I M Perfect lady

Tag: no

  • I Let Myself Go

    In "Codependent No More," by Melody Beatte, she writes about boundaries.

    ""Set boundaries, but make sure they're our boundaries. The things we are sick of, can't stand, and make threats about, may be clues to some boundaries that we need set. They may also be clues to changes we need to make within ourselves. Mean what we say and say what we mean. People get angry at us for setting boundaries; They CAN'T use us anymore. They may try to help us feel guilty so we will remove our boundary and return to the old system of letting them use or abuse us. Don't feel guilty and don't back down. We can stick to our boundaries and enforce them. Be consistent. We will probably be tested more than once on every boundary we set. People do that to see if we are serious, especially if we haven't meant what we said in the past. As Codependents we have made very empty threats. We lose our credibility then wonder why people don't take us serious. Tell people what our boundaries are once, quietly, in peace. What our level of tolerance, so the pendulum doesn't swing too far to either extreme." Melody

    When we take our boundaries serious, others will as well.  And if you have never said no, no will seem shocking and unloving toward them, for in the past they could depend on your yes or that you would back up and lower your boundary.

    Lowering boundaries, lowers your sense of self. You are pushing your self into being someone you soon will not even recognize.

    Another thing Melody said was,

    "Most of us don't have boundaries. Boundaries are limits that say: "This is how far I shall go. This is what I will or won't do for you. This is what I won't tolerate from you." 

    "Most of us begin relationships with boundaries. We had certain expectations and we entertained certain ideas about what we would or wouldn't' tolerate from those people. Alcoholism and other compulsive disorders laugh in the face of limits. The disease not only push on our boundaries, they boldly step across them. Each time the disease pushes or steps across our limits we give in. We move our boundaries back, giving our disease more room to work. As the disease pushes more, we give more until we are tolerating and doing things we said we would never do. Later, this process of "increased tolerance" of inappropriate behaviors may reverse. We may become totally intolerant of even the most human behaviors. In the beginning we make excuses for the person's inappropriate behavior; toward the end, there is no excuse."

    "Not only do many of us begin tolerating abnormal unhealthy and inappropriate behaviors, we take it one step further; we convince ourselves these behaviors are normal and what we deserve We may become so familiar with verbal abuse and disrespectful treatment that we don't even recognize when these things are happening. But deep inside, an important part of us knows. Our selves know and will tell us if we will listen." MB

    "…compulsive disorders laugh in the face of limits. The disease not only push on our boundaries, they boldly step across them. Each time the disease pushes or steps across our limits we give in. We move our boundaries back, giving our disease more room to work…"

    Who truly knew that our lack of pushing back when they push us is the exact key or in fact makes More room for the abuse to be.  

    While I didn't know it at the time, I can see it plain as day now. 

    It is up to us to set firm boundaries and each time you wobble and get pushed into doing something you don't want to do, you have expanded the area for abuse to play and move and freely be.

    This is the dance of abuse; it pushes and we give up our ground.

    Each time we stay silent, we give up ground.

    Each time we fail to follow through with our threats, "this is the last time…" it wins.

    We are not only playing with abuse; WE are Letting it win.  

    "If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything."

    Usually, we fall for we love that person, we have a long history, a past and a future we want, so we overlook and blink as they cross another boundary, as we lose ground one more time, as we are pushed back into a place where we are without restraint.

    I guess we do this until…  Until we either go so far back that we lose a sense of life and ourself, or we come bounding back fearlessly taking back our lives.

    And when we do, the pusher of our boundaries are in for a shock…where once we were soft, we are now as hard as a rock.  

    My husband said of me, "You didn't draw your line in the sand, but in cement…"

    I am firm now with boundaries and no amount of guilt on their part will back me up.  I am finally standing up strong…

    What is so hard is that you have to begin however far back you have been pushed, in the low spot of no boundaries…and climb up one step at a time.

    Each time you say what you mean and follow through, you gain a boundary…and with each boundary comes self esteem, or a sense of knowing and loving of self.

    I would cheer me on as they would holler and rail against me.  And I knew, they were testing my waters, to see if I was serious…it was even shocking to me to see just how serious I was.

    I began so far back that I was almost gone, and it was a struggle to undo all the years of relationships without borders, where I flowed into their worlds losing me. I reversed the cycle…I came alive in places where in the past I let myself go.

     

     

     

  • Parents Call Family.

    I came across this paragraph in "Codependent No More" by Melody Beatte. 

    "Codependents are indirect. We don't say what mean, we don't mean what we say.  We don't do this on purpose. We do it because we've learned to communicate this way. At some point, either in our childhood or adult family, we learned it was wrong to talk about problems, express feelings, and express opinions. We've learned it was wrong to directly state what we want and need. It was certainly wrong to say no, and stand for ourselves. An alcoholic (abusive) parent or spouse will be glad to teach these rules; we have been too willing to learn and accept them." MB

    Communicating poorly was taught to us.

    To NOT communicate how we felt was demanded of us, expected of us.  This was dictated by the abusive parent who needed us to not mention how their behavior felt to us.  Or god forbid, speak of it to another person, share our experience, express our feelings… and communicate about abuse.  

    Even the spouse of the abuser will follow the rules.  They too will not talk about the 'problems' and the child then has no adult to which he/she can communicate directly.  

    Direct communication becomes extinct.

