Relationship Patterns / Dysfunctional FOO Issues

[Copabanana]

Painting and art and creation of all types, in all media. Dancing, performance, textiles, photography, writing, music, fashion, all of it. Are ours for the claiming.

To me, what the sister insists on is that Copa shut up about it and be sacrificed, forever.

She must have had the illusion that she had silenced me, by my leaving. That was her rage that I had returned.

I had no idea that was what she had wanted.

How dumb a thing to want. To believe that away means non-existent or beaten. When it is just the opposite.

because you remember the love of the real father and she...made another choice.

Yes. I did. I remembered and waited. Until he came. And that proved almost worse. I will talk about that more. Later.

It is easy to be all kinds of good things when a sister has been made to carry and reflect and incorporate the wrong from the time she was a beautiful little girl weighing no more than thirty to fifty pounds. A long legged colt of a girl

I was a beautiful little girl. Anybody with half a heart would have loved me. Sweet. Sensitive. Imaginative. Inquisitive. Friends with storekeepers, barbers, police on horseback. Painting and drawing and making music with every little thing I could ring or beat. Playacting and making theatricals at 5 or 6. Friends of bugs and beetles and moths and caterpillars. Dolls and paper dolls. Running and jumping and climbing. Loving outside.

Your father would never have countenanced such a thing.

Cedar, I have much work to do about my father, and it frightens me lest I fall into the same kind of morass as with my mother.

How else might you see the return of that comforter in that condition Copa, than through the abusive sister's eyes?

I have to think of it as a red badge of courage. I do not have to accept her definitions. There is a wonderful book, I think by Philip Roth, The Human Stain. If any of you are interested, I will read it again with you. We can have a cyber book club. The series of Philip Roth's books, I have always wanted to read. The main character is named Swede. One of the books, American Pastoral.

But right now I will open up Cooked to honor my promise to M to stay off the computer some *although his TV is back on.

He loved you fiercely ~ loved all of you, fiercely. Bad things happened to him. Bad things happened to the daughter he loved.

They did. Horrible things. I was broken to bits. But I stood up and did not allow myself to be defeated by life. And now I am putting myself back together again. Thank you.

To me, what the sister insists on is that Copa shut up about it and be sacrificed, forever.

Yes. How sad for her that her well-being is dependent upon the destruction of another, or others. Imagine a life based upon such a thing. What she wishes for me has not a thing to do with me, if I choose It. I do.

because you remember the love of the real father and she...made another choice.

I have a lot of grief and guilt inside me about my father. That I fear looking at. I will begin, but not today.

as an adult, makes her an evil, twisted thing.

Yes. What would it be to have a life defined by such? I really feel done with her. I do not have to go there anymore. She is Germany. I am Argentina. I have Borges and the Tango. And myself.

A long legged colt of a girl

Cedar, how I love this line. I can see myself. And love myself, in this line.

That is how brave and strong you are, Copa.

I am, Cedar. I am.

Ridicule-before-witnesses, cynicism and entitlement in every aspect of every single thing

Yes. I am beginning to almost hate her, except I do not hate. There is not the energy or motivation of hatred. More like a quiet disgust. Like one feels towards other disgusting things. (There is a famous book by the Anthropologist Mary Douglas about disgust. I will look for it, again.) Is it wrong to feel disgust? That is, should I seek another feeling or attitude?

The remarkable thing is my sister has lost so much of her power within me. When I think of her I feel disgust.

so gleefully stuffing us into roles guaranteeing their survival and happiness at the cost of our own.

It did buy them survival. Happiness, no. Contentment, no. Meaning, no. Nor did they really buy esteem of others or self-esteem. What they got? Survival at the expense of others. Like the stoolies in the concentration camp that Viktor Frankly writes about. What kind of survival is that? To have a character type that is willing to sell others out and off, especially one's family?

That stain, Copa. That is why it bothers you so, and it should.

It is the worst and most primitive kind of "win."

