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Family of Origin
Surviving parent, whom I love, sad that his kids are estranged
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 676025" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I can remember talking to my sister about why she did the things she did. She said: "I know! But I can't help it."</p><p></p><p>So, we just left it at that.</p><p></p><p>But now I believe she was lying about that too.</p><p></p><p>Sometimes, I feel like I am being arrogant.</p><p></p><p>For now, that will be alright.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I think the children we were require that we hear them, Leafy. And their stories are ugly and hurtful. We have to be very brave, to claim what happened to us. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>And I wonder if this is a true observation: The sibs that refuse to validate reality abused us, too. They did not have the power to hurt us the way the mother did. But they destroyed us behind our backs, to our own people. Just like they are doing now, with the cousins and extended family.</p><p></p><p>Just like my mother destroyed the reputations of the lady driver and the priest. There was no benefit to her in doing so.</p><p></p><p>So, that would explain the sibs' behaviors.</p><p></p><p>Just another cheap sellout for a gain we will never understand.</p><p></p><p>Was it just yesterday I was posting that maybe my sister behaves as she does to fill an emptiness?</p><p></p><p>I no longer believe that.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Do you feel this was a kind of threat, Copa? That if you expect loyalty from her, there are certain things she will need from you? None of it ever spoken aloud or even implied of course, but the threat of exposure was made.</p><p></p><p>And here she is, when he is not there.</p><p></p><p>Did you know she was coming? Had she come by your invitation, or did she just come to the door.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>You are not as she remembers you, Copa. This relative too is in for a long-overdue surprise.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>It could be that those feelings are the same mix of feelings called in you whenever you are presented with the kinds of situations predators fabricate or create. As we learned about those overwhelming feelings of responsibility (which we now know have to do with our having been abused when we were little girls ~ or, little boys) that saw us throwing money and time and effort into our children even when we no longer believed our giving would help them, we give to others too, in response to our own overwhelming feelings of wrongness and sometimes, of disgust, if we do not give.</p><p></p><p>It could be something like that, Copa.</p><p></p><p>I am so proud of you Copabanana for responding with dignity and grace and courage and I know that is flowery writing but I mean it with all my heart. And you were alone and unprepared and believed the relative was coming to reconcile.</p><p></p><p>And she hit you with something filthy, instead.</p><p></p><p>And there was that threat she had made against M, eating through everything like acid without her ever having to refer to it directly.</p><p></p><p>It was blackmail, Copa.</p><p></p><p>And you were the victim and M, and your life with him, was the unspoken price of refusal.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Remember when we posted about always saying we were sorry for everything that happened? Even if it had nothing to do with us? I think it is like that, Copa. The situation is just so awful, and the reasoning behind it so starkly, unapologetically ugly and yet...just like when we were little girls, our hearts ache for the hurt in it for everyone and we wish we could help, whatever the cost to ourselves. And if we do help, and the person is a predator, things get worse. And if we do not help, and we send the person away and we never do get to know whether the person was a predator or whether the right thing was to help, then the next thing we know BOOM. In kick the negative tapes. It's what our brains do. Everything gets all balled up together because there is no time sense in our brains really and the pain of childhood and what happened with our kids and the shock in what is really happening now instead of what we thought was happening tips us right over and into a trauma response.</p><p></p><p>Which is right where the predator wants us. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>This is something the hero therapist, the Ally in the poetry, told us, Copa. However many of us there were, all women, all raised in horrifically dysfunctional families, we all believed that whatever it was, we were somehow at fault. We all, every last one of us Copa, believed we must be drawing bad things, must be somehow enticing bad people or somehow condoning really bad situations. Or, that we must be somehow stupid. (Remember my posting about the reasons I went back to school.) The therapist told us about some of the men she had dated. And then, about some of the rotten things that were happening to her in her private life, right then. And she said: Bad things happen to all of us. Bad people are everywhere just as there are good people everywhere. The difference between us (those in the therapy group) and everyone else, so she told us, is that when we have been hurt in our childhoods, we are afraid in our hearts when we see the shark coming.</p><p></p><p>And that is why the shark hones in on us.</p><p></p><p>Fear.</p><p></p><p>That is the enemy.</p><p></p><p>Not the predator. That woman (or man) is not really a shark. They are nothing more than amoral, morally reprehensible people who thought they smelled blood in the water.</p><p></p><p>Nothing more.</p><p></p><p>Okay. So, I added that part.</p><p></p><p>But the therapist really did tell us that there are bad people and that bad situations happen to us all and that we needed to stop thinking in those same old destructive ways. Then, she explained about the amygdala, and the automatic ways our brains process similar situations.</p><p></p><p>So Copa, could you say no to those feelings? Just say: Amygdala-generated response that is no longer applicable. Choose another way to feel about what has happened and legitimize it instead of the old, amygdala-generated material.</p><p></p><p>It won't feel right Copa, but it will be a beginning.</p><p></p><p>And you have done way harder things than this.