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Family of Origin
Being who we are, even if FOO is different and doesn't like it
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 672634" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>This piece awakened fierce nostalgia and such pain for me, Leafy.</p><p></p><p>Thank you.</p><p></p><p>I needed to know that; I am stronger, because of it.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>We had a thread on shunning earlier in the year. And one on the hatred that finds its external reality in racism and prejudice of every kind, and in slavery, and on cruelty in all its myriad shades and colors. Isolation and then, ridicule. Next, the Yellow Star.</p><p></p><p><em>It was a deserved scolding. They had been remiss in not visiting the old auntie, in not maintaining that connection.</em></p><p></p><p>In my family of origin, there is shunning. There is ridicule and a sly kind of unacknowledged power over, and isolation to establish a designated "other" and accomplish a gathering of allies. A clarification of the rules, as when my mother gave the tire rimming machine away between one day and the next to establish, so clearly, that my brother had no right to complain about the way his grands were being treated. </p><p></p><p>There is eye rolling at elderly lady drivers, and public humiliation in their being sent unexpectedly away.</p><p></p><p>It could be that there is jealousy, which is a kind of fear, at the heart of it. </p><p></p><p>There is nothing to do but stand up, and throw rocks at the car that, for me, does not come. I am not posting about my children. We will come through this. I am posting about my mother, about my sister, about the whole terrible dynamic churning away at the heart of my family of origin. If I were not being shunned, it would be one of the others. (Each of whom are, in a wide and ever-expanding variety of ways, being shunned in place to the degree they allow it. It is a steep and slippery slope.) I am being shunned in unison because I refuse it. My refusal endangers the validity of the game, which is a fear-based game. I am forever posting about exclusion and I think no one gets what I mean, but exclusion is the glue that makes my family of origin work, at all.</p><p></p><p>Someone has to be the one imprisoned in the dungeon at the center of the town. It isn't even necessary anymore. Everyone knows and accepts their roles so well. Still, they insist upon it. It is comforting to know the dungeon is fully occupado lest, one morning, one of them find themselves there.</p><p></p><p>In my family of origin the shades and colors of imprisonment and power over and grandiosity and the culture of scarcity at the heart of it flow like water.</p><p></p><p>Nonetheless, it stings to know that car will not be coming down the road, for me. And that if it ever did, I would mount immediate defense.</p><p></p><p>They hurt my child, Leafy.</p><p></p><p>That is what it took, for me to take them seriously.</p><p></p><p>And time stopped. And there are a million years between every second, and no sound in this place where I am now, at all.</p><p></p><p>Which makes me sound like I am not afraid of them.</p><p></p><p>I am.</p><p></p><p>It very truly is like loving a nest of snakes; fascinating, deadly. Venomous.</p><p></p><p>Beautiful.</p><p></p><p>My family of origin has hurt me very much. They have weakened me, distracted and disparaged me, when I needed to be strong. It is essential for me, and for those raised as I was, to forever forego the comfort and strength of family other than those we create for ourselves with our families, with our friends, with our people. There is neither strength nor comfort for us in the eyes of our initial abusers. We find strength and comfort in abundance only when we refuse to see ourselves through their eyes.</p><p></p><p>Then, and only then, are we able to see who we are, really. Human people who love and hate and fall down and get up and make what sense we can of things and do the best we know and sometimes, have to acknowledge that wasn't enough and go on, anyway.</p><p></p><p>That's who we are, really. Not perfection; not disgust, either. Just human being people. I think that is why I fell so under the spell of IZ. Not perfection, but so beautifully human in the joy in him, just being the center of where he was, sort of watching the world and observing and finding it to be a good and amazing place.</p><p></p><p>Man, I keep seeing the album cover where he floats in that blue, blue water. </p><p></p><p>It is healing to me somehow, Leafy and everyone.</p><p></p><p>Kind.</p><p></p><p>A kindness I can accept.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>They are too fascinating to me. My mother, my sister, my brothers, my nieces and nephews and that envisionment of those faces so like my own around my table. </p><p></p><p>I love them too much to love them this way.</p><p></p><p>I really like that I came up with that phrase.</p><p></p><p>Perfect.</p><p></p><p>Pray for their peace and therein, find our own.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>It makes me feel the loneliness of it, to imagine that car that will never come up the winding dirt road that leads to my house.</p><p></p><p>That's okay.