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When you take the place of the real abuser in your abusers life
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 667003" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>Could it be that you are proving to yourself that you can provide enough, and more than enough, for yourself by yourself? Not a punishment, but a proving. As we heal, as we come to realize the dynamic to which we respond and trace this or that vulnerability to its core we will heal it. We couldn't do that without right witness because we cannot see where our thinking tumbles into FOO role justifications. </p><p></p><p>We re-traumatize ourselves.</p><p></p><p>That is the danger in doing this alone: retraumatization; retelling the same story because, in its familiarity, it feels like we've arrived at some truth that was always true. How totally cool that we are coming to see it was nothing but a fabric of lies from the beginning!</p><p></p><p>Ha!</p><p></p><p>Good for us.</p><p></p><p>And yes, a huge thank you to Daphne. Our healing, our coming whole and healthy, is a matter of determined choice for us. Even Daphne's actions, taken to hurt one of us, serves all of our healing.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>If you like, and if Serenity likes, we could serve as first draft and revision readers for one another, Copa. </p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I think grandiosity-addicted would be more appropriate for my mom and my sister. I say that because of the circle of awe/patronization from which they seem to function. Think of your best teacher. The rules are the rules, and there are valid reasons for them. Over time, you trust the teacher because you are learning the material you set out to know. A sense of mastery, or a sense that mastery is possible, ensues. </p><p></p><p>Both rise, student and instructor engaged in kind of celebration of learning and teaching and trust on both parts.</p><p></p><p>Think of your worst teacher. Nothing is clear, responsibility is placed on the student, there is a feeling of trickiness to all of it. One is never sure she has mastered the subject.</p><p></p><p>That would be grandiosity in the instructor. It has to do with a lack of sincerity.</p><p>The student is less than. </p><p></p><p>This is true for dance or martial arts classes, too. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The threat of exposure. The threat of ruination of safety, made to stop the healing. In the closed universe of the dysfunctional family, that is how it always works <em>and we always take the blame. And we begin to circle, because we can never understand how it all turned so ugly. That is the role expectation. That is the habitual response lest the witch mother hurt us <u>or the sib.</u></em></p><p></p><p>But just this one time, guess who got exposed, instead?</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/Graemlins/2.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":wine:" title="wine :wine:" data-shortname=":wine:" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>We are claiming what is already ours; what was always ours.</p><p></p><p>Ourselves.</p><p></p><p>What we do here has nothing to do with our sisters except incidentally.</p><p></p><p>We are coming out of the role and into the real.</p><p></p><p>Literally, they will come not to matter. We will have learned them. Curiosity about them will be gone.</p><p></p><p>It is not really our business that our dorky sisters insist on being Witch Mother and expect us to listen. They are free to expect whatever they like. They are not even our mothers. At least, our moms were mentally ill or some other really bad thing that they probably wish with all their hearts they could have been better than. Our sisters are frauds. They have no more right to insist we accede to FOO role playing than any grandiosity-addicted jerk we are not related to. It isn't like we need them. We needed to protect them.</p><p></p><p>That is a very different thing.</p><p></p><p>Vulnerability to them will be dissipating shortly.</p><p></p><p>They are part of our stories now like an appendix or tonsil or something. Or like the sequel to Gone With the Wind. A disappointment; not worth reading twice.</p><p></p><p>We never did need them; they never did matter because they were never the sisters we loved. There was so little that was real, in our families of origin. it just is what it is. I am grateful to have come this far in my healing.</p><p></p><p>All those things we thought we believed about our sisters were parts of the role we were enslaved into.</p><p></p><p>That fear feeling; that automaton feeling.</p><p></p><p>Once they are gone from our psyches, we will reclaim ourselves from the dictates of whatever roles, having to do with them, that we were enslaved into.</p><p></p><p>And they will just be gone.</p><p></p><p>Ahhh....</p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/Graemlins/9-07bravo.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":bravo:" title="bravo :bravo:" data-shortname=":bravo:" /></p><p></p><p></p><p>There will be other role enslavements, having to do with other things. Having realized this business of role enslavement, we will have easier times identifying those other role enslavements. </p><p></p><p>We will address those too.</p><p></p><p>That's the thing, Copa. I am seeing the nuts and bolts of the pathology of the role I was enslaved within.</p><p></p><p>I feel so badly for me.</p><p></p><p>I feel nothing for my sister.</p><p></p><p>Maybe Copa, I never did feel anything for her but "protect".</p><p></p><p>I don't know.</p><p></p><p>I just don't feel that sense of loss I felt, once, when I think about her.</p><p></p><p>It's like when the battery burns out and there is just a dry click.