The win and the loss

[New Leaf]

I just had a memory of telling my mom and dad how I felt, and I was given a paper bag and told "If you don't like it here, you can leave. Pack your clothes." I was 6. WTF.
leafy

 

[Copabanana]

They wanted to be the source of largesse. Like God. That is power-over.

My grandmother died in 1976. You remember that story so I will spare you. I was with her. So there was money. But my mother controlled its distribution. Without an attorney or a trust. She told me I could buy furniture. Only that. Nothing more. Or less. I could not buy clothes, or pay a down payment on a house. Or travel. Furniture.

That we have been brought up to defer, to allow someone else not only access to, but distribution rights, to our power; to our energies; to our thinking and whatever our talents are.

I am dealing with this now. Right now. Today. This minute. *And also the other part where one is always afraid. Wondering what peril will come, when and from where.

Until one realizes that the peril is imagined. It is the internal ground or screensaver that lives inside ones head. What normality is.

Yesterday I went to M's sister's house to pay her. I really do not want to keep paying somebody to come to be with me in my own house because I am paralyzed.

I am frozen into helplessness in my own house. And in panic because of it. M is mad and impatient. We want to invite people over and I suggested a restaurant and he replied, "I want them to see how we live. I want to extend hospitality. What is it? Can you not do it or do you now want to? Which is it?

I did not answer because that minute I did not know. Because it is both. I do not want to do it because when I try I get so frightened and panicky--the feelings are so averse that I cannot bear them.

So I proposed to M's sister that we help each other. No go. Why would she want that? She wants the money. And M said, who wouldn't want to be paid for their time?

We left it that I would pick her up this morning at 9. And when I woke up I called her and said, I have a bad headache. I am going to do what I can, errands, I am sorry.

For a brief moment this morning I realized: Everything is OK. You are safe. Nobody can hurt you. If you just stop and make good choices (i.e stop buying, pay bills, work a little bit in the house) you are OK. Nothing bad will happen. It is OK. It is only normal life. It is not an emergency that there are boxes in your dining room. It is not a disaster that you do not know how to take pictures with a phone.

Somebody, eventually will show you. You can buy plastic boxes and fill them and stack them and the house will look more normal. If it does not look normal it will still look pretty. You are alright.

You all know how I was a housekeeper as a young child. But it was as you said, Cedar. At the will and whim of my mother. Without a master I am useless. And helpless and overwhelmed. I feel as if I have no sense of internal regulation or organization to do so inside myself and to effect my environment without a harsh taskmaster.

So my steady state Cedar, as it is now, is a sense of no control over myself and my environment, in a climate of extreme fear.

COPA

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

Others in my profession can be and have been very mean to me. And I have felt no defense. Just kind of like open season on me. (The paradox which I cannot understand still, is that I am held in high esteem and in my work I hold myself in high esteem.)

That is office politics I think, Copa. The higher we go, the more competitive our peers will be. They would not be in the positions they are in if they were not more competitive than the average bear and more used to doing whatever it takes to stand out, and to win. The other observation I would make is that, whereas they may have had supportive family or parents in the field, there was nowhere for you to turn for support. Not professionally, and not personally. There was no wise old relative to tell you: "This is just how it is; you're doing fine." You were not married, and you could not trust your family not to knife you when your back was turned, so you dared not display uncertainty even to them. Maybe especially not to them. These are the ways we were hurt too, by growing up as we did. We do not have the support systems other adults have, even now.

How could you mount defense, Copa?

There was no defense to be had, for Copa.

She was alone.

Like the Little Prince's rose, with only her thorns, and her tears.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I was 6. WTF.

Yay for you, Leafy!!!

WTF is exactly right. What in the world was the matter with these people!

And as if what they have already done to us were not bad enough they want to keep doing it.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I have written that my situation was not as bad as you folks, and to a large extent, I think this is true.

It isn't whether a certain story is worse or better, Leafy. It is whether we are willing to reclaim ourselves. Nothing else matters at all. At certain points, however it happened, we were forced to choose against ourselves. We are like captured and brainwashed soldiers in this way. Like they do too, we suffer PTSD and we don't sleep well and we are no longer certain of ourselves in the way those who have never been tortured are certain of themselves.

So, that is our situation.

We always knew that what happened to us was wrong. What we did not know was that we could heal it.

Now, we do.