</p><p></p><p>I will scream and roar and cry and spit in the dust and throw rocks at the wind.</p><p></p><p>And play my violin in bare feet in the moonlight, raucous and raw and very, very real.</p><p></p><p>It is best to acknowledge the pain of it.</p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/emoticons/hangin.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":hangin:" title="hangin :hangin:" data-shortname=":hangin:" /></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 672634, member: 17461"] This piece awakened fierce nostalgia and such pain for me, Leafy. Thank you. I needed to know that; I am stronger, because of it. *** We had a thread on shunning earlier in the year. And one on the hatred that finds its external reality in racism and prejudice of every kind, and in slavery, and on cruelty in all its myriad shades and colors. Isolation and then, ridicule. Next, the Yellow Star. [I]It was a deserved scolding. They had been remiss in not visiting the old auntie, in not maintaining that connection.[/I] In my family of origin, there is shunning. There is ridicule and a sly kind of unacknowledged power over, and isolation to establish a designated "other" and accomplish a gathering of allies. A clarification of the rules, as when my mother gave the tire rimming machine away between one day and the next to establish, so clearly, that my brother had no right to complain about the way his grands were being treated. There is eye rolling at elderly lady drivers, and public humiliation in their being sent unexpectedly away. It could be that there is jealousy, which is a kind of fear, at the heart of it. There is nothing to do but stand up, and throw rocks at the car that, for me, does not come. I am not posting about my children. We will come through this. I am posting about my mother, about my sister, about the whole terrible dynamic churning away at the heart of my family of origin. If I were not being shunned, it would be one of the others. (Each of whom are, in a wide and ever-expanding variety of ways, being shunned in place to the degree they allow it. It is a steep and slippery slope.) I am being shunned in unison because I refuse it. My refusal endangers the validity of the game, which is a fear-based game. I am forever posting about exclusion and I think no one gets what I mean, but exclusion is the glue that makes my family of origin work, at all. Someone has to be the one imprisoned in the dungeon at the center of the town. It isn't even necessary anymore. Everyone knows and accepts their roles so well. Still, they insist upon it. It is comforting to know the dungeon is fully occupado lest, one morning, one of them find themselves there. In my family of origin the shades and colors of imprisonment and power over and grandiosity and the culture of scarcity at the heart of it flow like water. Nonetheless, it stings to know that car will not be coming down the road, for me. And that if it ever did, I would mount immediate defense. They hurt my child, Leafy. That is what it took, for me to take them seriously. And time stopped. And there are a million years between every second, and no sound in this place where I am now, at all. Which makes me sound like I am not afraid of them. I am. It very truly is like loving a nest of snakes; fascinating, deadly. Venomous. Beautiful. My family of origin has hurt me very much. They have weakened me, distracted and disparaged me, when I needed to be strong. It is essential for me, and for those raised as I was, to forever forego the comfort and strength of family other than those we create for ourselves with our families, with our friends, with our people. There is neither strength nor comfort for us in the eyes of our initial abusers. We find strength and comfort in abundance only when we refuse to see ourselves through their eyes. Then, and only then, are we able to see who we are, really. Human people who love and hate and fall down and get up and make what sense we can of things and do the best we know and sometimes, have to acknowledge that wasn't enough and go on, anyway. That's who we are, really. Not perfection; not disgust, either. Just human being people. I think that is why I fell so under the spell of IZ. Not perfection, but so beautifully human in the joy in him, just being the center of where he was, sort of watching the world and observing and finding it to be a good and amazing place. Man, I keep seeing the album cover where he floats in that blue, blue water. It is healing to me somehow, Leafy and everyone. Kind. A kindness I can accept. *** They are too fascinating to me. My mother, my sister, my brothers, my nieces and nephews and that envisionment of those faces so like my own around my table. I love them too much to love them this way. I really like that I came up with that phrase. Perfect. Pray for their peace and therein, find our own. Cedar It makes me feel the loneliness of it, to imagine that car that will never come up the winding dirt road that leads to my house. That's okay. I will scream and roar and cry and spit in the dust and throw rocks at the wind. And play my violin in bare feet in the moonlight, raucous and raw and very, very real. It is best to acknowledge the pain of it. :hangin: [/QUOTE]
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