I am about to write something horrible. Once I was walking a pier in Berkeley. There were fishing huts along each side. And in one on the bench there was a pile of . That is a memory of 45 years ago that never leaves me. And that is the kind of stain delivered by my sister on my new, clean, white, down comforter. Like a horse head in a bed. Imagine lumping an act of a sister in such a grouping.

I am thinking now, just a little bit, of what bad things I may have done to her, that she feels justify an act that delivers such a degrading message.

Except I know it has not at all to do with me. And it never did. I was just trapped for a long while. Now I am not. Neither are you.

COPA

 

[New Leaf]

Some days, you just have to put on the hat,
to remind them who they are dealing with

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I think the first part of the dream represents the theory and therapy that should have worked and didn't, and what we are doing here, which shouldn't work, but does, somehow. In the second part, what I think I see is the adult's fear of the loss of identity involved in daring to define and reclaim yourself.

It is frightening to come real.

There comes a time of silence.

Yet, that is what is happening.

When we have lived through roles, how can we begin to know who we are without them?

Do we even like red? Chocolate? The taste of coffee? Whose life are we living, anyway? Everything feels so strange, and we don't know even how to speak correctly as ourselves. All of our lives, we have been so committed to doing the right thing, so wrapped up in guilt and apology and responsibility.

Real can be frightening; confusing.

Who are we, anyway. We are stepping into real. Like Pinocchio, when he was coming real, it was the lies he told to pretend he was already real that gave him away, that enslaved him, every time.

Here is the poetry about coming real, about self recognition, about the loneliness of living from role and not real. You are there, Copa. Trust in yourself, do your best (which is very amazingly perfectly correct), know this is meant to be.

I celebrate with you, Copa. I wish we'd been more aware of the patterns each of us was taking to reclaim ourselves. Each in her own way, we are following the same ones and I think Copa, that it might be even in the same sequence and time frame.

Here is the poetry. It is from the Self, imprisoned, to the Self, awakening years or lifetimes, later.

I am the Prisoner, Copa. You are the Prisoner. We are also the waiting mother, the waiting lover; the Prisoner, freed.

It is a love story, and a story of courage and intent.

Tomorrow will find me
a prisoner
Locked from sight
from scent and sound
of you.

So, come near to me, now.

Come gaze upon those brilliant, icy stars.

Then let this be the memory, deep engraved
on both our hearts
Etched
into both our fallible brains

So that when I return
years hence

Though your beauty then be spent
though my face be a caricature of the face
before you now...

Yet will I know you, by the stars
by those brilliant, icy stars

Shining undiminished in your eyes

***

The little girl, the consciousness expanding illegal substance she has already used without apology could be seen as the core self, coming real whether everything she did to get to this place was legal or proper or not, without shame.

She is honest.

This and this and this, I did. I will be real. I will claim myself unashamed. This is MY life.

Which is becoming precious to me. I see the patterns; see the pieces fall into place; watch the mosaic as it forms, as it comes so beautifully real.

Determined to be free of the roles (and of the blindness to them, and of the shame and the guilt automatically adhering to every role ~ that is the empty bag of marijuana. Shame and guilt exposed and the choice of honest, of real, of self acceptance, made instead. What was done, what someone else thinks should or should not have been done or would frown upon if they knew, or that you frown upon having done ~ none of that matters, now.

The little girl will be free.

You must protect her.

You must fight for her.

In a way Copa, this is like my question: "Who is the liar, here? Me, or my absuser."

The little girl is refusing to be ashamed of her femaleness in a patriarchal society.

There are papers to be signed; a case to be pled.

That is beautifully apt symbolism for those raised in dysfunctional family systems.

The adult Copa is there to protect, is there to fight for and plead a case for...and the girl brings in things indicating she is not perfect by choice. She refuses to hide "it". Refuses to hide or feel shame for the core self that she is.

You do hide it.

You understand the powerful psychiatrist (who is male, and thus part of the system that harmed the girl in the first place, and who is arrogant, and who makes you feel small, but not the girl, because she has known him, who he is, what he represents, all along: the patriarchal system. The system requiring that she be the good, guilty girl because she is a girl. Even if she is invited to travel on his boat for an afternoon, even that will be a thing done to glorify him and to shame her. You fear the psychiatrist and those attending the meeting will not grant the girl her freedom unless she is what he (and they) say she must be.