***

We are meant to be healthy and whole. Think about it. If we cut ourselves, we heal. Same thing with our emotional health. We just aren't sure how to do it, that's all.

You know what though?

We are doing it.

***

Our abusers, whoever they were, found their supremacy in dominating their own children. I don't mean teaching them. I don't even mean disciplining them. I mean intentionally hurting their own children to the point of turning their locus of control from inside, from the heart and center of us where it belongs, to outside. To anyone stronger than us. To anyone who threatens or frightens us. Whether we respond in a placating way or through anger or through withdrawal, the hurt at the center is the same one.

How vulnerable this has made us, and how alone.

This should never have happened to us, or to anyone. We are meant to be whole.

The abuser's weapon was contempt of one kind or another. The remedy is compassion.

Nothing more, but that is hard to do when we have been hurt the way we have.

Leafy, no one can hear you or comfort you or mirror your pain for you but you. But Leafy no one has the right to do that for you but you. Someone somewhere taught you someone else needed to validate whatever it is you feel.

That was a lie.

Stop believing that lie they told you about who you are, Leafy.

But I have to tell you, even writing this, I feel I am betraying everything I grew up learning. Did you feel like that?

Yes. That is what I mean when I wonder who is the liar. Me, or my mother? it was a hard question. I determined compassion could come later, for my mother and for my sister. Truly, what if I were the one who remembered awful things that were not true? It was that disorienting to confront those things that had been hurt into me. But I had witnesses here on the site to strengthen me, and I had D H to witness for me in what he had observed, and I had my determination to not carry around weaknesses that were making me a wishy washy mom when my kids were in such outrageous trouble.

So, I put my mother in the Conduct Disorders motorcycle carrying bag. As I came clearer, I put in an excellently executed needlepoint that reads: F You, Mom.

Then, we made the carrying bag big enough for a beautiful English library with leaded glass windows and sparkling crystal and good Scotch and butlers.

That was how we dealt with the issue of betraying our mothers.

We kept them safe, and we honored them, but we addressed true things that were weakening us.

And we got better. And we figured out how to keep going. And it was really hard Leafy, but you can do it, too. Perfectionism is an indication of external locus of control. To me, it is. How that happened ~ whether I was beat and you were not ~ that doesn't matter. What matters is that we recover internal locus of control.

We are in difficult situations. Our children are in danger and in trouble. We need to be stronger.

Cedar

 

[New Leaf]

Thank you Cedar, I am at work on a short break, so I will answer later. Thank you very much for your response.
leafy

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

Without a master I am useless. And helpless and overwhelmed. I feel as if I have no sense of internal regulation or organization to do so inside myself and to effect my environment without a harsh taskmaster.

So my steady state Cedar, as it is now, is a sense of no control over myself and my environment, in a climate of extreme fear.

Do you remember this summer Copa when D H and I were putting in a path and there was water, so much water? And I said D H said, "Well, now we know where we are."

That is where you are, now.

You don't have to have anyone over yet, Copa.

You are not ready. You get to say. No one else.

Cedar

 

[Copabanana]

Then, we made the carrying bag big enough for a beautiful English library with leaded glass windows and sparkling crystal and good Scotch and butler

Remember, Cedar. You put my Mom into the bag with a beautiful crimson long scarf. Remember? And when I told you she was short, and could not wear long scarves, we made her taller. And she will be happy for awhile there. Because the butler is very charming to her. And handsome too.

whoever they were, found their supremacy in dominating their own children. I don't mean teaching them. I don't even mean disciplining them. I mean intentionally hurting their own children to the point of turning their locus of control from inside

My mother never taught me anything that I remember. She just got mad. And slapped my face and hit my body with wood or metal hangers. That was how I learned. Except for my grandmother, she would teach me.

I am a basket case today. I have a terrible migraine. I went back to bed and got up to remember Dolly has to go to the vet. I feel desolate with all of this. What has happened to me?

COPA

 

[Copabanana]

And I said D H said, "Well, now we know where we are."

Thank you, Cedar. M is impatient with me. I guess he thinks I am better (I was) and he can apply pressure. He is capable of contempt. You should have seen his grimace when I went to bed at 3 am. I know he felt bad after because he hugged me until I slept. But contempt nonetheless.

