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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 657165" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Like I have D H mom. And like, when I was little, I had my grandmother, far away, but loving all of us ~<em> all of us, all of the cousins</em> ~ unconditionally. I can see her at the door to this minute, her arms wide open and her eyes so happy to see us, and her skin so pretty.</p><p></p><p>I am so glad you had her in your life, SWOT, and that you were able to receive what she could give to you, to help you know how to be whole.</p><p></p><p>Those people in my life made all the difference for me, too. There were more, I am sure there were more, but I was too hurt to receive it, to believe in it.</p><p></p><p>To believe that could be real, for me.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>There is something about grandiosity I am looking for in reviewing this thread this time. Something SWOT said about grandiosity and the mother's brother and her son. It is hard to hold the places where we can see things differently; hard to track it down.</p><p></p><p>It has something to do with my grandmother loving <em>us all</em> unconditionally. My mother splits us, isolates us, isolates anyone who trusts her. (Writing about the elderly lady friend who does all the driving and etc.) The lady friend belongs to the same small, intimate group my mother does. The lady was there first. It is a public group and anyone can join, but this is a very small town. My mother has told me stories about what she has said about this woman, who is older than my mom and not in good health and lost her husband and still grieves him ~ about the way she is sabotaging the way the other members of the group are able to see this woman. </p><p></p><p>I don't know why she told me.</p><p></p><p>She is very, very supportive to the woman's face.</p><p></p><p>She also asked me point blank whether I thought she should use the man who wanted to marry her and over whom my mother and sister are battling away. </p><p></p><p>But I digress.</p><p></p><p>Or about my sister when her back is turned or about the way she creates such intense feelings of shame for her grands, and for her great grands, by blatantly displaying and insisting that others display too, a belief in the chosen child's ~ and the chosen child is changeable ~ value. Value is the word I am looking for here. Not the child's lovability or accomplishments or anything with an emotional component to it. The chosen child's value. Well, you cherish or love a child. You value a tool.)</p><p></p><p>Something to do with grandiosity; something to do with making you watch a child perform. Something to do with abusing the time and attention of family. Something to do with twisting that time into something filled with glass shards.</p><p></p><p>Something to do with keeping us isolated, one from the other.</p><p></p><p>My sister does this with and to her children and now, to her grandchild. I have posted before about my sister dominating (?) presuming upon the goodwill of the occasion to draw the attention from family, and from acceptance and bonding and goodwill into an irritation. Into, into making it not real. Into making that family time where everyone has taken time out of their lifetimes to come together and be together there, just seeing those faces around the dinner table or coming to the door, coming home ~ something about stealing, about usurping those generous energies into a vehicle for destroying that generous thing, that so pleased identity and collective approbation and approval and easy happy that should happen with family into ~ <em>into you don't matter. Into only I matter. Into "see my child / only my child and through your attention to her, see only me / only me."</em></p><p></p><p>My mother was always that way too, about anything having to do with herself. About her work, and about how important she was there, and about how smart a person has to be to hold a job like that. And about how ~ for heaven's sake. She used to bore whoever was stuck talking to her half to death with the same stories, the same conclusions, the same eyes on attention required to listen and listen and listen. I could do so many things, as long as I was in the area where she was, while my mother would just keep talking.</p><p></p><p>She was like the sound of a river. Something in the background that just keeps making meaningless sound.</p><p></p><p>But that was my lifetime she was using up to do that. And it was a presumption on the time I had made for all of us to be together.</p><p></p><p>I can still hear her, can still see her in any of a thousand places we might be.</p><p></p><p>Talking.</p><p></p><p>Forever talking about herself, repeating the same stories almost word for word, over and over and over again.</p><p></p><p>Yuck.</p><p></p><p>I don't know where I am trying to see myself to, here. But it has something to do with grandiosity in abusive parents (or sisters, I guess). And it is an important thing having to do with that destruction of the generosity and warmth and strength to be found in family. It has something to do with seeing to it that no matter how many times we try to come together, mistrust will be the word that comes up, like a bad fortune in one of those eight balls that has some kind of liquid in it and brings up a word when you ask it your future.