+GOOD FAMILY, BAD FAMILY

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Sunday, August 11, 2013.  As it is with all stories about families it is impossible to know where the story actually begins.  This is a second-hand story so my part in telling it began nine days ago when I was first introduced to this drama.  Today I returned to our local laundromat cafe to hear from a gentleman I will call John what happened next.

The central heroine of this story is a child who was born October 1980.  When she was a little girl she lived with her mother and her young father, but when she was 2 1/2 her parents separated.  She was taken to a town where she was still cared for by her paternal grandmother.  Her father moved nearby so he could be an active part of his dearly loved little girl’s life.

The week before she was to begin kindergarten she was supposed to be taken to her father’s house for the agreed upon switch in custody arrangements.  The girl never appeared.  In fact she disappeared and stayed that way until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago this girl was found on Facebook by her cousin.  Last Tuesday her father, her father’s son (ten years younger than his sister and THRILLED to meet her!) and his girlfriend and the girl’s 84-year-old grandmother drove a few hundred miles to see her.  Married for ten years with two sons ages 2 and 4, this girl was severely abused by her mother who married another man and changed her firstborn’s name so that nobody on her father’s side of the family could find her.  And until now – they didn’t.

What a sweet reunion!  Buried memories came surging forward for everyone involved.  A testimony to how much a very young child can “imprint” love, as the father calls it, detailed scenes and activities are appearing as if the passing 30+ years never happened.

The mother who stole her daughter from her father and her grandmother took a long dark, dark road.  She and her entire family has deliberately lied to the father’s family all of these years claiming that they had no idea where this girl was.  The mother had other children with her new husband and treated them entirely differently than she did this girl – who she severely abused out of resentment and hatred for her daughter’s father. 

The up-side is that this girl (woman now) had the umph and the smarts to disown her wicked mother ten years ago, as I mentioned in a previous post.  This is a miracle to me!

Now the coast is entirely clear for the reunification of this family who joyously and with much love met one another again last week after all these many years.  I am so happy for them!  This is probably the happiest turn-of-a-life story I have ever had the blessing to hear about.  It could not have happened to nicer people!

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This is my 1,500th post!

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+SOMETHING I DID FOR MYSELF – A RETAKE OF THE BAG PICTURES

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Sunday, August 11, 2013.   Well, this might be my most boring post ever!!  This is something I needed to do for myself, to see if I could improve the disappointing pictures of my “sewing therapy” projects.  I am struggling with many things right now and forcing myself to follow the impetus to try to do a better job on the pictures just seemed to be one small thing I could do to try to fight my way out of my low-down feeling state.

For all the postive things about living where I do that I am having to grieve as I prepare to move far away, the truth is my most important needs are not being met here.  Those needs are primarily about “attachment” to family, friends and to community.  Knowing all this does not make leaving my home, my garden and my animals behind any easier.  I am grieving.

So, here just for the heck of it are perhaps some clearer pictures of my sewing therapy projects.

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I am thinking about making a poster “garden for rent with house” to try to find a tenant for this place that will appreciate and care for – or at least keep alive – this garden.  It’s not really my problem as I don’t own this place – but…..  This is a long shot of part of the back yard but it is impossible to show this garden in 2D – impossible!

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There’s the adobe chicken coop I made a few years ago – and the softest bag of them all, complete with pockets.  To the left is a yellow Texas Bell – the plant is over 8 feet tall.  It is the first of its kind I planted in the garden and it thrives.  I tried to get 4 others going elsewhere in the garden and every single one of them died.  Why?  I have no idea but when people say, “Bloom where you are planted,” believe me there is usually more to the story.

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There.  At least here you can see the embroidered roses – and the pocket on the back.  There are small pink embroidered roses, also.

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The one that makes me smile and its reverse side.  Colors are very delicate.

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Pinstripe with pocket

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Well, there’s TOO MUCH light on this one and the delicate Indian embroidery on the front of this light tan back with blue lining with roses doesn’t show up.  Oh, well!

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A fun fabric!

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Hard to see the space aliens on this one – but they are there!

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And the patchworks – which is where this project series begain –

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This shows the wild looking pomegranate tree laden with fruit.  Part of my motivation to wait until the 2nd week of October to leave here was that I want to take that fruit with me.  I hope it will be ripe.  I am taking it even if it’s not.  This is the first harvest in 3 years due to hard freezes.  Once the tree froze to the ground and came back only to be frozen again last spring.  This year has been a kind one – lots of winter rains and all.

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+MY SEWING THERAPY

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Looking at these pictures I took today is disappointing.  My eyes did not register that the shadow cast from the corner of the house fell directly on top of these bags I have sewn recently.  They also needed to be stuffed with something to fatten them up to catch their details but no way was I motivated to spend time doing that.  These pictures are only the briefest (and evidently pitiful) presentation of the sewing work I have been doing these past weeks – my sewing therapy.

