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Relationship Patterns / Dysfunctional FOO Issues
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<blockquote data-quote="New Leaf" data-source="post: 671237" data-attributes="member: 19522"><p>Suppressed rage, survival, persona.</p><p>We could not envision ourselves and our endless possibilities as little children, because we were thrust in a role. To step out of the role was dangerous, this we knew.</p><p>Perhaps we tested a bit, and the results proved our instincts to be true.</p><p>Thats when the swallowing begins.</p><p>When we swallow our feelings and stuff them down, we develop a shield for ourselves and protect our inner child. Persona.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Goodness is the key. Were we able to see our goodness? I never felt, good enough.</p><p> Though we had to stuff our feelings, reactions and responses to what happened to us,(each of us with our different experiences) the rage was still there. The anger of a small child knowing that what was happening was wrong, with no control in the situation to stop it. The completely absurd notion that we could not be ourselves. The having to act the role, develop the persona, for survival.</p><p></p><p> I have a real, clear memory of myself at two. How could I remember that?</p><p>I had an operation. I was very scared. My Mom did not stay with me. Nobody did. I can remember looking out the hospital window, swallowing my tears, in the background, Mom is saying "You will be alright, no crying, be a good, strong girl."</p><p>She handed me my toothbrush "Remember to brush your teeth." My Nana had come and gave me a teddy bear. I remember very vividly, sitting in the metal barred hospital crib, holding my teddy bear and my toothbrush, watching my Mom and Nana walk out of the room."</p><p></p><p>As I see it now, I am outside of myself, looking at this little two year old, sitting there in hospital gown, in the crib, clinging to that toothbrush and teddy bear, trying her best not to cry, at TWO YEARS OLD!</p><p>OMG, who does that? Could my Mom, or somebody, not have stayed with me? Was that hospital rules back then?</p><p>I do not remember the pain and recovery from the operation.</p><p>That is the only memory I have.</p><p>That I was left, to fend for myself, with strangers, my only solace a toothbrush and a little panda bear.</p><p></p><p>As I review the memory with adult eyes, <em>as my inner child</em>, the crib, the bars, it looks as if I am in prison.</p><p>I am trying to be brave and not cry, I feel the lump in my throat, I want to yell for my Mom, my Nana.</p><p>"Why are you leaving me here? I am scared, I do not know these people, Why are you leaving me?"</p><p></p><p>In my adult mind, I am like, really?</p><p>Two years old, in a strange place, alone</p><p>with a f <img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/2012/censored2.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":censored2:" title="censored2 :censored2:" data-shortname=":censored2:" />ing toothbrush and a stuffed bear.</p><p></p><p>Good Gawd.</p><p></p><p>Huh.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Yes, we were supposed to stay even keeled. There is something about even keeled. But, I think that is achieved truly, after the hard work of removing all of the layers we developed while putting on the persona.</p><p> My Dad stayed, but in a sense, he did not. He suffered the loss of his Mom to cancer when he was a young boy. I believe he was not allowed, or able to fully address his feelings.When I was five, his little sister was in a head on collision and died. I remember all of the confusion and the muffled conversations behind my parents bedroom door. I do not think we went to my aunties funeral. Children didn't go to funerals is what my Mom said. I remember a change in my Dad. A kind of sadness, then, not. It was as if a wall went up. He walled up his heart. He was there, but he was not. My Dad was a wonderful man, hard worker, he read us bedtime stories, took us to museums and places of history, taught us the importance of education. But there was something...missing.</p><p></p><p> My Dad left. He was there, but part of him, left. He was protecting himself, I think. I think he was deeply sensitive, so much so, that after these two significant losses, he decided that he shouldn't allow himself to love so completely. As he went through his series of illness, the end years, he became even more and more shut down, to me at least. I would come to visit, it was as if I wasn't there. I would quietly sit in his presence and inwardly become that little girl again, that overly sensitive child that was never enough.</p><p>I tried my friends, to have conversation, to no avail.</p><p>I would tearfully share my despair at this with my sister. She said "You must open the book, you must tell Dad what you are feeling." She drove me back up to do so. It did not work. My Dad, could not respond as I imagined to my overwhelming sorrow and fear that I would not see him again.