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Family of Origin
Work and Germany Part II: Abandonment Recovery
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 673775" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Yes. Where did I read that shame is a signal emotion? The important thing is what it points to and shields.</p><p>I am thinking here about the Holocaust. Imagine those people who might have been us. Certainly me. I would have qualified. And there I am facing that kind of evil. So beyond my ability to comprehend.</p><p></p><p>And what do I start thinking: "It's my fault. I did something to cause this. What did I do? Where is my defect? How can I fix it? All in a response to a feeling state, fear, I have created this narrative that makes no sense what so ever.</p><p></p><p>There is no place here for me to stand. It is not me. Me is in my head. I am not responsible for this event (which is a Holocaust but because of where I am, my perspective, I cannot know at the time.)</p><p></p><p>If I start weaving stories about the feeling state....they make no sense. I am trying to understand something that is beyond my perspective. I cannot see the scope of it or causal chain. But I try, based upon my psychology, I try to weave a story about how I am responsible. This points me down a path where there is no return and no redemption. No learning, most importantly.</p><p></p><p>That is what we do when we weave together stories about shame...and our own culpability.</p><p></p><p>It is as ludicrous as it would be to weave a story about my own responsibility for why I have been put into a concentration camp. There is nowhere to stand here for me. Another way to put is <em>I have no standing. </em>Like that legal terminology that means I cannot make a claim or have a voice because I am not a party to the dispute.</p><p></p><p>I cannot belong. I cannot be a party to it. It is as if we keep trying to insert ourselves into issues that are not our business...in terms of responsibility for their creation or their fixing. And yet we seem compelled to seek it.</p><p></p><p>We can say, but I do have a standing...I was an injured party. And my damages continue.</p><p></p><p>I want recompense.</p><p></p><p>But as long as we stay in that place we stay rooted in the past in a narrative that we never had a voice and were never seen or considered.</p><p></p><p>Abandoned.</p><p></p><p>No place to stand. No place or no one for you. Or I.</p><p></p><p>So the only way to deal with it is to create a new place. Our own. Ourselves.</p><p>Exactly so. We dig deeper and deeper. Trying to crawl through a deep cave to someplace that will only lead us perhaps to China. But who do we know in China? Me? Nobody.</p><p>This reminds me of I think it is called "counter-phobic" people...thrill seekers like Evil Knievel. This is one way to deal with a pervasive fearfulness. Fearlessness.</p><p></p><p>Like why I went to race car driver school. I wonder if Evil Knievel's mother was afraid to drive freeways, merging, bridges and riding escalators? Even tall stairs?</p><p>Yes.</p><p></p><p>It is very hard to read these words. Cedar.</p><p>Yes.</p><p>A few weeks ago, in a jokey kind of way I said to M's sister: "My hair is like this because I won't look at myself in the mirror.</p><p></p><p>She replied: Oh. I love to look in the mirror as much as I can to see how beautiful I am. And she laughed. And so did I at the glee of it. The absolutely un-self-consciousness wonderment that <em>she could feel this way and talk about it</em>.</p><p></p><p>In five million years I would never have said that. Even though I have done it. But not for years. And I wish I could again.</p><p></p><p>With us, if we were to thrill at our loveliness or any other thing it would be to set ourselves up for having our blocks knocked off. Even if we felt safe, there would be a signal emotion of anxiety or dread that would prohibit us from going there...the signal we learned to protect ourselves long ago.</p><p></p><p>I am thinking here of my buying. Lately I have been buying vintage jewelry. At first, what showed up was junk. Now, almost everything that comes is lovely. I love it.</p><p></p><p>One of best memories is sitting on the floor taking out my mother's jewelry and playing with it. Touching it. Arranging it. And now I have jewelry too. My own. To touch. To sort. To put back and take out again.</p><p></p><p>I should have been the type of beautiful woman who adorns herself. Who celebrates her body. With style and a sense of gratification from being styled. As was my mother.</p><p></p><p>In stead in me, most of this was suppressed. I can say there was not enough money. Or I had other priorities. But it is not true. There was a signal emotion warning me not to go there. Or be punished. Or shamed. Or abandoned.</p><p>When my grandfather left my grandmother she was 82. She had never been alone in her life. When I went to her she died of a massive heart attack. Within an hour she was dead.</p><p>From which we try to recover but sometimes fail.