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>To me, M is describing what it is to trust, Copa. </p><p></p><p>I can't do that either.</p><p></p><p>I can have faith, which is an active process. But I cannot simply trust. Or complexly trust. I just don't trust. Like I don't cry in public. I just don't do it. Once in awhile it accidentally happens (trust) but I know better than to believe in it.</p><p></p><p>I think this will change for us as we heal, but if it doesn't, I will be just fine with that.</p><p></p><p>For me, to trust is to have nothing to protect. That would be my definition of trust. I could manage that, and I am working toward it. For others, trust is an unshakable belief that the sun will come up tomorrow. For others, trust is about having been treated with kindness and with mercy and with never having known what we know.</p><p></p><p>But now, we know this about ourselves.</p><p></p><p>And over time, that will make all the difference for us.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I think this goes back to trust, too. We can hold faith (like I did with my family of origin in that family dinner imagery), but we do not trust. I could excuse everything my family of origin actually did because I believed in a future I was able to hold faith with no matter what happened in the present. I could do this because I do not trust them, which is a present moment thing. Faith is about what may be. Trust is about now. When we were little, when we truly were powerless Copa, we learned that to trust was dangerous and even, foolhardy.</p><p></p><p>This is a trust issue, I think.</p><p></p><p>I am the same way.</p><p></p><p>Forgive yourself, Copa. Over time, we will learn a variation of trust that we will be able to believe in. For now, bravery will serve as well. Remember that piece about bravery from the Kennedy who is involved in Special Olympics?</p><p></p><p>"Let me win. If I cannot win, let me be brave."</p><p></p><p>That helps me.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I wonder whether we do this because we cannot relax unless we know where the danger is. A kind of complex PTSD response, maybe. Every so often, especially if I am working through something here that has me unfocused, I struggle with punctuality again. I learned not to punish or berate myself. Somehow, this has to do with those negative tapes, hissing away where we do not have words.</p><p></p><p>I admire our abilities to do this, to care for ourselves in these ways we have devised. It's just that now, we are learning better strategies. We are beginning to feel safer, and all the warning lights are coming on. </p><p></p><p>Could the fear response be a way you are punishing yourself, Copa?</p><p></p><p>Because you are taking a stand, and are not afraid in the same deep, all-encompassing way?</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Yes.</p><p></p><p>We are teaching ourselves now, with every answer, that we merit these goodnesses. More importantly, as we are able to understand how our psyches were twisted <em>and why</em>, many of those behaviors evolved to keep us functional when we did not understand why these things were happening will disappear.</p><p></p><p>That part is happening a little bit for me now, I think.</p><p></p><p>It's like hearing an orchestra tune up. All cacaphonous racket and then, suddenly, those same instruments and musicians make the magical sounds that, taken together, are music. And it's really beautiful.</p><p></p><p>Lots of racket for a time though.</p><p></p><p>Maybe, part of trust is to understand (instead of holding faith with or believing) that the music will come.</p><p></p><p>Why else would we be listening to the orchestra tune up.</p><p></p><p>Because we were punctual and not late, and because we trust that the music will come.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>I mean, I know I am the one who said it?</p><p></p><p>But I really like that imagery, you guys.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 676025, member: 17461"] I can remember talking to my sister about why she did the things she did. She said: "I know! But I can't help it." So, we just left it at that. But now I believe she was lying about that too. Sometimes, I feel like I am being arrogant. For now, that will be alright. I think the children we were require that we hear them, Leafy. And their stories are ugly and hurtful. We have to be very brave, to claim what happened to us. And I wonder if this is a true observation: The sibs that refuse to validate reality abused us, too. They did not have the power to hurt us the way the mother did. But they destroyed us behind our backs, to our own people. Just like they are doing now, with the cousins and extended family. Just like my mother destroyed the reputations of the lady driver and the priest. There was no benefit to her in doing so. So, that would explain the sibs' behaviors. Just another cheap sellout for a gain we will never understand. Was it just yesterday I was posting that maybe my sister behaves as she does to fill an emptiness? I no longer believe that. Do you feel this was a kind of threat, Copa? That if you expect loyalty from her, there are certain things she will need from you? None of it ever spoken aloud or even implied of course, but the threat of exposure was made. And here she is, when he is not there. Did you know she was coming? Had she come by your invitation, or did she just come to the door. You are not as she remembers you, Copa. This relative too is in for a long-overdue surprise. It could be that those feelings are the same mix of feelings called in you whenever you are presented with the kinds of situations predators fabricate or create. As we learned about those overwhelming feelings of responsibility (which we now know have to do with our having been abused when we were little girls ~ or, little boys) that saw us throwing money and time and effort into our children even when we no longer believed our giving would help them, we give to others too, in response to our own overwhelming feelings of wrongness and sometimes, of disgust, if we do not give. It could be something like that, Copa. I am so proud of you Copabanana for responding with dignity and grace and courage and I know that is flowery writing but I mean it with all my heart. And you were alone and unprepared and believed the relative was coming to reconcile. And she hit you with something filthy, instead. And there was that threat she had made against M, eating through everything like acid without her ever having