p><p>Could it be that, having survived so many betrayals, we seek them out, somehow? Something to do with Copa's post about replaying the various traumatic events until we have fully addressed them?</p><p></p><p>That would account for the willingness to engage.</p><p></p><p>Because you are right, Serenity. These are very much ordinary, and not extraordinary people, at all. Once we make it through the self-accusation, through the wondering what our part in it was ~ which we never do because it is traumatic to review another loss ~ then we see that they were nothing like we had believed them to be.</p><p></p><p>I am still into ferreting out the issue of self-betrayal in all this carrying on of abuse into our adulthoods. I suppose we must attack it on two levels: The initial trauma which created the internal labeling that leaves us vulnerable to twisted, freaky little people we should not even be having coffee with, and the parts of us that still believe, somehow, that the initial abuser had seen something in us that justified what they did.</p><p></p><p>We must name and name and name the abuser for the twisted, freaky little people, lonely and frightened and lying their pants off, to this day, when no one has to do that anymore, that they are.</p><p></p><p>Thank you.</p><p></p><p>roar </p><p></p><p>But we cannot discount our parts in this. We must seem very tempting indeed to these people.</p><p></p><p>Easy marks. Which fits their modus operandi very well.</p><p></p><p>So we have been remiss in not establishing our boundaries.</p><p></p><p>If someone is not worth having coffee with, they are not worth having coffee with.</p><p></p><p>Which makes me feel badly about myself, because of course we all have intrinsic value.</p><p></p><p>Immeasurable value, really. I know that as well and as surely as I know anything at all.</p><p></p><p>Circle, again.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>My daughter and grands always tell us about who they like. My son came to us to review it when he was involved with the woman who, once he stopped using, he was so disgusted with himself for having been intimate with.</p><p></p><p>That is a normal thing to do, to talk with a mother about these issues, Serenity.</p><p></p><p>Your mother was wrong to do as she did. As happens with me too, in my FOO, vulnerability brings out the long knives.</p><p></p><p>And I am thinking again about what you said about these people being nothing special, being ordinary joes who stumble into being able to hurt us. </p><p></p><p>I am sorry that happened to you. You should never have been treated that way.</p><p></p><p>None of us should be treated that way.</p><p></p><p>It is a comfort then, to know we have not gone on to do what was done to us.</p><p></p><p>But you know? I don't think we could have. I am thinking of the way I was brought up and of each time, from the age of about ten years, that I realized the wrongness in whatever the action was, recognized even then, that I did not want to be my mother, and chose a different response.</p><p></p><p>No. We are nothing like them.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>That is the fear, then. That is the heart of the trauma driving us to replay traumatic events, and I think we do it routinely. <em>Are we like our abusers?</em> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>But this is the same woman throwing her youngest daughter to the wind over Thanksgiving to chase a man. </p><p></p><p>A divorced woman herself.</p><p></p><p>This is what my mother told me she said to my father when he was going to divorce her: "I'll see to it that you never see your kids, again."</p><p></p><p>I was thirty six or so, at the time.</p><p></p><p>No one lived at home.</p><p></p><p>And I liked my dad better and always had.</p><p></p><p>Twisted, freaky little people, ordinary to everyone but the children they hurt into complicity in their nasty, grandiosity tainted lives.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That must be exactly what she did do then, Serenity.</p><p></p><p>My mother insists to this day that I have had an affair during the time of my marriage to D H. I have not.</p><p></p><p>But she did.</p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p>It had nothing to do with ex. She was twisting the knife. The one she put into your back the second you let it be known your D H was no longer there to protect you.</p><p></p><p>From her.</p><p></p><p>My mom would do that, too.</p><p></p><p>I don't like my mom very much.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Ha! How she must have hated those good, fine things you did. Think of how you have changed everything about your life, and about the lives of those children you loved and mothered and are a loyal mother to, to this day.</p><p></p><p>That is an F you mom, if I've ever spit one out.</p><p></p><p>And I have spit out a great many F you moms, on our threads.</p><p></p><p>You're welcome.</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>Maybe, we were here to witness and reflect back to them who they are choosing to be.</p><p></p><p><em>Once upon a time, in a faraway land where time and distance had lost all meaning, there were born to the peasantry a generation of female children whose task and whose talent it would be to unravel the tangled skeins of deceit, viciousness, and trickery that bound the hearts, the souls, and the bloodlines of those families into which each would be born.</em></p><p></p><p>This is the first paragraph of a story written so many years ago I don't even remember when I wrote it.</p><p></p><p>Like the poetry, it seems to be true. </p><p></p><p>The story says nothing about saving the families. It does tell of those for whom the breakage was not overcome.</p><p></p><p>Their purpose was still met; it was to teach the others of us compassion.</p><p></p><p>Or maybe, it was told to teach us to hold ourselves in compassion.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>As did my mother, when I told her I had spoken to the nurses caring for my father, and already knew, not only that he'd had the surgery, but that he'd survived it.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I know this is correct. But it is making my head spin, again. Surely I am seeing this incorrectly and blah and etc.</p><p></p><p>But I did know. And I took great satisfaction in having been able to say those words to my mother.</p><p></p><p>Even if she did have an explosion and hang up on me.</p><p></p><p>But I still feel pretty weakly around that whole issue. You protected your mom, Copa.</p><p></p><p>I wish I had done something courageous, too.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That makes sense.