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What does detachment look like to you?
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<blockquote data-quote="scent of cedar" data-source="post: 613088" data-attributes="member: 1721"><p>Witz, your response to the horrible, soul-destroying things that have happened to you at the hands of these people you should have been able to trust, should have been able to love and to be loved by...that is not, and could never be, an insane or knee jerk reaction. I know it doesn't sound very nice, but the imagery I'm getting is not something insane, but something like the frantic, hopeless struggle a hanged man makes after the bottom falls out.</p><p></p><p>He dies in public too, Witz. Just like your family relishes tormenting <u>you</u> in public. </p><p></p><p>This is something someone told me, once. As I began to acknowledge that the way I grew up had been abusive (and that is a big first step, all on its own), the therapist said that I needed, not only to recognize and grieve what had happened, but to recognize, and grieve for, all the good things that did not happen. There is a kind of strength to be found in acknowledging the loss of the good things, Witz. It helped me to see the meanness and stupidity of the choices the abuser repeatedly made. It helped me to see that the abuse was nothing personal to me. </p><p></p><p>That is also a key thing that needs to happen for us, before we can heal.</p><p></p><p>We need to understand how abnormal, how really strangely abnormal, our abuser must have been to choose to do what he or she did instead of doing something good.</p><p></p><p>Well, I might not know what I'm talking about, here. These were important pieces for me. I hope they help you, too.</p><p></p><p>Let's see. This is the worst story of abusive parenting I ever heard. I was in group therapy for family of origin issues at one time. One of the ladies there told about her father physically beating her and then, berating her for looking so ugly, with tears and snot and whatever else he did to her. Then? He took a Polaroid picture of her, Witz. You know those old cameras which used to develop the picture right in the camera and then, there it was?</p><p></p><p>Yeah, one of those.</p><p></p><p>He showed it to her, Witz. Shoved it in her face shouting about how ugly she was, about how she better never forget it, had better never think she was better than he knew her to be because he had PROOF. Horrible, huh? We were all in our early forties by the time we were in therapy together, trying to stand up long enough to heal, even just a little. And that woman, who was a powerful, competent woman in her real life, broke all down when she told us that. Though intellectually she knew the father was dead and the picture, long since dissolved away...she lived in horror that it would be found, Witz.</p><p></p><p>I've never forgotten that story.</p><p></p><p>There is evil out there, Witz. But when we have been the victim, we can't see it for what it is, and we carry shame that does not belong to us and never did.</p><p></p><p>At least, that was true, for me.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="scent of cedar, post: 613088, member: 1721"] Witz, your response to the horrible, soul-destroying things that have happened to you at the hands of these people you should have been able to trust, should have been able to love and to be loved by...that is not, and could never be, an insane or knee jerk reaction. I know it doesn't sound very nice, but the imagery I'm getting is not something insane, but something like the frantic, hopeless struggle a hanged man makes after the bottom falls out. He dies in public too, Witz. Just like your family relishes tormenting [U]you[/U] in public. This is something someone told me, once. As I began to acknowledge that the way I grew up had been abusive (and that is a big first step, all on its own), the therapist said that I needed, not only to recognize and grieve what had happened, but to recognize, and grieve for, all the good things that did not happen. There is a kind of strength to be found in acknowledging the loss of the good things, Witz. It helped me to see the meanness and stupidity of the choices the abuser repeatedly made. It helped me to see that the abuse was nothing personal to me. That is also a key thing that needs to happen for us, before we can heal. We need to understand how abnormal, how really strangely abnormal, our abuser must have been to choose to do what he or she did instead of doing something good. Well, I might not know what I'm talking about, here. These were important pieces for me. I hope they help you, too. Let's see. This is the worst story of abusive parenting I ever heard. I was in group therapy for family of origin issues at one time. One of the ladies there told about her father physically beating her and then, berating her for looking so ugly, with tears and snot and whatever else he did to her. Then? He took a Polaroid picture of her, Witz. You know those old cameras which used to develop the picture right in the camera and then, there it was? Yeah, one of those. He showed it to her, Witz. Shoved it in her face shouting about how ugly she was, about how she better never forget it, had better never think she was better than he knew her to be because he had PROOF. Horrible, huh? We were all in our early forties by the time we were in therapy together, trying to stand up long enough to heal, even just a little. And that woman, who was a powerful, competent woman in her real life, broke all down when she told us that. Though intellectually she knew the father was dead and the picture, long since dissolved away...she lived in horror that it would be found, Witz. I've never forgotten that story. There is evil out there, Witz. But when we have been the victim, we can't see it for what it is, and we carry shame that does not belong to us and never did. At least, that was true, for me. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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