to refer to it directly. It was blackmail, Copa. And you were the victim and M, and your life with him, was the unspoken price of refusal. Remember when we posted about always saying we were sorry for everything that happened? Even if it had nothing to do with us? I think it is like that, Copa. The situation is just so awful, and the reasoning behind it so starkly, unapologetically ugly and yet...just like when we were little girls, our hearts ache for the hurt in it for everyone and we wish we could help, whatever the cost to ourselves. And if we do help, and the person is a predator, things get worse. And if we do not help, and we send the person away and we never do get to know whether the person was a predator or whether the right thing was to help, then the next thing we know BOOM. In kick the negative tapes. It's what our brains do. Everything gets all balled up together because there is no time sense in our brains really and the pain of childhood and what happened with our kids and the shock in what is really happening now instead of what we thought was happening tips us right over and into a trauma response. Which is right where the predator wants us. *** This is something the hero therapist, the Ally in the poetry, told us, Copa. However many of us there were, all women, all raised in horrifically dysfunctional families, we all believed that whatever it was, we were somehow at fault. We all, every last one of us Copa, believed we must be drawing bad things, must be somehow enticing bad people or somehow condoning really bad situations. Or, that we must be somehow stupid. (Remember my posting about the reasons I went back to school.) The therapist told us about some of the men she had dated. And then, about some of the rotten things that were happening to her in her private life, right then. And she said: Bad things happen to all of us. Bad people are everywhere just as there are good people everywhere. The difference between us (those in the therapy group) and everyone else, so she told us, is that when we have been hurt in our childhoods, we are afraid in our hearts when we see the shark coming. And that is why the shark hones in on us. Fear. That is the enemy. Not the predator. That woman (or man) is not really a shark. They are nothing more than amoral, morally reprehensible people who thought they smelled blood in the water. Nothing more. Okay. So, I added that part. But the therapist really did tell us that there are bad people and that bad situations happen to us all and that we needed to stop thinking in those same old destructive ways. Then, she explained about the amygdala, and the automatic ways our brains process similar situations. So Copa, could you say no to those feelings? Just say: Amygdala-generated response that is no longer applicable. Choose another way to feel about what has happened and legitimize it instead of the old, amygdala-generated material. It won't feel right Copa, but it will be a beginning. And you have done way harder things than this. To me, M is describing what it is to trust, Copa. I can't do that either. I can have faith, which is an active process. But I cannot simply trust. Or complexly trust. I just don't trust. Like I don't cry in public. I just don't do it. Once in awhile it accidentally happens (trust) but I know better than to believe in it. I think this will change for us as we heal, but if it doesn't, I will be just fine with that. For me, to trust is to have nothing to protect. That would be my definition of trust. I could manage that, and I am working toward it. For others, trust is an unshakable belief that the sun will come up tomorrow. For others, trust is about having been treated with kindness and with mercy and with never having known what we know. But now, we know this about ourselves. And over time, that will make all the difference for us. I think this goes back to trust, too. We can hold faith (like I did with my family of origin in that family dinner imagery), but we do not trust. I could excuse everything my family of origin actually did because I believed in a future I was able to hold faith with no matter what happened in the present. I could do this because I do not trust them, which is a present moment thing. Faith is about what may be. Trust is about now. When we were little, when we truly were powerless Copa, we learned that to trust was dangerous and even, foolhardy. This is a trust issue, I think. I am the same way. Forgive yourself, Copa. Over time, we will learn a variation of trust that we will be able to believe in. For now, bravery will serve as well. Remember that piece about bravery from the Kennedy who is involved in Special Olympics? "Let me win. If I cannot win, let me be brave." That helps me. I wonder whether we do this because we cannot relax unless we know where the danger is. A kind of complex PTSD response, maybe. Every so often, especially if I am working through something here that has me unfocused, I struggle with punctuality again. I learned not to punish or berate myself. Somehow, this has to do with those negative tapes, hissing away where we do not have words. I admire our abilities to do this, to care for ourselves in these ways we have devised. It's just that now, we are learning better strategies. We are beginning to feel safer, and all the warning lights are coming on. Could the fear response be a way you are punishing yourself, Copa? Because you are taking a stand, and are not afraid in the same deep, all-encompassing way? Yes. We are teaching ourselves now, with every answer, that we merit these goodnesses. More importantly, as we are able to understand how our psyches were twisted [I]and why[/I], many of those behaviors evolved to keep us functional when we did not understand why these things were happening will disappear. That part is happening a little bit for me now, I think. It's like hearing an orchestra tune up. All cacaphonous racket and then, suddenly, those same instruments and musicians make the magical sounds that, taken together, are music. And it's really beautiful. Lots of racket for a time though. Maybe, part of trust is to understand (instead of holding faith with or believing) that the music will come. Why else would we be listening to the orchestra tune up. Because we were punctual and not late, and because we trust that the music will come. *** I mean, I know I am the one who said it? But I really like that imagery, you guys. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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