</p><p>I felt the wall, and the wall would not budge.</p><p>I had to satisfy myself with his presence, but he was not really there...... for me.</p><p></p><p>G-d forgive me, I think this is the crux at why I did not go to his death bed.</p><p>I could not bear to go one last time, and see the nothing I was, through his eyes.</p><p>Feel that emptiness.</p><p>I am crying as I write this.</p><p>This is very hard.</p><p>Because I know now, I was not nothing,</p><p>I was <em>everything</em>, everything he feared the most,</p><p>I was his feelings, and he could not wall me up.</p><p></p><p>So, I was shut out.</p><p>Not completely, not in a mean sense,</p><p>but still, shut out.</p><p></p><p> Constancy, even for ourselves Copa.</p><p>The shopping. I will be this, or that, represented in purchases.</p><p>As if material things can satisfy our need to define us.</p><p>They cannot.</p><p>Because we are much more, so much more.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Special indeed. In anonymity, we do not have to fear what we write. There is an honesty to it.</p><p></p><p> Yes,the awakening.....</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Embracing the inner child. We can love our inner child, understand her, relive the stories of our memories and begin to understand why we are who we are.</p><p>This is very intense difficult work.</p><p>We are virtually throwing up all of those swallowed emotions.</p><p>Okay that is gross, but that is the image that comes to mind.</p><p>I will restate that.</p><p>We are unraveling our tapestries. Not that one either.</p><p>I need to work on this imagery.</p><p>I think it will become a poem, or a painting.</p><p></p><p>We are remembering our past experiences, through our own adult eyes, and we are embracing our inner child. We are understanding why this and this and that happened. How it became a role, why we were patterning. How to change and redefine ourselves through our own understanding. How to open up to the incredible, beautiful butterflies that we always were, but could not fully be. We can forgive ourselves for all of the silly things we did, and we can also forgive those who transgressed against us.</p><p></p><p>If we do not forgive and hold on to the rage, we are shortchanging ourselves.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Yes Copa, what a beautiful thing. I am truly grateful for my unseen (physically but you are so seen through your writings) sister warriors. You cannot begin to imagine the comfort I feel.</p><p></p><p>This self examining is better than college. It is better, because knowing and understanding yourself opens up the world.</p><p></p><p>As I you, Copa, Feeling, Cedar. When I first came to land here, and read your responses, I marveled at your intelligence and wit, and insight. I was astonished at the depth of your conversations, the close bond, the love.</p><p>I am deeply indebted to you all for opening up this world to me.</p><p>Mahalo ā nui, many many heartfelt thanks.</p><p>Leafy</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="New Leaf, post: 671237, member: 19522"] Suppressed rage, survival, persona. We could not envision ourselves and our endless possibilities as little children, because we were thrust in a role. To step out of the role was dangerous, this we knew. Perhaps we tested a bit, and the results proved our instincts to be true. Thats when the swallowing begins. When we swallow our feelings and stuff them down, we develop a shield for ourselves and protect our inner child. Persona. Goodness is the key. Were we able to see our goodness? I never felt, good enough. Though we had to stuff our feelings, reactions and responses to what happened to us,(each of us with our different experiences) the rage was still there. The anger of a small child knowing that what was happening was wrong, with no control in the situation to stop it. The completely absurd notion that we could not be ourselves. The having to act the role, develop the persona, for survival. I have a real, clear memory of myself at two. How could I remember that? I had an operation. I was very scared. My Mom did not stay with me. Nobody did. I can remember looking out the hospital window, swallowing my tears, in the background, Mom is saying "You will be alright, no crying, be a good, strong girl." She handed me my toothbrush "Remember to brush your teeth." My Nana had come and gave me a teddy bear. I remember very vividly, sitting in the metal barred hospital crib, holding my teddy bear and my toothbrush, watching my Mom and Nana walk out of the room." As I see it now, I am outside of myself, looking at this little two year old, sitting there in hospital gown, in the crib, clinging to that toothbrush and teddy bear, trying her best not to cry, at TWO YEARS OLD! OMG, who does that? Could my Mom, or somebody, not have stayed with me? Was that hospital rules back then? I do not remember the pain and recovery from the operation. That is the only memory I have. That I was left, to fend for myself, with