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How did I miss the shadow?  Maybe I will retake and repost better pictures than these.  I am having a very lonely and frustrating day today.  It didn’t help that I had a major allergic reaction to something today – very scary.  I think it was to the vitamin D3 I took.  I don’t know.  I had a milder but still scary attack 2 weeks ago, and both took place within 10 minutes of taking my vitamins.

So, needless to say – I am in one of those “I am doing the very best that I can” stages of my life right now.  It took a big summoning of willpower today to even get these pictures taken at all.

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Back side of the above bag.  I wish the embroidered roses showed better on the front pic!  My own rose bushes are beginning to bloom – I hope we get more monsoon rains!  I will be very sad when I leave to walk away from my gardens, especially if they will not be cared for.  Then they would die.

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There are butterflies on the fabric in the neck of this shirt.  The colors are very soft and subtle.  This one made me smile as I made and finished it.  These bags have (to me) a wonderful soft feel to them which cannot come through in these pictures – shadow or no shadow.

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This is the reverse side – hard to see the buttons.

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This one has pink and white pinstripes and a pocket front and back.  That’s the Mexican-American border fence line back there past the edge of my yard.  Soon I will be living less than 150 miles from the Canadian border.  Right now – I just feel like is very strange….

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This is extremely soft fabric – made from pants, pockets retained.  All of these purse-bags are fully lined.

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There are a few that are just patchwork – made from fabric I have scrounged and accumulated.  There is so little I can do in and for and with my life right now.  The move is anticipated mid-October.  Meanwhile my loneliness continues to erode me until I can get up where my family lives.

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Patchwork

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These sturdy tote bags are being stored folded – I did not have the motivation to iron them for pictures.  I have nearly 20 of them made.  I am hoping my daughter can go through with her plan to place our book writing needs on Kickstarter.com to raise money for ISBNs and a computer for me.  These will be among the “gifts” for donators.

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I did not like the way this fabric fought not to have itself top-stitched.

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Upholstery fabric

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+APPROACHING 62

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Wednesday, August 7, 2013.  Well, I’ve rebooted my computer and the problem I see on this post writing page appears to be due to something WordPress has to fix.  Most of what is supposed to be visible at the top is just plain missing-in-action.  Oh, well!  Life is full of surprises and adaptations to those very same surprises!  I can hover my cursor over where things are supposed to be visible and they seem to work when I click on them.  Fortunately I have written nearly 1,500 posts here (and many more thousands of pages) so that I know where the invisible SHOULD be visible.  Lucky me!

In three weeks I will pass through my 62nd birthday.  I find myself hovering over these moments of my own life in wonder – in lots of wonder – about my life lived thus far and about my life as I might be blessed to continue to live it for some time into the future.

I am anticipating leaving my home here in the gorgeous high desert along the Mexican border where I have been humming along (some days more humming than on others) for 14 years.  I am returning to the far north not far from the Canadian border where 2 of my 3 children live (my daughters) and my 2 grandsons (ages 1 and 3).  I first visited and then moved to Fargo, North Dakota right after my 20th birthday.  42 years ago!

Why?

Why did an Alaskan mountain homesteading girl end up in the perennial very flat lands with not so much as a pea-grade hill to be seen?  Windswept.  Frigid Siberian winters.  Destiny is my only answer about then and about soon-to-be.

I can no longer argue with destiny.

I don’t understand it but I still believe that there are parts of everyone’s life that are orchestrated by God (however we understand that Greatest Mystery).  “Now” and “then” hardly matter at this point in my life.  My decision has been made.  All that’s left now is the PROCESS of leaving here and arriving there.

I expect that I will leave my home here the 2nd week of October.  Somehow.  I do not wish to again “lose” my belongings.  Generosity of family and friends, even some borrowed money will be required to the tune of between $2,500 – $3,000 to make this move happen.  Seems unimaginable to me if I look at any of this rationally.  But “unimagined” is not the same thing as “impossible.”

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My actual home including the gardens is my place of solace.  It is my place of calm at the same time I have felt it to be on occasion my physical prison.  But, then, being in a body seems like being in prison to one whose soul never quite grew down into this world.  Severe psychotic abuse kept that from happening for me – and as I approach age 62 I realize I will never “make up for lost time.”

I am simply – or complexly – ME.  Sometimes I have songs for a brain.  This is our glorious desert monsoon season and the beauty is stunning all around me.  Billowing clouds against blue skies flashing immense shadows over the mountainsides as the clouds grow and pass us by.  Every seed that can be reached by the moisture the rains have blessed the land with have sprouted.  The land is luxurious.  This beauty makes even a troubled mind feel the same way.  I soak in this beauty as my last monsoon in this area bleeds its beauty into my soul.  I want to take all of this with me!