</p><p></p><p>I had already refused to re-engage with my mother on her terms, before my father's illness.</p><p></p><p>Revenge for that, then.</p><p></p><p>Isn't that an awful thing, what's happened to all of us.</p><p></p><p>It really is.</p><p></p><p>Just awful.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 664890, member: 17461"] It is, Serenity. But at the same time, what is really going on here, what is really going on with any predator, is so unbelievable that we reject the truth that is plain as day and wonder instead what is the matter with us that we are thinking this way. I have posted that very thing so many times as we all have gone through this. And that is the key too, Serenity. They seem to be such ordinary people. Not excessively intelligent. Transparent in their motives, even. So...just like it was with Security Boy therapists, we did know. And we all know where that got us. Could it be that, having survived so many betrayals, we seek them out, somehow? Something to do with Copa's post about replaying the various traumatic events until we have fully addressed them? That would account for the willingness to engage. Because you are right, Serenity. These are very much ordinary, and not extraordinary people, at all. Once we make it through the self-accusation, through the wondering what our part in it was ~ which we never do because it is traumatic to review another loss ~ then we see that they were nothing like we had believed them to be. I am still into ferreting out the issue of self-betrayal in all this carrying on of abuse into our adulthoods. I suppose we must attack it on two levels: The initial trauma which created the internal labeling that leaves us vulnerable to twisted, freaky little people we should not even be having coffee with, and the parts of us that still believe, somehow, that the initial abuser had seen something in us that justified what they did. We must name and name and name the abuser for the twisted, freaky little people, lonely and frightened and lying their pants off, to this day, when no one has to do that anymore, that they are. Thank you. roar But we cannot discount our parts in this. We must seem very tempting indeed to these people. Easy marks. Which fits their modus operandi very well. So we have been remiss in not establishing our boundaries. If someone is not worth having coffee with, they are not worth having coffee with. Which makes me feel badly about myself, because of course we all have intrinsic value. Immeasurable value, really. I know that as well and as surely as I know anything at all. Circle, again. My daughter and grands always tell us about who they like. My son came to us to review it when he was involved with the woman who, once he stopped using, he was so disgusted with himself for having been intimate with. That is a normal thing to do, to talk with a mother about these issues, Serenity. Your mother was wrong to do as she did. As happens with me too, in my FOO, vulnerability brings out the long knives. And I am thinking again about what you said about these people being nothing special, being ordinary joes who stumble into being able to hurt us. I am sorry that happened to you. You should never have been treated that way. None of us should be treated that way. It is a comfort then, to know we have not gone on to do what was done to us. But you know? I don't think we could have. I am thinking of the way I was brought up and of each time, from the age of about ten years, that I realized the wrongness in whatever the action was, recognized even then, that I did not want to be my mother, and chose a different response. No. We are nothing like them. :O) That is the fear, then. That is the heart of the trauma driving us to replay traumatic events, and I think we do it routinely. [I]Are we like our abusers?[/I] But this is the same woman throwing her youngest daughter to the wind over Thanksgiving to chase a man. A divorced woman herself. This is what my mother told me she said to my father when he was going to divorce her: "I'll see to it that you never see your kids, again." I was thirty six or so, at the time. No one lived at home. And I liked my dad better and always had. Twisted, freaky little people, ordinary to everyone but the children they hurt into complicity in their nasty, grandiosity tainted lives. That must be exactly what she did do then, Serenity. My mother insists to this day that I have had an affair during the time of my marriage to D H. I have not. But she did. It had nothing to do with ex. She was twisting the knife. The one she put into your back the second you let it be known your D H was no longer there to protect you. From her. My mom would do that, too. I don't like my mom very much. Ha! How she must have hated those good, fine things you did. Think of how you have changed everything about your life, and about the lives of those children you loved and mothered and are a loyal mother to, to this day. That is an F you mom, if I've ever spit one out. And I have spit out a great many F you moms, on our threads. You're welcome. :mcsmiley1: Maybe, we were here to witness and reflect back to them who they are choosing to be. [I]Once upon a time, in a faraway land where time and distance had lost all meaning, there were born to the peasantry a generation of female children whose task and whose talent it would be to unravel the tangled skeins of deceit, viciousness, and trickery that bound the hearts, the souls, and the bloodlines of those families into which each would be born.[/I] This is the first paragraph of a story written so many years ago I don't even remember when I wrote it. Like the poetry, it seems to be true. The story says nothing about saving the families. It does tell of those for whom the breakage was not overcome. Their purpose was still met; it was to teach the others of us compassion. Or maybe, it was told to teach us to hold ourselves in compassion. As did my mother, when I told her I had spoken to the nurses caring for my father, and already knew, not only that he'd had the surgery, but that he'd survived it. I know this is correct. But it is making my head spin, again. Surely I am seeing this incorrectly and blah and etc. But I did know. And I took great satisfaction in having been able to say those words to my mother. Even if she did have an explosion and hang up on me. But I still feel pretty weakly around that whole issue. You protected your mom, Copa. I wish I had done something courageous, too. That makes sense. I had already refused to re-engage with my mother on her terms, before my father's illness. Revenge for that, then. Isn't that an awful thing, what's happened to all of us. It really is. Just awful. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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