strangers, my only solace a toothbrush and a little panda bear. As I review the memory with adult eyes, [I]as my inner child[/I], the crib, the bars, it looks as if I am in prison. I am trying to be brave and not cry, I feel the lump in my throat, I want to yell for my Mom, my Nana. "Why are you leaving me here? I am scared, I do not know these people, Why are you leaving me?" In my adult mind, I am like, really? Two years old, in a strange place, alone with a f :censored2:ing toothbrush and a stuffed bear. Good Gawd. Huh. Yes, we were supposed to stay even keeled. There is something about even keeled. But, I think that is achieved truly, after the hard work of removing all of the layers we developed while putting on the persona. My Dad stayed, but in a sense, he did not. He suffered the loss of his Mom to cancer when he was a young boy. I believe he was not allowed, or able to fully address his feelings.When I was five, his little sister was in a head on collision and died. I remember all of the confusion and the muffled conversations behind my parents bedroom door. I do not think we went to my aunties funeral. Children didn't go to funerals is what my Mom said. I remember a change in my Dad. A kind of sadness, then, not. It was as if a wall went up. He walled up his heart. He was there, but he was not. My Dad was a wonderful man, hard worker, he read us bedtime stories, took us to museums and places of history, taught us the importance of education. But there was something...missing. My Dad left. He was there, but part of him, left. He was protecting himself, I think. I think he was deeply sensitive, so much so, that after these two significant losses, he decided that he shouldn't allow himself to love so completely. As he went through his series of illness, the end years, he became even more and more shut down, to me at least. I would come to visit, it was as if I wasn't there. I would quietly sit in his presence and inwardly become that little girl again, that overly sensitive child that was never enough. I tried my friends, to have conversation, to no avail. I would tearfully share my despair at this with my sister. She said "You must open the book, you must tell Dad what you are feeling." She drove me back up to do so. It did not work. My Dad, could not respond as I imagined to my overwhelming sorrow and fear that I would not see him again. I felt the wall, and the wall would not budge. I had to satisfy myself with his presence, but he was not really there...... for me. G-d forgive me, I think this is the crux at why I did not go to his death bed. I could not bear to go one last time, and see the nothing I was, through his eyes. Feel that emptiness. I am crying as I write this. This is very hard. Because I know now, I was not nothing, I was [I]everything[/I], everything he feared the most, I was his feelings, and he could not wall me up. So, I was shut out. Not completely, not in a mean sense, but still, shut out. Constancy, even for ourselves Copa. The shopping. I will be this, or that, represented in purchases. As if material things can satisfy our need to define us. They cannot. Because we are much more, so much more. Special indeed. In anonymity, we do not have to fear what we write. There is an honesty to it. Yes,the awakening..... Embracing the inner child. We can love our inner child, understand her, relive the stories of our memories and begin to understand why we are who we are. This is very intense difficult work. We are virtually throwing up all of those swallowed emotions. Okay that is gross, but that is the image that comes to mind. I will restate that. We are unraveling our tapestries. Not that one either. I need to work on this imagery. I think it will become a poem, or a painting. We are remembering our past experiences, through our own adult eyes, and we are embracing our inner child. We are understanding why this and this and that happened. How it became a role, why we were patterning. How to change and redefine ourselves through our own understanding. How to open up to the incredible, beautiful butterflies that we always were, but could not fully be. We can forgive ourselves for all of the silly things we did, and we can also forgive those who transgressed against us. If we do not forgive and hold on to the rage, we are shortchanging ourselves. Yes Copa, what a beautiful thing. I am truly grateful for my unseen (physically but you are so seen through your writings) sister warriors. You cannot begin to imagine the comfort I feel. This self examining is better than college. It is better, because knowing and understanding yourself opens up the world. As I you, Copa, Feeling, Cedar. When I first came to land here, and read your responses, I marveled at your intelligence and wit, and insight. I was astonished at the depth of your conversations, the close bond, the love. I am deeply indebted to you all for opening up this world to me. Mahalo ā nui, many many heartfelt thanks. Leafy [/QUOTE]
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