Can I?  Will I?

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Meanwhile – I sew.  In my odd collection of various thrift store accumulated fabrics there is a collage of color and texture I am turning into bags – shoulder purses, tote bags – as I create a birth with each completed object. 

What for?  What destiny does this growing collection of fabric reformed possess in the future?  In my future?  I know not.

Sewing simply grounds and calms me.  Making things with my heart, mind, hands, time – life – is something I have been doing at least for 60 years.  I know this because my verbally abusive mother often berated me during all of my childhood for being such an “unimaginative, stupid child” because I sat in the middle of the living room floor when I was two making things with my plastic pop beads.

(Perhaps I thought I was safe doing this.  If I didn’t move around I wouldn’t “get into trouble?”  Ha!  That didn’t work.)

But for myself I claim my creativity, humble as it is.  I claim the songs that take over my mind and disappear again before I get back home.  I don’t know what kind of a place I can afford to rent when I get north on my rather small disability income – but I know what I can dream of living in….

A STUDIO! 

I wish to haul my craft supplies and my tools right along with me.  I want to haul my storage shelving, my sturdy tables, my crayons and paper, colored pencils and paints, my sewing and weaving and spinning and mosaic materials.  I can do what I’ve done before if my living space is not really big enough for me.  I have built very sturdy “lofts” over beds, over chairs, over tables and UP UP UP UP everything goes.  It only matters that nobody bumps their head as they move around in my space!

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In other words I am in a transition time of great change a’comin’ and the many, many unknowns and potential surprises that await me.  I do know that so far I have lost 27 pounds on my changed green vegetable diet and out from under the middle-age (and climbing) body of mine is appearing the body I used to have (with a few adjustments due to aging) in my 20s.  This all fascinates me – like I am coming unburied from years of weight from depression and loneliness – as I anticipate a new life with my daughters and grandsons in it.

Mystery.  I work to remember that the unknown really is a mystery.  My future life as mystery, creeping along ahead of me slowly enough as if it is waiting for me to catch up.  Mystery.  The Great Mystery.  Mystery can be very, very sacred!

Maybe I can take a painting class.  Maybe a yoga class, or a dancing class.  Maybe I can take care of my age one grandson so he can be spared the chaos of big daycare.  Maybe I can volunteer somewhere and make some kind of a difference.  Maybe I can find a group to play my conga drums with!

Maybe……  Mystery is full of maybe…..  I am working to be OK with that!

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+ATTACHMENT FAILURE, AN “ATTACHMENT VILLAGE,” AND FRIENDSHIP ENDED

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Saturday, August 3, 2013.  I have to be a bit careful here because what motivates this post and what I am reacting to involves a real person who I am not slamming — but rather attempting to learn from.

I don’t think this person I call Robert is still a friend of mine.  I am not sure he ever was.  I know he no longer wants to be my friend.  According to Robert’s final email announcement, I am “too much work.”  I could not, or did not, resist my urge to reply to his note with “Funny.  That’s the same thing I could say about you.”  I had written the night before when the proverbial caca hit the fan that I now know that the two of us are not compatible.

The term “attachment village” recently crossed my mental desk through the work of Dr. Gordon Neufeld who is a life-spectrum attachment specialist.  He was speaking at the moment that term appeared about shrinking families and the “orphaned elders” that are just one of the sad consequences of the changes in modern families of our culture.  I realized as I heard that term that is what life is about for we members of a social species:  We MUST HAVE an attachment village to be healthy and happy.

Now, down here far away from my family I have relied upon people I have met in this community for friendships that could help meet my attachment village needs.  Robert was one of those people I attempted to form a friendship with.  Now, here comes my assessment – and this is not statement of fact by any means.  I don’t KNOW anything.  I only wonder, guess, conjecture, and suspect what the dynamic was that did not allow a friendship between us to form or flourish.

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Robert is gay.  That is fine with me but it was not fine with his mother or his family while he was growing up.  Robert’s mother wanted a daughter and entirely rejected her 3rd son from the moment he was born.  She gave him no love.  She hated him.  Robert grew up remembering his mother’s response to some violent TV show after which she had said, “I don’t understand such killing, or how people can do that to one another.  Unless, of course, the victim is gay.”

Robert grew from very young believing that if his mother ever discovered he was gay she would kill him.