The girl is unafraid.

The power is hers. It never was theirs.

***

Copa.

I am so proud and happy for you.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

Yes. How sad for her that her well-being is dependent upon the destruction of another, or others. Imagine a life based upon such a thing. What she wishes for me has not a thing to do with me, if I choose It. I do.

It's more like the story of the child forced to live in the dungeon in the center of the town. She is the sacrifice. She is the reason the others can be happy, the reason there is no crime, the reason the others walk in the sunshine. The shame and the ugliness of the sacrifice, and of the need of it ~ this is blamed on the child in the dungeon, too. The sacrificial victim, the Sin Eater. These are archetypes, Copa. The sacrificial victim is blessed to be the victim, goes willingly ~ even proudly ~ to the slaughter; to martyrdom. A very hard thing then, to choose life; to value life not to die for the others, but to live for the self.

I have a lot of grief and guilt inside me about my father. That I fear looking at. I will begin, but not today.

You will be stronger then, Copa.

Here again, part of a sequence that happened for Serenity and then, me.

And now, soon, for you.

You know the way a butterfly comes from the cocoon with her wings folded and wet, Copa? That is what is happening to us, now. Wings opening, the feel of the mosaic, coming together. Everything falling into place or opening into some beautifully whole thing because it is time.

There is nothing we have to do; nothing we can do.

Only integrity, and that you are doing.

Me, too.

Yes. What would it be to have a life defined by such? I really feel done with her. I do not have to go there anymore. She is Germany. I am Argentina. I have Borges and the Tango. And myself.

Copa, what would it be to see, not only the Sister, but everything, through your own eyes, and never through those of the abuser, again?

Her life is her life, Copa.

She cheats.

You cannot help her with that choice that she made because it was easier, then, or forgive her for choosing ~ really, Copa, for insisting ~ that this ugliness, required to survive childhoods which were so difficult have validity in the Now. Sister is an adult, Copa. She has not the bravery to step forward in honesty, or to acknowledge what you did for her in gratitude, and to thank you; Sister has not the courage of the whore in the sun maybe, Copa ~ naked and vulnerable and beautiful and whole.

You do.

I really feel done with her. I do not have to go there anymore. She is Germany. I am Argentina. I have Borges and the Tango. And myself.

You are Germany, Argentina, Borges and Tango. You will incorporate the sister, Copa. She is magical now because of the roles. Because you are the little girl in the dungeon, raised to believe it is right for Sister to walk in the sunshine at the cost of the sacrifice of your life.

And to believe Sister has the right to despise and revile you as the dungeon dwelling, sacrificial creature you believe yourself, at her insistence, to be.

You never had to ask her permission, Copa.

Only your own.

This is the beginning.

:O)

Cedar, how I love this line. I can see myself. And love myself, in this line.

The remarkable thing is my sister has lost so much of her power within me. When I think of her I feel disgust.

I don't know, Copa. I am still in that part where things are unfolding in new ways. I am disgusted, but not shocked into disgust, anymore. I feel hurt, for myself. I feel gratitude, for my strength; for the right things I did and believed and refused to not believe. I am proud beyond the capacity for speech at the rightness of believing in that family dinner. It's not even proud, it's a feeling of rightness, whatever the outcome. There was a time when I was so surprised at what I ~ at how differently I was interpreting everything having to do with my family of origin. I had posted about it here saying that I liked myself, or that I found myself entertaining or complex or actually a fascinating, newly formed creature. This has continued, this feeling, this unfolding feeling.

We have lived such marginal lives, Copa.

Now, we find the center.

I am very sure that once we are healed, there will be room in the center for the sisters, for the sibs, for everyone.

I am not there, yet.

This will be an internal change; we may not see the sibs again and surely, will not see them in the same ways, again. I don't...my sister is not that little girl whose eyes filled with tears and whom I could not protect and who I saw hurt. She is like, sixty years old. I offered my heart, offered a truce, offered a chance, an opening, a place to make something real.

I did the right thing.

