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Family of Origin
In a totally new place and need perspective? Cedar? Anyone?
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 665396" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>I knew from the beginning that my son's love and my love for him were the antidote to my past. He had redeemed me. When our relationship fell apart, after a point, I did too. I know it was a narcissistic wound: The person he reflected back to me was a failed person. It was as if all of the nurturing balm of loving him had afforded me had turned into an acid bath.</p><p>Because in our love with our children we had peeled back that part against we defended. And then when their love for us seemed to sour it felt like we had curdled too. A reconfirmation of the dreadful past.</p><p>My experience was different. I do not remember my mother as making me wrong. Nor do I remember that she hate me. </p><p></p><p>My mother was mad and hateful. She was caustic and sarcastic. She was shaming and explosive. I felt it was me.</p><p>My failure.</p><p>That was the assumption. And in order to make sense of our worlds, we built an identity upon it.</p><p>Here again, my experience feels different. I did not have support for anything I wanted to be. Just for what she needed me to be.</p><p>I think I see this as part of our life force is in that bottle. There is an antidote. Loving attention and care.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 665396, member: 18958"] I knew from the beginning that my son's love and my love for him were the antidote to my past. He had redeemed me. When our relationship fell apart, after a point, I did too. I know it was a narcissistic wound: The person he reflected back to me was a failed person. It was as if all of the nurturing balm of loving him had afforded me had turned into an acid bath. Because in our love with our children we had peeled back that part against we defended. And then when their love for us seemed to sour it felt like we had curdled too. A reconfirmation of the dreadful past. My experience was different. I do not remember my mother as making me wrong. Nor do I remember that she hate me. My mother was mad and hateful. She was caustic and sarcastic. She was shaming and explosive. I felt it was me. My failure. That was the assumption. And in order to make sense of our worlds, we built an identity upon it. Here again, my experience feels different. I did not have support for anything I wanted to be. Just for what she needed me to be. I think I see this as part of our life force is in that bottle. There is an antidote. Loving attention and care. [/QUOTE]
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In a totally new place and need perspective? Cedar? Anyone?
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