And on and on his story goes – as does the stories of all early abuse and trauma survivors.  And in the here and now it was the acquiring of HIV virus and the devastating effects the medication Robert has taken for over 20 years to control the virus that has left him physically quite unwell.  While I have had compassion and shown concern and caring to Robert all along I was not intent on making this the focus of our friendship.  I thought we could be peers, equals, respect one another, value getting to know one another – and other adult attachment village related occupations like having some fun together.

As it turns out although to my knowledge Robert is encircled by women I am evidently the only one who is “too much work.”  What the heck does that mean?

I insisted on being respected and NOT disrespected.  No, I did not give this man permission to criticize me, something he evidently desperately NEEDED to do.  I don’t give ANYONE permission to disrespect me that way.  There are adult reasonable ways to talk about how we feel when someone does this or that, etc.  But outright bad-mouthing harsh criticism is out of the question for anyone I will keep in my life.

But there is more to this pattern.  I have learned now that being myself means the MOST to me.  I was not allowed to ever be a self, let alone myself, during Mother’s reign of terror against me.  Any time in this relationship with Robert that myself appeared and what I felt, thought, did, believed, wondered about, wanted or desired did not 100% agree with HIM, he wanted to cricize me.  Go figure! 

Emerging as myself was evidently a threat to him getting HIS needs met, hence the projections of “bad mommy” onto me.  In any relationship I will be myself and I will be respected, appreciated and valued — something I am equally able and willing to offer to everyone else.

I am sorry his mother was crap.  I am sorry my mother was crap.  But there comes a time when consciousness must be achieved by survivors of early abuse in order for balanced, healthy REAL relationships to be possible.  A healthy adult attachment relationship is a dance of need and fulfillment with a LOT of space in between for just being one’s self with another one’s self.  Badgering someone to be a pretend “good mommy” and condemning them when they won’t play the game as being “bad mommy” won’t do it.

I tried to bypass and work around our differences until it all blew up.  While other women are evidently Robert’s “good mothers” once I insisted that I was my own person to be valued and respected as such I became, I am quite certain, his “bad mother.”  Every abused child grows up with an image of their bad person internalized within them.  It takes the willingness to confront those patterns in adulthood to consciously make choices about how to live in spite of the harm done to us.

To my knowledge Robert has never done that.  Projection is too mild a word for how these “you are my bad parent” pattern destroy happiness in friendships.  There is no working with it.  I refused to pity or caretake this man.  His mother did the same to him.  Well – you can see where this has been going all along — until it got there.

The end.  The end of my even trying to get along with this man and vice versa.  That’s OK.  I am learning quite a bit.  I am nobody’s therapist nor am I anyone’s victim.  I don’t “do transference” with people.  I had enough of that for the 18 years I was abused by my psychotic Borderline Personality Disorder person (for whom I was her projected all-evil self). 

But I have feelings I am processing as I let go of this relationship.  If there is any kind of a personal investment in any relationship there are feelings that will have to sort and play themselves out as they heal once an end point arrives. 

But there are certainly times for me when compromise and negotiation are so completely absent in relationships that there is no REPAIR possible — because the truth is there has been nothing but RUPTURE all along.  Such is the contamination of the present with the trauma of the past.  Trauma drama is not allowed to be a part of my life and being anyone’s “bad mother” projection is trauma drama in action.

I want a HEALTHY and HAPPY attachment village, not one that is made up of people  who are as unhealthy as the anti-attachment family I was raised within.

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+A 500 YEAR OLD LETTER – BEAUTIFUL!

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A blog reader most kindly sent me this today.  I find it so quieting, so true, so beautiful that I want to share it here – Please enjoy!

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Letter from Fra Giovanni Giocondo (Fra Giovanni) to Countess Allagia Aldobrandeschi on Christmas Eve, 1513:

I am your friend and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not, but there is much, very much, that while I cannot give, you can take.

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven!  No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant.  Take peace!

The gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within reach, is joy.  There is radiance and glory in the darkness could we but see — and to see we have only to look.  I beseech you to look.

Life is so generous a giver, but we, judging its gifts by the covering, cast them away as ugly, or heavy, or hard. Remove the covering and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love, by wisdom, with power.

Welcome it, grasp it, touch the angel’s hand that brings it to you.  Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me, that angel’s hand is there, the gift is there, and the wonder of an overshadowing presence. Our joys, too, be not content with them as joys.  They, too, conceal diviner gifts.

Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty — beneath its covering — that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven.

Courage, then, to claim it, that is all.  But courage you have, and the knowledge that we are all pilgrims together, winding through unknown country, home.

And so, at this time, I greet you.  Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you now and always, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away. 

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+WHEN LIFE IS LIFE

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Saturday, July 27, 2013.   Sometimes a blog post title appears all on its own.  I’ve never had the stamina to argue with such titles.  “When is life NOT life?” I ask the title popper-upper.  All I hear in my thoughts in response is, “When you are THINKING about life you are not aware that life is just life.”