My self talk is less about her and more, about me.

Have I behaved with integrity, or is there something more I need to do.

The change involves reclaiming internal locus of control.

Nothing to do with the sibs.

Everything to do with us.

With integrity, somehow.

It did buy them survival. Happiness, no. Contentment, no. Meaning, no. Nor did they really buy esteem of others or self-esteem. What they got? Survival at the expense of others. Like the stoolies in the concentration camp that Viktor Frankly writes about. What kind of survival is that? To have a character type that is willing to sell others out and off, especially one's family?

I think as little girls they did not have a choice, Copa. But beginning with adolescence, they did. Coming into their adulthoods, the choice to blame and exclude and choose hate for the child in the dungeon would have become a more troublesome thing.

A more clearcut choice.

And this is where the sisters stumble into evil.

They know better.

They choose.

In so many ways, our choice was the easier of the two.

It is good to be the protector, to feel the courage and the fear and the bravery of it.

And the shame, when we could not protect and did not choose hatred. That is the difference I think too, Copa. While we could not hate the mother or the sibs we were charged to protect, our sibs could so easily choose to hate and blame and revile pseudo mom.

There are no winners, here.

We are reclaiming ourselves, true enough...but we should never have been imprisoned, should never have been taught to imprison ourselves, to begin with.

I am about to write something horrible. Once I was walking a pier in Berkeley. There were fishing huts along each side. And in one on the bench there was a pile of . That is a memory of 45 years ago that never leaves me. And that is the kind of stain delivered by my sister on my new, clean, white, down comforter. Like a horse head in a bed. Imagine lumping an act of a sister in such a grouping.

Yes.

What we've done is take responsibility for the thing we spied on the bench, for the thing everyone else pretended they did not see. There it was, evil and radiating stink and wrongness.

It's like we've been carrying it in some hidden place to protect the mothers, to protect the fathers and sibs. Somewhere along the line, we have forgotten that though we spied it, we did not perform the act that resulted in that affront to decency, in that wrong and public ugliness.

Nonetheless, we are carrying it now.

We might have chosen too, to pass it by; to pass on it.

We will know the time to bury it, will know the time to work it into the soil of self for the nourishing richness in it.

Another source of strength.

I am thinking now, just a little bit, of what bad things I may have done to her, that she feels justify an act that delivers such a degrading message.

You are the child in the dungeon, Copa. You are not supposed to have nice things lest it take away from the happiness of those whose lives have been lived in the sun.

Part of us believes that, too.

That is the part we are healing.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

Some days, you just have to put on the hat,
to remind them who they are dealing with

Leafy, could you elaborate? Just as my imagery of the beautiful whore in the sun meant so much more than even I could know, this imagery, this reclamation through donning an identifying item publicly carries some thing crucial for you.

This is my response to your imagery, Leafy:

I have been woman
for a long time.

Beware my smile.

I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury.

Monique Wittig

Have I come close?

Cedar

 

[New Leaf]

Hi Cedar,

It is for Halloween..... (for I will be a witch today)
In addressing our FOO, on the patterning and the roles that have been written for us, as well as imagery on each of us becoming unto our own.
We are wearing the hat.
Our "hats" have always been there, deep inside the closet of our subconscious.

The roles have been written in the indelible ink of our memories,
in the memories of our FOO, and those we have forged relationships with.
These roles did not allow us to wear our hats.

When we step out of those roles so long ago written
to claim ourselves
how puzzling we are to those around us who think they have pegged us.
What a mystery we become to those around us
who are accustomed to our responding a certain way.
Who would have us
be so meek, pliable and nice
that we would forget
about our own selves.

What a mystery we have become to ourselves,
as we begin to see ourselves
through our own eyes, wide open
and shed the glasses of yesterday
the eyeglasses
of those who would have us be
what they want us to be.

This indelible ink is that we can't erase our past.
That is unchangeable.
Removing the glasses that others have prepared for us,
trusting in our own vision,
our own capability for sight,
we peer truthfully into our past
and learn from our reactions in the old role
to develop into our own.
Then something marvelous happens,
we find insight
and understanding
and change
and growth.
We begin to see
the once before
unimaginable
endless
possibilites.
We dig through the closet.
We find our hats.