I would be OK if I just stopped the buying. I could just declare myself retired. I am going to apply for my social security in March. And who could say anything? Except I am not stopping the buying. It is no longer jewelry. I am not obeying myself about the scarves.

I thought about writing a mystery novel about scarves, so that I would not have to possess them, I could just study them. Kind of like my favorite mystery of all time, Umberto Eco, The Name of The Rose. You would love it. I know you would. It is a postmodern mystery novel set in like the 12th century in Italy. In an abbey. It is not scary.

I think I will watch the Queen Elizabeth movie tonight with Helen Mirren. She wears a lot of Hermes scarves.

COPA

 

[Copabanana]

I am on my way to the vet but I forgot to say the main thing I wanted to say in the post above.

That saying of D H is about my most favorite sentence in my history at C D.

Well, now we know where we are.

Instead of what I do which is to: condemn myself in any conceivable manner and way. Desperately. I become a prisoner on Robin Island, a condemned murderer sent to Australia. I have a emblazon on my breast a scarlet A for abandonment. I inhabit my own personal death row.

Now we know where we are. I think for me the thing that will change things is to get to know this place to where I condemn myself. Did you know that some of prisoners would decorate their cells? Some even got pets, birds, spiders, mice. And when their decorated cells were tore up by guards they would rebuild again. Now, that is defiance in the best possible sense.

And those prisoners I respected so much, would build a social schedule for themselves to rival anybody's. Breakfast with friends. Soccer. Basketball. Baseball. They would have all manner of art and craft. That they had access to. Bead work and painting were the favorites. I respect that so much.

So, I have calmed myself by writing this. I must just get to know the place where I condemn myself, to decorate and get busy.

Now I know where I am. What else is there, more important? Thank you Cedar, for reminding me.

COPA

 

[New Leaf]

I am glad you feel better Copa.


(((HUGS)))
leafy

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I am a basket case today. I have a terrible migraine. I went back to bed and got up to remember Dolly has to go to the vet. I feel desolate with all of this. What has happened to me?

You are coming through multiple force fields, through artificial prison walls and into freedom, Copa. Take all the time that you need. This is an internal process. You can function beautifully in the outside world.

This is why the scarves, now.

Work and Germany will help you now. Very important to see it that way. When chopping onions just chop onions.

Focus. Let it happen. Behave pleasantly in public. Journal or post here but mostly journal lest privacy be shattered and sacred ground mocked or cheapened. It will be worse before it is better but it will be better. This is an opportunity. If you were not strong enough it would not be happening now. Sit with the feelings. Proceed with your day. Concentrate on the task at hand. These are the times they write about when they say if you do not want it as though your hair were on fire, do not begin.

Remember when I was posting and posting about shame and what lived beneath it?

That is where you are.

Good for you Copa.

You will come through this.

I did.

My grandmother died in 1976. You remember that story so I will spare you. I was with her. So there was money. But my mother controlled its distribution. Without an attorney or a trust. She told me I could buy furniture. Only that. Nothing more. Or less. I could not buy clothes, or pay a down payment on a house. Or travel. Furniture.

We have been badly, badly used, Copa.

What would a young unmarried want with furniture even if she did have it. No one wants to think about furniture until we decide to make a home.

That was nasty of your mother on so many levels.

Umberto Eco, The Name of The Rose. You would love it. I know you would.

I did love it, Copa.

:O)

Perfectionism is an indication of external locus of control.

Until one realizes that the peril is imagined. It is the internal ground or screensaver that lives inside ones head. What normality is.

The peril is not imagined. The peril is complex PTSD. Grown men soldiers, tortured and imprisoned, come home with PTSD and it destroys their lives.

We didn't get to come home.

We were home.

Hold strong for that little girl that you were, Copa. That is how scared she was. She is safe enough now to let you know it, too. Don't let her down.

I know you will not.

***

Copa, this is how you send yourself back to prison. I do it, too. Perfectionism. And perfectionism is not about anything real. Perfectionism is about having been tormented when we were little kids. I think you should take it seriously, because it is serious, but I wonder what would happen if you listened to the negative tapes on this one. I wonder too Copa how the luncheon with the rotten sister figures into perfectionism around this dinner.

D H said: "Tell Copa she is still in bed. She needs to get up."