</p><p></p><p>Our mothers have their own heart wounds. But they were unfixable. They got trapped in their own defense of their wounds. And could never progress from there.</p><p></p><p>Thank you Cedar. I am glad I did not miss this thread.</p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 673775, member: 18958"] Yes. Where did I read that shame is a signal emotion? The important thing is what it points to and shields. I am thinking here about the Holocaust. Imagine those people who might have been us. Certainly me. I would have qualified. And there I am facing that kind of evil. So beyond my ability to comprehend. And what do I start thinking: "It's my fault. I did something to cause this. What did I do? Where is my defect? How can I fix it? All in a response to a feeling state, fear, I have created this narrative that makes no sense what so ever. There is no place here for me to stand. It is not me. Me is in my head. I am not responsible for this event (which is a Holocaust but because of where I am, my perspective, I cannot know at the time.) If I start weaving stories about the feeling state....they make no sense. I am trying to understand something that is beyond my perspective. I cannot see the scope of it or causal chain. But I try, based upon my psychology, I try to weave a story about how I am responsible. This points me down a path where there is no return and no redemption. No learning, most importantly. That is what we do when we weave together stories about shame...and our own culpability. It is as ludicrous as it would be to weave a story about my own responsibility for why I have been put into a concentration camp. There is nowhere to stand here for me. Another way to put is [I]I have no standing. [/I]Like that legal terminology that means I cannot make a claim or have a voice because I am not a party to the dispute. I cannot belong. I cannot be a party to it. It is as if we keep trying to insert ourselves into issues that are not our business...in terms of responsibility for their creation or their fixing. And yet we seem compelled to seek it. We can say, but I do have a standing...I was an injured party. And my damages continue. I want recompense. But as long as we stay in that place we stay rooted in the past in a narrative that we never had a voice and were never seen or considered. Abandoned. No place to stand. No place or no one for you. Or I. So the only way to deal with it is to create a new place. Our own. Ourselves. Exactly so. We dig deeper and deeper. Trying to crawl through a deep cave to someplace that will only lead us perhaps to China. But who do we know in China? Me? Nobody. This reminds me of I think it is called "counter-phobic" people...thrill seekers like Evil Knievel. This is one way to deal with a pervasive fearfulness. Fearlessness. Like why I went to race car driver school. I wonder if Evil Knievel's mother was afraid to drive freeways, merging, bridges and riding escalators? Even tall stairs? Yes. It is very hard to read these words. Cedar. Yes. A few weeks ago, in a jokey kind of way I said to M's sister: "My hair is like this because I won't look at myself in the mirror. She replied: Oh. I love to look in the mirror as much as I can to see how beautiful I am. And she laughed. And so did I at the glee of it. The absolutely un-self-consciousness wonderment that [I]she could feel this way and talk about it[/I]. In five million years I would never have said that. Even though I have done it. But not for years. And I wish I could again. With us, if we were to thrill at our loveliness or any other thing it would be to set ourselves up for having our blocks knocked off. Even if we felt safe, there would be a signal emotion of anxiety or dread that would prohibit us from going there...the signal we learned to protect ourselves long ago. I am thinking here of my buying. Lately I have been buying vintage jewelry. At first, what showed up was junk. Now, almost everything that comes is lovely. I love it. One of best memories is sitting on the floor taking out my mother's jewelry and playing with it. Touching it. Arranging it. And now I have jewelry too. My own. To touch. To sort. To put back and take out again. I should have been the type of beautiful woman who adorns herself. Who celebrates her body. With style and a sense of gratification from being styled. As was my mother. In stead in me, most of this was suppressed. I can say there was not enough money. Or I had other priorities. But it is not true. There was a signal emotion warning me not to go there. Or be punished. Or shamed. Or abandoned. When my grandfather left my grandmother she was 82. She had never been alone in her life. When I went to her she died of a massive heart attack. Within an hour she was dead. From which we try to recover but sometimes fail. Our mothers have their own heart wounds. But they were unfixable. They got trapped in their own defense of their wounds. And could never progress from there. Thank you Cedar. I am glad I did not miss this thread. COPA [/QUOTE]
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