It is magic
this seeing of ourselves.
In the knowing who we truly are, who we truly can be.
And so we change.
We remove the glasses completely.
We wear our hats
of empowerment.

Those who have viewed us for so long
Continue to see us,
as they would have us see ourselves.
When we appear
with our "hats"
they are completely
utterly
confounded.

This wearing of the hat
is a reminder
to ourselves and those around us
that in not only us
but in everyone
there is
magic.
Empowerment.

We wear the hat.
Our hats that were there all along
but we were not permitted to wear.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

We wear the hat.
Our hats that were there all along
but we were not permitted to wear.

Or that we wore in shame.

Beautifully done, Leafy.

Thank you.

Cedar

 

[Copabanana]

You are Germany, Argentina, Borges and Tango. You will incorporate the sister, Copa.

This makes sense, Cedar.

Maybe that is why I cannot *yet organize my house. I have yet to own my Germany, my orderliness, a sense of completing a task, pride in a job well done, taking charge, accountability.

I need to claim my inner Germany. I do not need to live in the periphery, and overspend and not repair the infrastructure and have debt and currency crises.

My trains and buses can run on time. I can budget. I can have oversight. I can be Germany, too.

Thank you, Cedar.

 

[New Leaf]

Or that we wore in shame.

Beautifully done, Leafy.

Thank you.

Cedar

Why yes Cedar,

We did wear our hats, being ourselves as children.

What a lot is said in one small sentence.

Thank you Cedar.

 

[New Leaf]

I wish you all a wonderful day.
I am thankful to be in the presence of such amazing women.
Feeling, Copa, Cedar and all of our fellow warriors.

Time to put on my costume and my hat.

Thank you so much for your beauty and grace and for sharing your hearts.

You are all really just too, too fascinating.

 

[Copabanana]

M did not make me go with him this morning. Sigh. But my moral code makes it such that I have to work today. After all, I am newly Germany.

So as much as I would like to devote myself to laze here in the bed reading and posting. I must not.

Cedar, how was your martial arts class last night? Have you settled in completely in the house? Thank you Cedar for all of the hard work you are doing here.

New Leaf, I am living with the two Advanced Fashion/Fashionista videos inside me. Thank you.

Feeling, it is your Friday. (I have been living a continuous weekend.) Time to relax and do something fun.

My son I fear is angling to come home (again). M said, if that should be the case he will move to the other house.

I have been trying to suppress the growing awareness that this is son's aim, but it is no longer possible to deny.

Last night he called. First he mentioned the hospital where the liver clinic is is having a free liver biopsy event. He said he is going.

He also said he learned from a contact at the Army Recruiter's office that American troops will be entering Syria. (Indeed it is being announced this morning.) He believes this is (another) end times. He said: Don't you think we are better off together when the end comes?

After first asking him if he was planning to enlist in the Army,
I said, while I hope you are with me when I die, I do not expect my death to come soon. Nor do I expect it to come at the time and circumstances that I can predictably envision.

But more importantly, I do not choose to live in a way that is determined by anticipating all of the ways I could die. How and when I die is beyond my control. I seek to live in a way that I define, that I can control to the extent I am able. I hope you do the same. Live in a way that is defined by your hopes and your strengths, not fear and powerlessness.

So he responded something like: My mind is a mess, or sucks, or something like that. Why do I keep doing that?

Me: Because you fill your head with garbage.

You recognize that by eating properly, no refined carbs and olive oil, and good quality vegetables and fruits and proteins, you sustain and repair your body and your strength. It is the same with your mind.

If you use it for constructive pursuits, studying, learning (about useful and productive things and communicate with others who do the same, your thoughts will be hopeful, plentiful and meaningful, creative and productive.

He had to leave the phone very quickly.

I think he is thinking of alternative living situations because rent is due in one day. He does not want to pay that $500. To avoid doing so he is prepared to resume a degrading and horrible life here in my town or one like it.