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Oh that biatch. She had to know you were planning to adopt at some point. She must have savored her response, and your pain, and your confusion over her rejection, over her refusal to share the joy of motherhood with you. </p><p></p><p>What an extraordinary thing.</p><p></p><p>And your mother, creating a scene about the baby, when you fell. For heaven's sake. That is what babies do. They run away, they poop their pants, they eat the strangest things the second you aren't looking.</p><p></p><p>But those feelings you felt then Copa? That was the role; that is the flavor of your enslavement. Can you trace those feelings to explore the parameters of the role? How far does it reach, that particular set of conditioned responses.</p><p></p><p>This is a tool for healing, Copa.</p><p></p><p>You must be ready to heal it, or it would not be coming up, now.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I hear you here, Copa.</p><p></p><p>It takes two to commit murder. Otherwise, it would be suicide.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Well, theirs is, and continues to be, a choice to hate. There was an excellent quote in the material you posted on racism, about hate needing to be serviced continually lest it fizzle out on its own.</p><p></p><p>That is where they choose in the present day.</p><p></p><p>They know.</p><p></p><p>It was never a question of clumsiness or even blatant stupidity. </p><p></p><p>They know. Serenity's sister knows why she does it. She must have been riding exceedingly high in her supposed cleverness at having someone else post to Serenity here. We are not role enslaved to Serenity's sister.</p><p></p><p>Bad move, on Daphne's part.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>Serenity handled the sister's attempt at re-traumatization with grace.</p><p></p><p>You really did so well, Serenity.</p><p></p><p>We are, Copa and I, proud and happy for you.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Remember what my sister did to daughter. Daughter paid her back, in kind and in spades. </p><p></p><p>I actually know all that damaging information about sister, too.</p><p></p><p>I'm just saying.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>That makes sense, Copa. Think of the conflict, and of the energy required, to pop ourselves into automaton to fulfill a role into which we were enslaved in childhood. Automaton is probably where we had to put ourselves so we didn't decide to play a game of murder instead of suicide, ourselves. In a way, that is the game the sisters play: Either way? We are the dead guy.</p><p></p><p>I hate when that happens.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>You could be right. I think they do not have even that much insight. Bullies seldom do; grandiosity addicts, never.</p><p></p><p>Sister was on a grandiosity jones. (That's drug addict talk. I heard it on TV.)</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>You are kinder than me, Copa. I think my sister hates me, hates the very idea of me. Pathologic hatred, like racists hate. </p><p></p><p>I see what you are saying about their senses of power and efficacy being contingent on us. I think they do not believe we love them. I think they believe we are lying when we say so, like they lie to us. I think they believe we hate them, too. We can only see in others what we first see, in ourselves. </p><p></p><p>And for my sister for sure, there is no love there, Copa.</p><p></p><p>There never was.</p><p></p><p>Pseudo mom. That is who I am, to my sister.</p><p></p><p>I don't blame her for hating me. I wish she could have known me; wish I could have known her. Like in the Frankenstein quote: <em> Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form....</em></p><p></p><p>That is what happened, to us.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I will think about this, Copa.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 667003, member: 17461"] Could it be that you are proving to yourself that you can provide enough, and more than enough, for yourself by yourself? Not a punishment, but a proving. As we heal, as we come to realize the dynamic to which we respond and trace this or that vulnerability to its core we will heal it. We couldn't do that without right witness because we cannot see where our thinking tumbles into FOO role justifications. We re-traumatize ourselves. That is the danger in doing this alone: retraumatization; retelling the same story because, in its familiarity, it feels like we've arrived at some truth that was always true. How totally cool that we are coming to see it was nothing but a fabric of lies from the beginning! Ha! Good for us. And yes, a huge thank you to Daphne. Our healing, our coming whole and healthy, is a matter of determined choice for us. Even Daphne's actions, taken to hurt one of us, serves all of our healing. If you like, and if Serenity likes, we could serve as first draft and revision readers for one another, Copa. :O) I think grandiosity-addicted would be more appropriate for my mom and my sister. I say that because of the circle of awe/patronization from which they seem to function. Think of your best teacher. The rules are the rules, and there are valid reasons for them. Over time, you trust the teacher because you are learning the material you set out to know. A sense of mastery, or a sense that mastery is possible, ensues. Both rise, student and instructor engaged in kind of celebration of learning and teaching and trust on both parts. Think of your worst teacher. Nothing is clear, responsibility is placed on the student, there is a feeling of trickiness to all of it. One is never sure she has mastered the subject. That would be grandiosity in the instructor. It has to do with a lack of sincerity. The student is less than. This is true for dance or martial arts classes, too. The threat of exposure. The threat of ruination of safety, made to stop the healing. In the closed universe of the dysfunctional family, that is how it always works [I]and we always take the blame. And we begin to circle, because we can never understand how it all turned so ugly. That is the role expectation. That is the habitual response lest the witch mother hurt us [U]or the sib.