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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 705100" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Me, too.</p><p>Me too.</p><p> Me, too.</p><p> Me too, something similar.</p><p></p><p>I wear one outfit. One shirt, one pants, one sweater. One shoes.</p><p></p><p>All of it, me too.</p><p>I wrote today, that I realized that on some level I must be complying with my son--that because he cannot get it together, I do not permit myself to do so either.</p><p></p><p>But the problem is that this means I am living out my life inauthentically living as if somebody would want me to, to protect them, to protect myself, I am not living as my real self.</p><p></p><p>The three years plus following my mother's death, in bed, giving up, self-denial, even more self-erasure, had to have been as much for my son, the inability to allow myself a life or more the willful self-denial of a life.</p><p></p><p>I have had this glimmer of truth before about my son, but never, ever so clearly.</p><p></p><p>I would never have thought that I would be somebody who would allow themselves to be defeated by life. Perhaps in the course of doing battle, but never laying down and dying in the road. I keep waiting for the resurrection that never comes. Because I do not allow it.</p><p></p><p>I am doing the same thing as does my son. Who cannot come to grips, it seems with his life story. I cannot, it seems, come to grips with my own, because I tether myself psychologically to my child--as long as he cannot thrive as I define thriving, and need him to thrive.</p><p></p><p>So, Albatross. I am in your club, too. But I want out.</p><p>I have begun to think of myself more and more as a wounded person, an ill person, a person afflicted by serious and perhaps progressive and mortal disease.</p><p></p><p>This metaphor (truth) can be potentially useful, because if I have an illness, a soul sickness, there can be a path to recovery. Actually, I wrote a 300 page treatise on this 25 years ago based upon the study of <em>other women</em>...</p><p></p><p>I have asked myself, why cannot you employ what you wrote, the mechanism you identified as the progression of recovery? A year ago, two years ago, and three, I do not remember--I asked myself that. And I gave myself permission to do just that: to follow the steps of recovery that I my very self, had identified. No go.</p><p></p><p>I am wondering if the answer is not what you wrote: that I will not permit myself to recover as long as my child will not.</p><p></p><p>For me CD exists for this: to recover myself. Not in the main about my child's welfare, or change, or detachment or connection, but to recover myself. To individuate, to separate myself sufficiently to stand alone. While I may say it is my son who needs to do so, it is really me who is the patient here.</p><p></p><p>I do not need my son to do one thing, to change. It is myself over whom I have near complete control who must do so.</p><p></p><p>Thank you Albatross for your poignant and very important words.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 705100, member: 18958"] Me, too. Me too. Me, too. Me too, something similar. I wear one outfit. One shirt, one pants, one sweater. One shoes. All of it, me too. I wrote today, that I realized that on some level I must be complying with my son--that because he cannot get it together, I do not permit myself to do so either. But the problem is that this means I am living out my life inauthentically living as if somebody would want me to, to protect them, to protect myself, I am not living as my real self. The three years plus following my mother's death, in bed, giving up, self-denial, even more self-erasure, had to have been as much for my son, the inability to allow myself a life or more the willful self-denial of a life. I have had this glimmer of truth before about my son, but never, ever so clearly. I would never have thought that I would be somebody who would allow themselves to be defeated by life. Perhaps in the course of doing battle, but never laying down and dying in the road. I keep waiting for the resurrection that never comes. Because I do not allow it. I am doing the same thing as does my son. Who cannot come to grips, it seems with his life story. I cannot, it seems, come to grips with my own, because I tether myself psychologically to my child--as long as he cannot thrive as I define thriving, and need him to thrive. So, Albatross. I am in your club, too. But I want out. I have begun to think of myself more and more as a wounded person, an ill person, a person afflicted by serious and perhaps progressive and mortal disease. This metaphor (truth) can be potentially useful, because if I have an illness, a soul sickness, there can be a path to recovery. Actually, I wrote a 300 page treatise on this 25 years ago based upon the study of [I]other women[/I]... I have asked myself, why cannot you employ what you wrote, the mechanism you identified as the progression of recovery? A year ago, two years ago, and three, I do not remember--I asked myself that. And I gave myself permission to do just that: to follow the steps of recovery that I my very self, had identified. No go. I am wondering if the answer is not what you wrote: that I will not permit myself to recover as long as my child will not. For me CD exists for this: to recover myself. Not in the main about my child's welfare, or change, or detachment or connection, but to recover myself. To individuate, to separate myself sufficiently to stand alone. While I may say it is my son who needs to do so, it is really me who is the patient here. I do not need my son to do one thing, to change. It is myself over whom I have near complete control who must do so. Thank you Albatross for your poignant and very important words. [/QUOTE]
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