I awakened this morning thinking about rage and vengeance and having been kicked and why did I stay there. I don't remember being afraid to leave so much as I felt hopeless. I felt responsible for so much. Were we literally afraid to think, Copa. Are we, literally, afraid to think ourselves out of these boxes, today. Had it been possible, would I have spent my beautiful life living in that house with my mother? Cleaning for her, cooking and laundering for her, and being beat and pinched and kicked by someone who turns out to have been a wicked, evil person who knew better but chose an immoral choice ~ but chose thousands of immoral choices to justify her own evil impulses?

Somewhere within us Copa, that mindset is what we are fighting now. Some immoral something that got its claws into a little girl.

That prisoner mindset. Gift from mom. That was our real inheritance, Copa.

Remember the poetry about the prisoner? What will you see Copa if you search for the prisoner's eyes, for the stars in them?

I love this imagery for you. I love the tension between what was and what will be. It isn't the dinner you are afraid of I don't think Copa. It's the urge to come out as yourself to this audience who will never understand the necessity of a Hermes. It isn't the dinner so much as it is finding motivation for a dinner that is not a challenge to our finest skills.

That's what I think.

You are moving so fast now Copa. I think you are doing beautifully.

***

M should not be looking at you with contempt. Never. Not if you wake him and not if you did not come to bed and not if you are not better. That is not M's business or purpose in your life. If he is not who you need him to be, out he goes. Contempt. No, Copa.

Not contempt.

He has no right.

That needs to be addressed.

There is no trust without respect. There is no love without trust. You cannot respect a man who looks at you with contempt.

***

I am working today. I will write more later Copa. I am excited for you. You can do this Copa, and you will. Keep your focus on listening and witnessing for yourself. I read in one of your posts here about the your mother and the hangers.

I am there with you, Copa.

I am witnessing that because I know how to know just how wrong and contemptuous a thing that was.

I see the greed in her, and the wickedness.

She was not punishing you, Copa.

To do that to a little girl or to a beautiful young girl or to a young woman is not punishment. It is sadism with all that implies. dominance. The final evil is that these people into whose care we'd been given hid then and hide, still, behind the wonder of motherhood. But behind closed doors, when they were alone with their children and when there were no witnesses, we paid.

We cannot undo it now Copa.

But we can name the abuser.

Remember Buddhist Copa, and work. Remember Germany. You picked this, Copa. Determined intent.

I am proud and happy for us both.

Cedar

My mother used hangers too, Copa.

I can witness for you on this one beautifully. You will come through it this time supple and strong because I will bring Maya and the black lady from Matrix and Lisa, too.

I think I know why you are buying again, Copa.

 

[New Leaf]

Wooden spoons and.........
isolation......
obvious disapproval,
silent treatment,
contempt for any feelings other than happiness.

Nothing less than all A's.

Never good enough.
thin enough.

self controlled enough
Pretty enough.

I was supposed to be a boy.

Actually, I was a mistake.......
leafy

 

[New Leaf]

How is Dolly Copa?
I hope she is okay.
(((HUGS)))
leafy

 

[Copabanana]

The Vet said she could not determine the nature of the growths without another biopsy. That even though she had mast cell tumors 2 years ago, it is not a sure thing that she has them now. It could be another type of cancer that will not respond to the medication that was so effective with the growths before. So, she is scheduled for a biopsy in 2 weeks where the doctor will remove the two growths. If it is the same cancer as before, and maybe with another type, she will get the medication she got before which works on the growths.

We are also talking about the possibility of euthanasia, because the reality is multiple sites of cancer, and now a recurrence. She is already 7 years old.

There is no cure.

It is tough to know what to do.

Thank you for asking.

COPA

 

[Copabanana]

Perfectionism is about having been tormented when we were little kids.

I think this is so. Thank you.

You know the "banality of evil?" I have taken as a given constant fear. And dreadful self-attack. The banality of punishment. The expectation of danger. Of somebody unhappy with me. Of having done wrong. Fell short. That is my reality. I create danger and risk in order to restore the internal climate that feels normal. When it is OK, I am anxious. I expect punishment so I create some condition that requires it.

This is why I have to be very, very careful with my perceptions of M and about him. I say that had a look of contempt. When he looked upset. I see things in a distorted manner. I cannot trust my perceptions. I do not trust them.

I wonder too Copa how the luncheon with the rotten sister figures into perfectionism around this dinner.

