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I made him leave.
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 677551" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>This recalls when I brought home my mother who could not respect me. I am still depleted by that. I am beginning to find in myself the beginning of self-respect, that which is based upon setting boundaries and establishing order. My own version of "law and order." I never had it before. My sense of self-respect before was based upon achievement and orientation towards others.</p><p>When I heard him say at the door, it is your son, I was afraid. It was not reassuring. I did not feel joy. I felt guarded. But conflicted. How could I have turned him away in the cold, night? Which of course had been the plan. Put me into the vise where I had to choose between myself and him. I had always chosen him.</p><p></p><p>That he refuses to get that, of course, <em>is on him</em>. He pushes me to a place where I have to choose between my own survival or his comfort. It is not wrong to choose that I survive.</p><p></p><p>It was better this time. No marijuana, that I am aware of. The awareness on his part that I deserve some limits. More of his essential sweetness shone through. Less aggressiveness. He still operates from the sense of himself as all-knowing about others. Ironic, no? He still refuses to accept (or acknowledge) that the emergencies that result from his mismanagement of his life -- are not my responsibility to either resolve or bear. </p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 677551, member: 18958"] This recalls when I brought home my mother who could not respect me. I am still depleted by that. I am beginning to find in myself the beginning of self-respect, that which is based upon setting boundaries and establishing order. My own version of "law and order." I never had it before. My sense of self-respect before was based upon achievement and orientation towards others. When I heard him say at the door, it is your son, I was afraid. It was not reassuring. I did not feel joy. I felt guarded. But conflicted. How could I have turned him away in the cold, night? Which of course had been the plan. Put me into the vise where I had to choose between myself and him. I had always chosen him. That he refuses to get that, of course, [I]is on him[/I]. He pushes me to a place where I have to choose between my own survival or his comfort. It is not wrong to choose that I survive. It was better this time. No marijuana, that I am aware of. The awareness on his part that I deserve some limits. More of his essential sweetness shone through. Less aggressiveness. He still operates from the sense of himself as all-knowing about others. Ironic, no? He still refuses to accept (or acknowledge) that the emergencies that result from his mismanagement of his life -- are not my responsibility to either resolve or bear. COPA [/QUOTE]
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