I am very aware today that life for me right now is simply LIFE.  I am aware of the simplest things.  How tasty my organic green vegetable juice is and how pleasant it is to know that there is probably nothing better in life that I could consume.  How I have been beaten by a bunch of bugs so small they’ve been named no-see-ums.  (Ceratopogonidae are tiny biting flies barely visible to the eye. Referred to as no-see-ums because of their minute size and also known as punkies, sandfleas and biting midges.)  Oh, these BUGS certainly have humbled big me!

We are supposed to be in the middle of our Arizona high desert monsoon season.  It rained buckets from the 1st through the 11th of July and not a drop since where I live.  Usually we have afternoon daily rains for 6-8 weeks.  But we have had enough moisture to bring out the worst of those tiny monsters whose bites I am quite allergic to.  I have burn-blister red legs and red swollen patches all over this body I live with/in.  Quite the deal.  I am hiding in my house and still they are finding me.  (I tried four different bug repellants today including 100% DEET and they still attacked me!)

Besides green juice and wicked teensy bugs a major decision has made itself in my life.

I notice I am not quite ready to boldly state, “I have made a major decision,” which is exactly what I have done.  I actually feel like I ended up in a deadend in a maze of my life — and am fortunate that at least ONE WAY OUT is available to me.  I will take it.

Two and a half months from now I will most likely be living over 1700 miles from here in the northern large town where my daughters and my two little grandsons (ages 1 and 3) reside.  Siberian COLD WINTER COUNTRY and FLAT FLAT FLAT.  (I hate cold and I hate flat and I hate cities and even large towns.  I am a mountain girl.)  Yet……

I am very clear that with the changes that have happened through no choice of my own down here where I have lived for the past 14 years that if I stay here — I will die of loneliness.

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I honestly don’t feel like I know myself — coming or going.  I know that I am alive.  That much seems about as obvious as I can find right now.  I am in transition.  My life will be transforming with me in it.  I cannot guess at my future, really.  I cannot even accurately anticipate the life I am moving into.  None of that matters.  I am simply moving, and oh!  How many times have I moved in my life?

“In my life.”  I write those words as if I know what they mean.  I actually don’t.  Not really.  I just stay alive and life keeps on going with me in it.  LIFE keeps me alive.  Life.

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I read a spiritual quote last week whose words are imprinted in my thoughts.  I can paraphrase it like this:  The soul has two wings.  One wing is love and contentment.  The other wing is self and desire, and it is this wing that gets us into trouble.

Hum……

I have been doing a lot of thinking about this — because I don’t really know what those words mean to me.  “Love and contentment.”  Sounds wonderful!  This is why I am moving.  I want some of that — LOTS of that!

“Self and desire” gives me a lot more trouble.  Is it my SELF and my DESIRE that struggles with making peace with moving too close to the north pole?  That struggles with leaving mountains that I love for some of the flattest land on earth?  Is it “self and desire” that tells me in restless ways that “I want it all” even when I logically know that is not possible?  Self and desire, does this light the fire of my DISCONTENT?

Well, phooey on discontent!  I am way, WAY too good at feeling THAT!  I want to feel content.  That is my desire but evidently that is a healthy, productive, useful, spiritually advantageous desire!  I certainly know there is lots of love for me up north and lots of people for me to love up there, too!  That will win the day, of course. 

I am adjusting myself to changes coming coming COMING!  I am taking this slowly.  I am giving myself time to adjust, time to let go, time to say goodbye, time to grieve before it is time for me to leave here, this place that has been so good for me and to me for the longest period of stability in my 62 year lifetime.

I have lived in that northern town up there before.  I have friends there I’ve known for 25, 30, 40+ years.  I have family up there.  I have much to look forward to — yet also much to fear if I let myself go in that negative direction.  I will be leaving my home in this house and my big quiet yard filled with flowers and more flowers to live in a cramped little apartment (as I imagine the scenarios) cooped up like a wild caged animal during the dark frigid six month of winter.

“Stop, Linda!  Just STOP!  Go back to what you were doing before you started writing this post.”

“Live, Linda, live.  Live in the most positive way that you can!  Choose that.  Do that.  Live.”

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+GET OUT OF THEIR LINE OF FIRE: ABUSIVE BPD PARENTS WILL TAKE YOU DOWN WITH THEM

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Tuesday, July 23, 2013.  I haven’t been in the mood to write lately, but the topic that has appeared lately in comments on different blog posts here has lit my fire.  If you are an adult who as a child, and probably on through your adult life until now, been the “scapegoat” hated, despised, scorned and abused child of especially your mother, it is time to WAKE UP and take a clear-eyed look at what is going on both for your abuser and for yourself.