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 657165, member: 17461"] Like I have D H mom. And like, when I was little, I had my grandmother, far away, but loving all of us ~[I] all of us, all of the cousins[/I] ~[I] [/I]unconditionally. I can see her at the door to this minute, her arms wide open and her eyes so happy to see us, and her skin so pretty. I am so glad you had her in your life, SWOT, and that you were able to receive what she could give to you, to help you know how to be whole. Those people in my life made all the difference for me, too. There were more, I am sure there were more, but I was too hurt to receive it, to believe in it. To believe that could be real, for me. *** There is something about grandiosity I am looking for in reviewing this thread this time. Something SWOT said about grandiosity and the mother's brother and her son. It is hard to hold the places where we can see things differently; hard to track it down. It has something to do with my grandmother loving [I]us all[/I] unconditionally. My mother splits us, isolates us, isolates anyone who trusts her. (Writing about the elderly lady friend who does all the driving and etc.) The lady friend belongs to the same small, intimate group my mother does. The lady was there first. It is a public group and anyone can join, but this is a very small town. My mother has told me stories about what she has said about this woman, who is older than my mom and not in good health and lost her husband and still grieves him ~ about the way she is sabotaging the way the other members of the group are able to see this woman. I don't know why she told me. She is very, very supportive to the woman's face. She also asked me point blank whether I thought she should use the man who wanted to marry her and over whom my mother and sister are battling away. But I digress. Or about my sister when her back is turned or about the way she creates such intense feelings of shame for her grands, and for her great grands, by blatantly displaying and insisting that others display too, a belief in the chosen child's ~ and the chosen child is changeable ~ value. Value is the word I am looking for here. Not the child's lovability or accomplishments or anything with an emotional component to it. The chosen child's value. Well, you cherish or love a child. You value a tool.) Something to do with grandiosity; something to do with making you watch a child perform. Something to do with abusing the time and attention of family. Something to do with twisting that time into something filled with glass shards. Something to do with keeping us isolated, one from the other. My sister does this with and to her children and now, to her grandchild. I have posted before about my sister dominating (?) presuming upon the goodwill of the occasion to draw the attention from family, and from acceptance and bonding and goodwill into an irritation. Into, into making it not real. Into making that family time where everyone has taken time out of their lifetimes to come together and be together there, just seeing those faces around the dinner table or coming to the door, coming home ~ something about stealing, about usurping those generous energies into a vehicle for destroying that generous thing, that so pleased identity and collective approbation and approval and easy happy that should happen with family into ~ [I]into you don't matter. Into only I matter. Into "see my child / only my child and through your attention to her, see only me / only me."[/I] My mother was always that way too, about anything having to do with herself. About her work, and about how important she was there, and about how smart a person has to be to hold a job like that. And about how ~ for heaven's sake. She used to bore whoever was stuck talking to her half to death with the same stories, the same conclusions, the same eyes on attention required to listen and listen and listen. I could do so many things, as long as I was in the area where she was, while my mother would just keep talking. She was like the sound of a river. Something in the background that just keeps making meaningless sound. But that was my lifetime she was using up to do that. And it was a presumption on the time I had made for all of us to be together. I can still hear her, can still see her in any of a thousand places we might be. Talking. Forever talking about herself, repeating the same stories almost word for word, over and over and over again. Yuck. I don't know where I am trying to see myself to, here. But it has something to do with grandiosity in abusive parents (or sisters, I guess). And it is an important thing having to do with that destruction of the generosity and warmth and strength to be found in family. It has something to do with seeing to it that no matter how many times we try to come together, mistrust will be the word that comes up, like a bad fortune in one of those eight balls that has some kind of liquid in it and brings up a word when you ask it your future. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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