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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="Copabanana" data-source="post: 672660" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Yesterday, I thought to myself, I could say to myself and to my sister that I am reaching out to her because that is what my mother would have wanted. Because she is vulnerable and alone. That felt good. </p><p></p><p>Until yesterday I still needed a cover story to combat whatever way she would interpret it: That I am longing for her, feeling guilty, accepting her domination and superiority. </p><p></p><p>But today I see all of "her" so-call interpretations were those I attributed to her...as my belief of what she wanted that I think about her and her children: Their superiority, their domination, their correctness and purity of intention. It was all power I gave to her. Because she wanted and needed it.</p><p></p><p>My mother always saw the truth. And loved her despite it. And felt guilty because my mother feared she was responsible for my sister's woundedness.</p><p>She sounds like she was strong and worth having. I am surprised at how compliant was Dear Son. He seems in your posts so willful. And unwilling to capitulate or give ground. Good for him that he ceded. That shows capacity and the belief and desire to do what is correct for himself.</p><p> Yes. An experiment. To see if I am strong enough to do a kindly thing, what will be the effect. Can I stand it? How does it feel to risk? M is very pleased for me. He does not tell me directly, but yesterday he used it as a model for his trying with his rotten sister. He said, "like you did with your sister, doing the right thing the thing you believe is correct, because that is who you are, independent of how she responds." </p><p></p><p>It is moving out of the dungeon. Some. Or transforming the dungeon into your beautiful library. I will add lots of plants and an oriental carpet and a chunky table over it with bulbous legs, well lit by a chandelier or globe pendant lights on which is piled lots of books. </p><p></p><p>So, I felt good. You know I like single-malt. Very old. About the brand, I am flexible. I will share, except for when M's sister's husband and she come to take care of the animals when we are gone, they drink all of the liquor, especially, the single malt at $65 a bottle. Except I am grateful. I feel petty to even notice.I have a sock loom and a book to learn how to knit socks. I will knit us all slippers. (But it will take a while.) Or perhaps better, we will learn together and knit or loom for each other. Less pressure.</p><p></p><p>As I read your post, Cedar, and write my own, I have a picture of my sister in my mind's eye. She is still such a malignant presence. I would like to transform her to have a certain neutrality. Like neither this or that. Because that she looks to me to be malignant...and mean...colors my mind space, still, with malignancy when she is there. If I could feel about her, a neutrality, when she is in my mind, it would mean that I was strong enough, and felt big enough to handle with flexibility all she was and could or would do.</p><p></p><p>My mother was not afraid of her. My mother had compassion for her. Considering what my sister tried to do to my mother, I am wondering now, considering is a better word, what would have been a better way to have handled it: could my mother have confronted my sister in the reality she was...and would it have changed anything? Of course it may have for me...I might have been able to leave the dungeon. But would or could my sister have changed? </p><p></p><p>My mother did the same thing as I did--in this respect. She would be angry at how my sister treated her. But she could not believe it. Kept wanting to not believe it. And over and over again, she would bury it. Until at the end of her life, it was the overarching reality. I still feel sad for my mother that my sister did that.</p><p></p><p>It feels like one of those horrors in life that cannot be assimilated, like the Holocaust. That my sister would not speak to her mother as she died. That my mother had to go to eternity without hearing her daughter's voice. Or believing that she was so little loved by her, that it did not matter that she went to eternity, faulting her daughter. </p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 672660, member: 18958"] Yesterday, I thought to myself, I could say to myself and to my sister that I am reaching out to her because that is what my mother would have wanted. Because she is vulnerable and alone. That felt good. Until yesterday I still needed a cover story to combat whatever way she would interpret it: That I am longing for her, feeling guilty, accepting her domination and superiority. But today I see all of "her" so-call interpretations were those I attributed to her...as my belief of what she wanted that I think about her and her children: Their superiority, their domination, their correctness and purity of intention. It was all power I gave to her. Because she wanted and needed it. My mother always saw the truth. And loved her despite it. And felt guilty because my mother feared she was responsible for my sister's woundedness. She sounds like she was strong and worth having. I am surprised at how compliant was Dear Son. He seems in your posts so willful. And unwilling to capitulate or give ground. Good for him that he ceded. That shows capacity and the belief and desire to do what is correct for himself. Yes. An experiment. To see if I am strong enough to do a kindly thing, what will be the effect. Can I stand it? How does it feel to risk? M is very pleased for me. He does not tell me directly, but yesterday he used it as a model for his trying with his rotten sister. He said, "like you did with your sister, doing the right thing the thing you believe is correct, because that is who you are, independent of how she responds." It is moving out of the dungeon. Some. Or transforming the dungeon into your beautiful library. I will add lots of plants and an oriental carpet and a chunky table over it with bulbous legs, well lit by a chandelier or globe pendant lights on which is piled lots of books. So, I felt good. You know I like single-malt. Very old. About the brand, I am flexible. I will share, except for when M's sister's husband and she come to take care of the animals when we are gone, they drink all of the liquor, especially, the single malt at $65 a bottle. Except I am grateful. I feel petty to even notice.I have a sock loom and a book to learn how to knit socks. I will knit us all slippers. (But it will take a while.) Or perhaps better, we will learn together and knit or loom for each other. Less pressure. As I read your post, Cedar, and write my own, I have a picture of my sister in my mind's eye. She is still such a malignant presence. I would like to transform her to have a certain neutrality. Like neither this or that. Because that she looks to me to be malignant...and mean...colors my mind space, still, with malignancy when she is there. If I could feel about her, a neutrality, when she is in my mind, it would mean that I was strong enough, and felt big enough to handle with flexibility all she was and could or would do. My mother was not afraid of her. My mother had compassion for her. Considering what my sister tried to do to my mother, I am wondering now, considering is a better word, what would have been a better way to have handled it: could my mother have confronted my sister in the reality she was...and would it have changed anything? Of course it may have for me...I might have been able to leave the dungeon. But would or could my sister have changed? My mother did the same thing as I did--in this respect. She would be angry at how my sister treated her. But she could not believe it. Kept wanting to not believe it. And over and over again, she would bury it. Until at the end of her life, it was the overarching reality. I still feel sad for my mother that my sister did that. It feels like one of those horrors in life that cannot be assimilated, like the Holocaust. That my sister would not speak to her mother as she died. That my mother had to go to eternity without hearing her daughter's voice. Or believing that she was so little loved by her, that it did not matter that she went to eternity, faulting her daughter. COPA [/QUOTE]
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