Cedar, I saw my sister so infrequently in our adult lives, but there were half a dozen, max, meals. I remember them as agonies. My sister is a good cook. There was always some indignity. She would kick us out. Or do some inappropriate thing to undermine us, and to show her power.

I think this is M's issue with me. That we arrive at some kind of balance or acceptance of our way of life. Not such extremes. It is hard to explain.

M should not be looking at you with contempt. Never.

No. He should not. But was it contempt? He awoke out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night. Not happy. But not awake either. So much in me is distorted. It is a reason I cannot forgive myself for staying away from my mother.

I exaggerated the risk of being near her, when I was an adult, because I could not bear it when she was angry at me. The residue of the past. Call it PTSD.

Yes, it might have been part of her fault. But I blame myself for not having cured myself. Even though I tried.

I am there with you, Copa.

Thank you Cedar.

Hold strong for that little girl that you were, Copa. That is how scared she was. She is safe enough now to let you know it, too. Don't let her down.

Thank you.

Are we, literally, afraid to think ourselves out of these boxes, today.

Yes, I think so. I think this is exactly it. That is why patience is so needed, with ourselves.

It's the urge to come out as yourself to this audience who will never understand the necessity of a Hermes. It isn't the dinner so much as it is finding motivation for a dinner that is not a challenge to our finest skills.

I am not sure I understand what you are saying here, Cedar. Are you referring here to the couple that we have befriended, that M wanted to invite over? These people would not require that be perfect. They already like us. They live in a little in law apartment behind the wife's mother's house. These people are not competitive or false, they are good.

And the latter sentence, which I put in italics. I think your meaning is sinking in. That all that is required is living without cruelty to myself. And nothing more. Is it about achieving an internal locus of control, the recognition that I am enough, no matter what, and letting go? That no dancing dog performance is required? That there can be goodness and acceptance in life, for which you do not have to sell yourself or submit?

Is it all happening because I have shed so much old skin, and I am vulnerable in a way I have never been before...but have not changed the piece of me that is so harsh? What I am fearing that will come from others...is really coming from myself.

Is that what you mean?

Thank you.

COPA

 

[New Leaf]

It isn't whether a certain story is worse or better, Leafy. It is whether we are willing to reclaim ourselves. Nothing else matters at all.

Thank you Cedar. I have read through the FOO chronicles. You have all done a lot of work, and come very far. I am following behind. I am tardy to the class, so to speak. I am thankful for your kindness and patience.

We are meant to be healthy and whole. Think about it. If we cut ourselves, we heal. Same thing with our emotional health. We just aren't sure how to do it, that's all.

This is true, we are meant to be healthy and whole, in every way.
Not being sure how to do it I think has to do with a lot of these feelings and memories coming back full force concurrently with the emotional turmoil of dealing with my two girls. More so, with detachment. There is this void. Then the stages of grief, and guilt, self examination.
It is a rawness, that connects with the feelings from the past.
It becomes a huge rabbit hole fallen into. Dream, or real?

The abuser's weapon was contempt of one kind or another. The remedy is compassion.

"Compassion is reason with a human face,
sympathetic rationality,
suffering yearning for its own expiration."
http://www.erudit.org/revue/LTP/1998/v54/n1/401135ar.pdf

And we got better. And we figured out how to keep going. And it was really hard Leafy, but you can do it, too. Perfectionism is an indication of external locus of control. To me, it is. How that happened ~ whether I was beat and you were not ~ that doesn't matter. What matters is that we recover internal locus of control.

Here is a good article on perfectionism. Dad was a perfectionist. It is not good. Nobody is perfect. Perfection prevents our vulnerability, which stops us dead in our tracks. We are afraid to make a mistake.
http://www.anxietybc.com/sites/default/files/Perfectionism.pdf

We are in difficult situations. Our children are in danger and in trouble. We need to be stronger.

This is true Cedar. Our children are in danger and in trouble.
It is up to them to want to change their situation.
It is up to me, to understand better ways to respond to their suffering.
Not to allow them to pull me into it, but to know that they are not whole, either.
I had to give them to God, it is too much for me, or them it seems, to handle. But I still have hope.

In the meantime, I need to pull myself together and figure this thing out.
So, if they do contact me, I am able to step away from the patterned responses.
Be stronger. Kinder. But not a rug......
It doesn't mean I can rescue them,
I can only rescue myself.