As I have written elsewhere on this blog I had no clue that I had been abused as a child until I was 29 years old.  Abused?  I doubt there were more than a handful of days in my entire 18 year childhood when I was not horribly abused in word and action by my mother.  I spent the entire decade of the 1980s in one kind of treatment after another trying to get a handle on what happened to me and how to heal.

NEVER, not one single TIME in all those thousands of hours of so-called “help” did anyone EVER mention to me that my mother was MENTALLY ILL!  I discovered that fact on my own when I accidentally discovered and read the 1998 1st edition (blue cover) of

Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder  

by Paul Mason MS and Randi Kreger

Not only was my severely abusive mother mentally ill, she suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder with psychosis.

I am recognizing the same patterns in the comments arriving on this blog.  These people do not CHOOSE not to know the truth of their life.  They do not even CHOOSE to hate us.  The abuse of their childhood changed their physiological development and triggered a gene combination that is as yet not understood that altered the development of their nervous system AND THEIR BRAIN.

The way these people are in their life is entirely CORRECT, REAL and RIGHT to them — but they did not CHOOSE to be the way they are and they WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO CHOOSE TO BE DIFFERENTLY THAN THEY ARE.

These abusive parents will ALWAYS abuse us.  We are not people separate from them.  We are the personification of their own inner demonized hopeless child.  We cannot fix them and they cannot fix themselves.  In my opinion every BPD parent who torments and tortures one child as being “all bad” suffered at some point in the history of the development of their disease from a psychotic break.  The treatment such children receive from this parent all of their lives is psychotic.

Those of us who suffered then, and those adults who are trying to stay in some kind of a relationship with their BPD parent, are never going to establish a “normal, sane, fair, just, reasonable, etc.” connection with these people.  NEVER!  And to think it is possible NOT TO BE ABUSED by these people is CRAZINESS inside of ourselves.

Ditch them and RUN FOR YOUR LIFE?  Is that the only solution?

Bluntly — yes, it is.  There IS NO HOPE!!  There is ONLY SUFFERING unless those in contact with their abusive BPD (probably psychotic if the abuse was pervasive and severe) parents can deeply understand that they HAVE NO PARENT.  Never did.  Never will.

We had and have AN ABUSER.  That is it.  This is NOT going to change no matter how much we try to talk to them reasonably, try to get them to “see reality,” try to get them to experience even the smallest flash of conscience or compassion or regret or guilt or remorse or simple human caring for us.

They are NOT capable of these emotions with anyone and they cannot even begin to fake it with us that they do.

Those of us who did not end up with a personality disorder ourselves most likely have vast amounts of compassion and reasonableness in our inner being.  We are good and kind people and we believe – against all odds – that healing and fairness exist in the world – and that if we just try hard enough and love our abuser “good enough” we will win the day.

Not going to happen!

A BPD brain and nervous system does not operate normally and never will.  Talk about trying to squeeze blood out of a stone.  It is our ignorance if not our downright denial fantasy life that keeps us in a perpetual tug-o-war trying to win a hopeless, painful, abuse-infected war against one of the most severe mental illnesses plaguing the human race.

Smarten UP and take care of yourself.  In my opinion if you are going to have such a person in your life IGNORE EVERYTHING THEY SAY AND DO and add no fuel whatsoever to their abusive insane fire!

Can you do that?  Hear no evil?  See no evil?  Don’t ever even try to verbally defend yourself, stand up for yourself, try to communicate how you feel and how you have felt all of your life as the hated tortured child of such a parent?

I could not do this.  I disowned Mother long before I had a clue she was mentally ill.  I disowned her when I deeply and finally understood that for all the horrible, HORRIBLE things she had done to me not ONE SINGLE TIME did she feel remorse!

I didn’t care at the time how she got to be the way she was.  I just knew there was something PERMANENTLY wrong, dangerously wrong and totally abnormal about Mother!

I never regretted my decision and feel no guilt or shame for the fact that she died alone a miserable death as she lived a lonely miserable life.  That was not MY fault, nor was it the fault of any of my 5 siblings who ended up having to let her go as did my father.  Her disease ruled her life.  It was present ALL OF THE TIME in everything she thought, felt and did.

But there comes a time when enough suffering is ENOUGH.  If you are currently trying to have anything like a “relationship” with your mentally ill abusive BPD parent – forget it.  Not going to happen.  The ONLY thing that matters is that YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.

If having ANYTHING to do with that person is hurting you GET THE HELL OUT OF THE FIRE!

If you need to get a restraining order, get one.  Most sick families will fly at you en masse when you stand up for yourself.  It takes nearly super-human courage, strength, fortitude and determination to escape – but there are ways to take steps in that direction. 