A few days ago he volunteered to move back to the homeless shelter in a town 45 minutes away (he hated it and was kicked out) so that he could give me half of his check to help pay for the cat's teeth.

What an idiot.

COPA

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I watched the video clip from Kung Fu this morning, Leafy. Thank you. I always did like Dvid Carradine when his head was shaved and he looked clean and spiffy. Not at all when he was in the world and poorly groomed and so unmanly.

Ahem.

I must have missed every nuance of every teaching.

Or maybe, they just sank right in without comment and waited for me to catch up.

In any event, I wish they had shown the actor always with a shaved head.

I am going to watch more clips from that show.

Thank you very much for that, Leafy.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

What an idiot.

You are doing well I think, Copa. Now that you are responding differently, it will take son just a short time for his brain to begin firing on all cylinders.

I love it that you are committing to your integrity.

:O)

Cedar

 

[Copabanana]

I asked M to help me set up a new printer I bought today. I had gotten to a certain point and did not know how to put in the ink cartridges. He was irritated and used the opportunity to criticize me relentlessly. After a certain point I told him it was OK. I will return the printer. He replied. No it is not OK. Fix it. Fix the printer. You start something, you finish it. No. I want to return it, I said.

You will finish it, he said. He grabbed my shoulder, pushed me down. I began to scream. I did so on purpose. It was a decision to draw a line. I would scream as long as he was hurting me or threatening me. He became more angry.

He left.

I remained calm and was lying down. A bit later he entered the room and demanded that I resume assembling the printer myself. I said no, I would not.

I told him that I would not tolerate his manhandling me or criticizing me without end. Or what? He demanded.

Just that. I will not tolerate it.

He replied something like, well you have to change, for me to change. I answered, my changing or not changing has nothing to do with your need to control your behavior. I will not tolerate your aggression towards me. There can be no conditions tied to your stopping your mistreatment of me.

He tried to say that he grabbed and shoved me because I had screamed, telling me he has warned me how screaming affects him. He accused me of always getting confused. He tried to invert cause and effect.

I would not take the bait. I know what happened. I repeated: I will not tolerate that behavior. You will not hurt me or continually criticize me.

How is it that you can treat me whichever way you want, then?

Whatever I do or do not do has nothing to do with your being aggressive to me. If you insist upon this way of seeing and acting you can stay at the other house. I will pay you for your work. But I will not allow you to treat me as you are.

He began to talk about my indecisiveness with the paint, and all the wrong things I do with the computer, or buying stuff as examples of the impossible things about me that make everything my fault and then said, do you want me to leave now? I said yes. He left.

I feel sad and stunned.

COPA

 

[New Leaf]

He was irritated and used the opportunity to criticize me. After a certain point I told him it was OK. Forget it. I will return the printer. He replied. No it is not OK. Fix it. Fix the printer.

You start something, you finish it.

Within seconds, he grabbed my shoulder, pushed me down, and was talking fiercely. I began to scream. I did so on purpose. It was a decision to scream, to draw a line. He became more angry.

He left.

Oh Copa my dear, I am so sorry for this happening.
There is absolutely no excuse for a man to treat a woman this way.
None whatsoever. Are you hurt dear friend? The shock of it and the deep inner hurt, but are you injured? I pray you are okay.

I remained calm and was lying down. A bit later he entered the room and demanded that I resume assembling the printer myself. I said no, I would not..

So no sorry or remorse for putting his hands on you, more demanding. This is not right.

I told him that I would not tolerate his manhandling me or criticizing me without end. Or what? He demanded.

Just that. I will not tolerate it.

This behavior is unacceptable.
It should not be tolerated.
Has he done this to you before? Oh Copa, it is a terrible thing.

Long ago, my hubs had outbursts and manhandled me. It was horrible.
We separated and he went to counseling.
I told him before we got back together that I would never be treated that way again.
A man should never push, shove, hit or intimidate a woman with his brute strength.
I am so angry at M, he has no right to do this.

He replied something like, well you have to change, for me to change. I answered, my changing or not changing has nothing to do with it. I will not tolerate your aggression towards me. There can be no conditions tied to your stopping your mistreatment of me.