[/U][/I] But just this one time, guess who got exposed, instead? :O) :wine: We are claiming what is already ours; what was always ours. Ourselves. What we do here has nothing to do with our sisters except incidentally. We are coming out of the role and into the real. Literally, they will come not to matter. We will have learned them. Curiosity about them will be gone. It is not really our business that our dorky sisters insist on being Witch Mother and expect us to listen. They are free to expect whatever they like. They are not even our mothers. At least, our moms were mentally ill or some other really bad thing that they probably wish with all their hearts they could have been better than. Our sisters are frauds. They have no more right to insist we accede to FOO role playing than any grandiosity-addicted jerk we are not related to. It isn't like we need them. We needed to protect them. That is a very different thing. Vulnerability to them will be dissipating shortly. They are part of our stories now like an appendix or tonsil or something. Or like the sequel to Gone With the Wind. A disappointment; not worth reading twice. We never did need them; they never did matter because they were never the sisters we loved. There was so little that was real, in our families of origin. it just is what it is. I am grateful to have come this far in my healing. All those things we thought we believed about our sisters were parts of the role we were enslaved into. That fear feeling; that automaton feeling. Once they are gone from our psyches, we will reclaim ourselves from the dictates of whatever roles, having to do with them, that we were enslaved into. And they will just be gone. Ahhh.... :bravo: There will be other role enslavements, having to do with other things. Having realized this business of role enslavement, we will have easier times identifying those other role enslavements. We will address those too. That's the thing, Copa. I am seeing the nuts and bolts of the pathology of the role I was enslaved within. I feel so badly for me. I feel nothing for my sister. Maybe Copa, I never did feel anything for her but "protect". I don't know. I just don't feel that sense of loss I felt, once, when I think about her. It's like when the battery burns out and there is just a dry click. Oh that biatch. She had to know you were planning to adopt at some point. She must have savored her response, and your pain, and your confusion over her rejection, over her refusal to share the joy of motherhood with you. What an extraordinary thing. And your mother, creating a scene about the baby, when you fell. For heaven's sake. That is what babies do. They run away, they poop their pants, they eat the strangest things the second you aren't looking. But those feelings you felt then Copa? That was the role; that is the flavor of your enslavement. Can you trace those feelings to explore the parameters of the role? How far does it reach, that particular set of conditioned responses. This is a tool for healing, Copa. You must be ready to heal it, or it would not be coming up, now. I hear you here, Copa. It takes two to commit murder. Otherwise, it would be suicide. Well, theirs is, and continues to be, a choice to hate. There was an excellent quote in the material you posted on racism, about hate needing to be serviced continually lest it fizzle out on its own. That is where they choose in the present day. They know. It was never a question of clumsiness or even blatant stupidity. They know. Serenity's sister knows why she does it. She must have been riding exceedingly high in her supposed cleverness at having someone else post to Serenity here. We are not role enslaved to Serenity's sister. Bad move, on Daphne's part. :O) Serenity handled the sister's attempt at re-traumatization with grace. You really did so well, Serenity. We are, Copa and I, proud and happy for you. Remember what my sister did to daughter. Daughter paid her back, in kind and in spades. I actually know all that damaging information about sister, too. I'm just saying. That makes sense, Copa. Think of the conflict, and of the energy required, to pop ourselves into automaton to fulfill a role into which we were enslaved in childhood. Automaton is probably where we had to put ourselves so we didn't decide to play a game of murder instead of suicide, ourselves. In a way, that is the game the sisters play: Either way? We are the dead guy. I hate when that happens. You could be right. I think they do not have even that much insight. Bullies seldom do; grandiosity addicts, never. Sister was on a grandiosity jones. (That's drug addict talk. I heard it on TV.) You are kinder than me, Copa. I think my sister hates me, hates the very idea of me. Pathologic hatred, like racists hate. I see what you are saying about their senses of power and efficacy being contingent on us. I think they do not believe we love them. I think they believe we are lying when we say so, like they lie to us. I think they believe we hate them, too. We can only see in others what we first see, in ourselves. And for my sister for sure, there is no love there, Copa. There never was. Pseudo mom. That is who I am, to my sister. I don't blame her for hating me. I wish she could have known me; wish I could have known her. Like in the Frankenstein quote: [I] Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form....[/I] That is what happened, to us. I will think about this, Copa. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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