I am thinking much on this. It is a lot. A mountain. It is distressing, at times, climbing the hills, precipices, and the narrow trails of emotion.
I am trying to learn different ways to work through.

Here is a calming piece I found.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Lamb of God, you who took away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

Isn't it hauntingly beautiful?

Mercy and compassion are sisters.

The work all of you have done,in FOO, is quite amazing.

I truly appreciate your helping me.

Thank you very much.

I have an early day tomorrow, with Sons paddling. So I must sleep.

Before I go to bed, I must tell you, I have been thinking about the quote from Special Olympics.....

"Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."

I like that very much. I am going to think of being brave.

That would be a nice thread- being brave, what does that mean for us?

Good night all, or should I say, Good Morning.......Have a wonderful Saturday.

leafy

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I exaggerated the risk of being near her, when I was an adult, because I could not bear it when she was angry at me. The residue of the past. Call it PTSD.

I knew better than to come home, too. D H felt we should create family with my family. And I have been so damaged by them Copa, as an adult. Imagine if I had never heard: "Well, I guess you weren't such a good mother after all, were you?" Imagine if I had not heard: "I would never hire you."

Imagine all the ten thousand things that happened under the radar, but destroyed me in some way nonetheless.

You were right not to come home. You were right, when it seemed that somehow, your own family hated and was out to hurt and take you down. That is how alliance is made in certain families, Copa. It comes down maybe to which of the sibs has the moral character to resist the primary abuser's call to ally against (pretty much, whoever they say). That will be the sib publicly shunned. But as we have determined here on FOO Chronicles, there are myriad layers of shunning, and every child of a certain kind of parent will experience some level of shunning because that is the power dynamic in certain kinds of families.

I have been thinking about the kinds of accusations I make against my mother and my sister. What crummy things those words are to say privately, let lone to post publicly, here. But I still think them. So, I have been thinking about that, and about whether I mean what I post, and who that makes me. I concluded that: In my life, I believed my mother would become so angry that, in a flash, she would have done something, said something, she probably deeply regretted.

But if that were true, how then did it happen that these episodes of uncontrollable temper only happened when her children were utterly without protection. How did it happen that we knew better than to tell even our father.

I am working through this still Copa, but the answer matters very much. It will free me from a lifelong collusion in my own abuse. Your description of it in your post was beautifully spoken and exactly correct. Those are the questions we are both coming through now, maybe. And on the other side of that thinnest of membranes Copa, is a freedom from fear, from the certainty of hurt, unlike anything we have tasted.

I love it that you questioned your interpretation of M's expression.

That is moral fiber. That is ethical choice.

In a way, we have taken so long, but in another way, we have come so far in so blazingly short a time.

Anyway, I am working today, too. I have been posting while my nail polish drys.

Later, dudes.

:O)

Cedar

 

[Copabanana]

I have been reading a little bit about the somatic therapies for trauma, of which EMDR is one. There are so many new books out. I will start with Hartmann's.

For a long time I have been interested in dance movement therapy. Actually more than 25 years. I went to a workshop for women sexually abused as children. I began perseverating in front of the whole group (a room full) about how I could not tear myself away from my psychoanalyst. And the brilliant co-leader knew, just knew, that what I was dealing with was something somatic. She pulled me up and she began to dance with me...I was so happy. She told me about an old friend of hers (I think an ex boyfriend), who held workshops in the city where I lived.

I went one time. I was so anxious and afraid. It was called Contact something. It must have been so new then. It felt so beyond me. People bumping into each other. I did not go back.

And guess what? The man called me at home and starting criticizing me for not calling to explain why I had not come back. There was no appointment. There was no commitment. It was drop-in. Can you imagine?

Well, I see at the 92nd St Y in NYC they have ongoing training in dance movement therapy, to facilitate it. That count for continuing education. And there are other places, too. It is not that I have not thought about this before, and even researched the where and how.

It is one more link in a chain getting stronger. That is what I am saying.
.
The think with this somatic therapy deal, is everybody wants to make a buck. Make a reputation. Put a spin on it to be the big cheese. The guru. I hate that. But dance movement therapy has been around for decades and decades. Actually, forever. It just did not have a name.

COPA

 

[BusynMember]

We are also talking about the possibility of euthanasia, because the reality is multiple sites of cancer, and now a recurrence. She is already 7 years old.

This brings me to tears. I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry. I hope for the best.