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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 616137" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Still on the path. </p><p></p><p>Joel Osteen was about "getting over it" this morning. When we compose a persona, however beautiful, just, and giving, around a trauma, we lose access to material vital to our decision-making capacities and, over the course of time, our lives are changed. </p><p></p><p>We refuse to acknowledge the ugliness of what it is, when bad things happen. We dress it up, understand it away, forgive the wrongness, believe we can believe it better without addressing the rot at the core of it.</p><p></p><p>This is how we've lived our lives. Having taken on our abuser's pathologic interpretations of who we were, of what we meant, of how we could and should and would be seen, we could never lay claim to legitimacy. We could never know, deep in our hearts, that we were meant to be, here in the world; we could never acknowledge or understand that we are enough, that we were blessed into a generous, fulsome, powerful existence by intent and by joyful design.</p><p></p><p>There is that imagery of the tapestry, so beautifully, so perfectly woven, weaving, again.</p><p></p><p>That is what has always lived behind my refusal to see what is happening with my kids, and what I need to do about it. That is the difference between me and that mom I always wonder about, that mom who loves squarely, who loves right on and demands the same of her children without blinking, without accepting less than as enough. As these breakthroughs happen for me, I am amazed at the difference looking through these changed eyes brings. It <u>is</u> like the legend of the shaman recovering lost portions of the spirit, Recovering.</p><p></p><p>Always, that feeling of breath, that feeling of a little more room. A feeling of balanced exploration, almost of light within, as one after another, old beliefs and decisions and concepts are re-understood. </p><p></p><p>It was always my choice to see in this way, Recovering. I am not recovering lost portions of self. I am hearing them. A damaged child comes not to trust her core, her intuitions or judgments. Instead, we (some of us) carefully construct a decent, ethical, kind person out of what we have left. It is a choice. We have no readily visible guiding star. </p><p></p><p>Everything is a choice, for us. </p><p></p><p>Everything is a choice: to live, to try, to make our own small realms of influence beautiful, to be better than we had known, better than who we were taught we were, though our abuser's truths roll and echo through those places within where others have remembrance of loving family, or of a redemptive Christ.</p><p></p><p>Everything sealed in contempt.</p><p></p><p>So, though anger is an appropriate response to this new way of seeing Recovering, I think it is not anger that burns through it, but intent. As surely as we created ourselves, we can stand up to the judgments of our abusers to enliven those lovely, ethical, faithful, loyal, forgiving selves we have called into existence and come truly to be. </p><p></p><p>Riding that edge of discomfort Brene Brown talks about. That must be the place where we don't pull the wool over our own eyes anymore, Recovering.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 616137, member: 17461"] Still on the path. Joel Osteen was about "getting over it" this morning. When we compose a persona, however beautiful, just, and giving, around a trauma, we lose access to material vital to our decision-making capacities and, over the course of time, our lives are changed. We refuse to acknowledge the ugliness of what it is, when bad things happen. We dress it up, understand it away, forgive the wrongness, believe we can believe it better without addressing the rot at the core of it. This is how we've lived our lives. Having taken on our abuser's pathologic interpretations of who we were, of what we meant, of how we could and should and would be seen, we could never lay claim to legitimacy. We could never know, deep in our hearts, that we were meant to be, here in the world; we could never acknowledge or understand that we are enough, that we were blessed into a generous, fulsome, powerful existence by intent and by joyful design. There is that imagery of the tapestry, so beautifully, so perfectly woven, weaving, again. That is what has always lived behind my refusal to see what is happening with my kids, and what I need to do about it. That is the difference between me and that mom I always wonder about, that mom who loves squarely, who loves right on and demands the same of her children without blinking, without accepting less than as enough. As these breakthroughs happen for me, I am amazed at the difference looking through these changed eyes brings. It [U]is[/U] like the legend of the shaman recovering lost portions of the spirit, Recovering. Always, that feeling of breath, that feeling of a little more room. A feeling of balanced exploration, almost of light within, as one after another, old beliefs and decisions and concepts are re-understood. It was always my choice to see in this way, Recovering. I am not recovering lost portions of self. I am hearing them. A damaged child comes not to trust her core, her intuitions or judgments. Instead, we (some of us) carefully construct a decent, ethical, kind person out of what we have left. It is a choice. We have no readily visible guiding star. Everything is a choice, for us. Everything is a choice: to live, to try, to make our own small realms of influence beautiful, to be better than we had known, better than who we were taught we were, though our abuser's truths roll and echo through those places within where others have remembrance of loving family, or of a redemptive Christ. Everything sealed in contempt. So, though anger is an appropriate response to this new way of seeing Recovering, I think it is not anger that burns through it, but intent. As surely as we created ourselves, we can stand up to the judgments of our abusers to enliven those lovely, ethical, faithful, loyal, forgiving selves we have called into existence and come truly to be. Riding that edge of discomfort Brene Brown talks about. That must be the place where we don't pull the wool over our own eyes anymore, Recovering. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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