The first step is to deeply comprehend that you are not dealing with a human being in any kind of ordinary way.  You are dealing with a person who has been swallowed up whole by a serious, severe, devastating, tragic, comprehensive mental illness that at present has no cure – and except in the rarest of cases – no truly effective treatment.  It is VERY RARELY DIAGNOSED or even reported.

 While we can learn about some of the dynamics of this disease we will never understand these people because we do not have their kind of nervous system or brain.  There is no reasoning with them.  There is no talking and understanding in return across the Great Divide.  I do not believe it is helpful to engage in the delusions with these people.  Theirs is a mad, mad truly insane world and just because they were able to trap us within their psychosis as their all-bad projected self does not mean we have to stay there.

Get out.

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+WHEN THE MUSE GOES ON VACATION

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It sounds so impersonal to put it that way.  Not MY muse left for vacation.  Just THE muse.  Writing without a muse around seems a waste of time.  There are too many things “in the works” and on my mind to worry about when the muse will return.  He?  She?  Who knows?

Meanwhile the following article is worth a read!  As I continue to say, trauma sticks around in our human memory until somebody somewhere at sometime LEARNS what trauma has to teach — to prevent it from ever happening again.  The more we learn about what is REALLY going on with our body, about who we truly are, the more motivated I do believe we will eventually become to get life RIGHT!

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From the May 2013 issue of Discover, a fascinating article brought to my attention yesterday by a blog commenter (and thank you!):

Grandma’s Experiences Leave a Mark on Your Genes

Your ancestors’ lousy childhoods or excellent adventures might change your personality, bequeathing anxiety or resilience by altering the epigenetic expressions of genes in the brain.

By Dan Hurley|Tuesday, June 11, 2013

According to the new insights of behavioral epigenetics, traumatic experiences in our past, or in our recent ancestors’ past, leave molecular scars adhering to our DNA. Jews whose great-grandparents were chased from their Russian shtetls; Chinese whose grandparents lived through the ravages of the Cultural Revolution; young immigrants from Africa whose parents survived massacres; adults of every ethnicity who grew up with alcoholic or abusive parents — all carry with them more than just memories.

Like silt deposited on the cogs of a finely tuned machine after the seawater of a tsunami recedes, our experiences, and those of our forebears, are never gone, even if they have been forgotten. They become a part of us, a molecular residue holding fast to our genetic scaffolding. The DNA remains the same, but psychological and behavioral tendencies are inherited. You might have inherited not just your grandmother’s knobby knees, but also her predisposition toward depression caused by the neglect she suffered as a newborn.”

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+SIBLING ABUSE: WHAT IS IT? AN EXCELLENT ARTICLE….

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July 17, 2013.  Sibling abuse happened while I was raising my two older girls and I did not know it for many, many years.  It wasn’t until the older of my daughters by 5 ½ years who was the abuser was no longer in the home that my younger daughter told me what had been going on “behind closed doors.”  While there was no sexual abuse the emotional, verbal, physical and psychological abuse had greatly harmed my younger girl and she had remained silent.  The older had been very cunning and sly so that the abuse happened out of my sight and completely hidden.

Obviously I had missed genuine and important clues that would have informed me that something was wrong between and with my daughters.  In response to the following article I just sent to my younger who is now 37, she replied:  “Well.  That is the most articulate affirmation I have seen.”

Such a tragedy, and I shall no doubt feel guilty about this important part of being a parent that I missed for the rest of my life.  I am so sorry! 

I also attribute horrific abuse by my mother’s two-year-older brother against her as one of the key contributors to mother’s development of Borderline Personality Disorder with psychosis which made her into a severely abusive mother.

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From the Prevent Child Abuse New York Blog, written by Amy Meyers and posted

July 16, 2013

Sibling Abuse is Not Sibling Rivalry

Sibling abuse has been identified as the most common form of family violence (Button, Parker, & Gealt, 2008; Reid & Donovan, 1990) in the United States, occurring more frequently than parent-child abuse or spousal abuse (Graham-Bermann, Cutler, Litzenberger, Schwartz, 1994). However, without current and national statistics to support this, sibling abuse continues to be under-recognized. No consistent national law exists regarding sibling abuse since many states do not have statutes that distinguish it as separate from incest. Parents who are not knowledgeable of the traumatic effects of abuse by a sibling may unintentionally perpetrate neglect, by failing to address the behavior.