How is it that you can treat me whichever way you want, then?

Whatever I do or do not do has nothing to do with your being aggressive to me. If you want to continue this way you can stay at the other house. I will pay you for your work. But I will not allow you to treat me as you did.

You are exactly right Copa. A man bullying a woman is just that, bullying, period.

He began to talk about my indecisiveness with the paint, and try to talk about all the wrong things I do with the computer, as the impossible things about me that make everything my fault and then said, do you want me to leave now? I said yes. He left.

I feel sad and stunned.

Copa, you were right to make him leave.
I am shocked and dismayed for you.
This is unacceptable treatment, utterly unacceptable.
I worry for your safety with M, Copa.
You must be safe.
This is not safe behavior.

I am very very concerned for you Copa!

 

[New Leaf]

Copa, you are not alone. There are others out there who have felt this terrible sting.

He tried to say that he grabbed and shoved me because I had screamed, telling me he has warned me how screaming affects him. He accused me of always getting confused. He tried to invert cause and effect.

This is typical of someone trying to have power and control-blame the victim.
It is demoralizing, and meant to keep you as a victim.
It is unacceptable.
Please be safe, Copa.
Take steps to be safe.
You have every right to scream to protect yourself.
There is no excuse for a man to grab and shove a woman.
It is a very wrong thing that M has done to you.
It is violent and beneath the tender care you deserve.
Please, please Copa, be safe.

 

[Copabanana]

Thank you, New Leaf.

I am safe. He is not here. M would not hurt me badly. I do not have a bruise. He grabbed my upper arm, and pushed me slightly I am not afraid of him, but he scares me because I do not want conflict of any sort.

I screamed not for help but to protest. To not accept what was happening to me. Had he continued I would have continued screaming. He did not. He did try to bully me. I did not accept that either but would not fight with him. I do not want to fight.

I did call his sister and told her. He knows I told her. He will not come back tonight. If he does he will be passive. He will have calmed down. I hope he does not come back tonight.

He is not a bad man. He knows what he did was wrong. But that does not make it better. It makes it worse.

I am safe. I am just sad and vulnerable. Thank you for caring about me. I am sad my mother is not here.

COPA

 

[New Leaf]

Oh Copa, I am so relieved to know that you are okay.

I understand this feeling of sadness and vulnerability.

I am proud that you stood up to M, Copa, that you would not let him continue to bully you.

I am the same way with my husband, I do not want conflict, or confrontation. There is no point to it, no winning.

Thank you for responding, even in your sadness.

I am comforted knowing you are not hurt physically.

But I do know the hurt inside.

Relationships are not all sunshine and happiness, there are dark sad times.

Please take care dear Copa.

 

[Feeling Sad]

Copa, I had no idea.

I am glad that you stood up for yoursrlf. It is never okay for a man to push or grab a woman. My first husband was very abusivive.

I am so sorry you were treated this way. It is a good thing that he left.

You are going through so much right now. You have your son's health issues, and now his possible housing issues. You have started to get out more.

Why is he choosing now to be so critical of you. What right does he have to demand that you address the stupid printer?

I am proud of the way you handled things. Just do things for yourself when you wake up. It is all about what Copa needs and wants. Be kind to yourself, dear friend, and do something frivolous, just for you.

Your warrior sisters have your back. Do you feel our strength?

 

[New Leaf]

Why is he choosing now to be so critical of you. What right does he have to demand that you address the stupid printer?

I am thinking that M must be very conflicted at seeing the great strides you are making Copa.
He is afraid.
Afraid of Copa the fabulously dressed, emerging from her cocoon, beautiful butterfly, still with wet wings, but on the verge of flying.
He says you must change, but you are changing.
And he is afraid.
The fear comes out as criticisms, and demands and moodiness.
And arguments over stupid printers.
UGH, men..........
Do they fear that if they support us and praise us, we shall see our own value and leave them?
I sometimes think this to be true.

You are brave Copa, and you told him loud and clear his behavior will not be tolerated.
The ball is in his court now.
I hope he does right by you Copa.

You deserve to be treated kindly.