Longstanding societal oversight of sibling abuse contributes to survivors’ uncertainty in terming their relationship with their siblings as abusive. A common response to someone claiming to have been abused by a sibling is that it must be a dramatization of normative sibling rivalry. After all, doesn’t everyone have fights with their siblings growing up? The cultural lack of validation of the sibling abuse experience leads many victims to not report its occurrence. Parental emotional unavailability and unresponsiveness to the sibling abuse leaves victim feeling alone and isolated. Often, because of shame and embarrassment, victims keep outsiders at a distance. This poses challenges for community members or peers to recognize the need for intervention. Furthermore, literature on sibling aggression often uses the terms “conflict”, “aggression”, “violence”, “rivalry” and “abuse” interchangeably which tends to minimize the significance of sibling abuse.

Sibling abuse is NOT sibling rivalry! There are distinct differences between normative sibling rivalry and sibling abuse. With sibling rivalry, children have an equal opportunity for advantage or disadvantage. Sometimes, one sibling is hurtful to another; and another time the other sibling is hurtful. Sibling abuse indicates pervasive, ongoing damaging behavior from one sibling to another in which there is intent to harm by the abusive sibling and an induced sense of fear, shame, and hopelessness in the victim. While sibling rivalry fosters skills of communication, negotiation, and competition, sibling abuse does not warrant any positive outcomes. Although a single act of violence may be deemed abusive, sibling abuse generally differs from sibling rivalry because the harmful acts are perpetual, consistent, and severe.

Sexual abuse is the form of abuse most often assumed when sibling abuse is discussed. However, like with parent-child abuse, acts of violence between siblings can be of physical or emotional nature. Researchers have qualified physical sibling abuse as that which results in injuries such as bruises, welts, abrasions, lacerations, wounds, cuts, bone fractures, and other evidence of physical harm or injury (Wiehe, 1997; Hart, Germain,  & Brassard, 1987). However, physical evidence of injury is not the only indicator of physical abuse, which could also include behavior that is physically intrusive, physically painful, and experienced as physically overwhelming. Emotional abuse involves active expressions of rejection and actions that deprecate the sibling, including verbal denigration and ridicule, actions or threats that cause a sibling extreme fear and anxiety. Another form of emotional abuse occurs when a sibling uses another for advantage or profit (Schneider, Ross, Graham, & Zielinski, 2005).

Victims of sibling abuse feel terrified and powerless to stop the onslaught. Despite its consistency, the acts are often unpredictable. There is no warning as to when it will occur, what will incite such anger in the perpetrator, and how the victim may prevent or avoid the next blow.

It is interesting that as a society we have rallied to the cause of bullying, through media, anti-bullying legislation, and outraged parents. I would posit that bullying could be termed peer abuse. In much the same way that we distinguish teasing from bullying, we need to distinguish sibling rivalry or sibling aggression from sibling abuse. There are parallels between peer teasing and sibling rivalry: variability in roles; equality in power; playfulness; testing of boundaries; and, the aggressor can be remorseful and take responsibility when the target becomes upset. There are also similarities between bullying and sibling abuse: always the same target; intent to harm; the aggressor seeks control or power; and, there is no remorse. Rightfully, serious measures have been taken to protect children from peers in the realm of bullying—as a society we have acknowledged the destructive physical impact or emotional influence a peer can have on another child. We also need to pay attention to the devastating implications of siblings who abuse siblings.

Amy Meyers, PhD, LCSW is an Assistant Professor and Chair of Social Work at The College of New Rochelle in Westchester, New York.  She has provided trainings on sibling abuse assessment and intervention to staff at Departments of Social Services/Child Protection and to practitioners at mental health and social service agencies in various of counties of New York. She also maintains a private practice in New York City. Learn more at www.psychotherapynyc-healing.com

Button, D., Parker, L., Gealt, R. (2008). The effects of sibling violence on high risk behaviors. American Society of Criminology.

Graham-Bermann, S., Cutler, S., Litzenberger, B., Schwartz, W. (1994). Perceived conflict and violence in childhood sibling relationships and later emotional adjustment. Journal of Family Psychology, 8, 85-97.

Hart, S.N., Germain, R.B., & Brassard, M.R. (1987). The challenge: To better understand and combat psychological maltreatment of children and youth. In M.R. Brassard, R. Germain, & S.N. Hart (Eds.), Psychological maltreatment of children and youth (pp. 3-24). New York, NY: Pergamon.

Reid, W. & Donovan, T. (1990). Treating sibling violence. Family Therapy, 17, 49-59.

Schneider, M., Ross, A., Graham, C., Zielinski, A. (2005). Do allegations of emotional maltreatment predict developmental outcomes beyond that of other forms of maltreatment? Child Abuse and Neglect, 29, 513-532.

Wiehe, V.R. (1997). Sibling abuse: Hidden physical, emotional, and sexual trauma. Second Edition.  Thousand Oaks, CA.: Sage Publications.

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