    If you communicate directly to these such folks, (abusers and their partners) you will be snuffed out, silenced, tossed to the curb, annihilated from their lives.  They will easily get rid of you so as not to hear a direct communication about a 'problem'.

    Their problem, their abusive behavior, their cover up, their lack of paying attention, their lack of doing nothing, their lacks in allowing abuse to continue on.  They certainly don't want to hear about it OR how it has affected the lives of so many and how it is now trickling down into the next generation. 

    Abuse has its own island, and while we were born upon that island, we can't tell anyone what happened there, how we lived, who was there and what happened…it is like we fell from the sky, but not raised in abuse. 

    Yet we spent the first 18 years of our lives there…and it is as if 'nothing' happened.  As if our early years are meaningless.  Our parents don't want to know that they indeed left a permanent scar

    Our battle scars are wounds that go unhealed, for the very thing we need to heal is forbidden.  We are not allowed treatment.

    Imagine, one parent wounds you and the other refuses to treat you…a child is left on the island unable to communicate, or it will be tossed out to sea, the sea of estrangement.

    And guess what, it matters not how many years pass on, whether you are now married with children, IF you ever dare speak of your life on the Island of Abuse, you will be banished…

    Many feel it is better to live among those on the Island and speak indirectly and without meaning, than to speak their truth and fall into the sea.

    Those are our two damn choices. 

    Pick one.

    The sea of estrangement brought me back to me.

    I still see the Island and hear about the Islanders, their parties and their lives…and in the early days of swimming alone, I longed to go back, but each and every time I considered it, I knew that I would have to leave the new me behind.

    The rules on the Island forbade the use of direct communication or expression of ones feelings or to discuss problems.  If I were to go back, I go back as a voiceless, choiceless, indirect and meaning not what I say girl.  I can't.

    Once you get used to swimming in the sea of freedom and truth, it is impossible to be happy on the Island of Abuse.  

    Which I know is why many parents are scared spit-less for their children to speak up and be direct, for it means they are heading to the open sea…and when they get a taste of being free, they will never return to the dark Island of Abuse. 

    One that the parents call family.

    IMG_2464

  • The Grieving Process

    I am rereading Melody Beatte's book, "Codependent No More," and I am very surprised to see how she spends a lot of time on the grieving process.

    She writes,

    ‎"A codependent person or a chemically dependent person may be in many stages of the grief process for several losses, all during the same time. Denial, depression, bargaining, and anger may all come rushing in. We may not know what we're trying to accept. We may not even know we're struggling to accept a situation. We may simply feel like we've gone crazy"

    ‎"We may travel back and forth; from anger to denial, from denial to bargaining, from bargaining back to denial. Regardless of the speed and route we travel through these stages, we must travel through them. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross says it is not only a Normal Process, it is a necessary process, and each stage is necessary. We must ward off the blows of life until we are better prepared to deal with them. We must feel anger and pain and blame until we have gotten them out of our system…" 

     ‎"Grief, like any genuine emotion, is accompanied by certain physical changes and the release of a form of psychic energy. If that energy is not expended in the normal process of grieving, it becomes destructive within a person. Even physical illness can be a penalty for unresolved grief…" Melody

    ‎"Learn the Art of Acceptance. It's a lot of grief"  Melody

    This section in the book has opened my eyes to many things.  First that the five stages of grief don't run in a straight line, nor do they wait their turn, you can actually be flung from one to another in rapid succession AND, we can be processing many losses at one time.

    I can see the road I traveled and why. And I love that she (Elisabeth and Melody) allow us to be in our stages of grief for as long as it takes, that there are no rules, that we will PROCESS that which we need to process in our own time.

    I knew I was grieving, what I failed to appreciate was how many feelings I had repressed that had to be felt, as well as brand new ones that came in.

    Not only did I have to grieve the loss of a father and mother in my past, but had to do so in the present moment as well when they failed to act parental in this moment in time.  AND, to say nothing of processing my loss childhood and me…siblings, religion and all the trappings that go with.

    What I also wasn't truly understanding while I was living it, was that my feelings my feelings were the key to healing.

    She writes,

    "Another problem with repressed feelings is they don't go away. They linger, sometimes growing stronger and causing us to do many peculiar things. We have to stay one step ahead of the feelings, we have to stay busy, we have to do something. We don't dare get quiet and peaceful because we might then feel these emotions. And the feeling might squeak out anyway, causing us to do something we never intended to do; scream at the kids, kick the cat, spill on our favorite dress, or cry at the party. We get stuck in feelings because we are trying to repress them, and like a persistent neighbor, they will not go away until we acknowledge their presence."

    "The big reason for NOT repressing feelings is that emotional withdrawal causes us to lose our positive feelings. We lose the ability to feel.  Sometimes, this may be a welcome relief if the pain becomes too great or too constant, but this in not a good plan for living. We may shut down our deep needs – our need to love and be loved – when we shut down our emotions. We may lose our ability to enjoy sex, the human touch. We may lose the ability to feel close to people, otherwise known as intimacy.  We lose our capacity to enjoy the pleasant things of life."

    "We lose touch with ourselves and our environment. We are no longer in touch with our instincts. We become unaware of what our feelings are telling us and any problems in our environment. We lose the motivating power of feelings.  If we aren't feeling we're probably not examining the thinking that goes with it, and we don't know what our selves are telling us. And if we don't deal with feelings we don't change and we don't grow. We stay stuck."  

    "Feelings may not always be a barrel of gladness, but repressing them can be downright miserable…" Melody

    When I let the gate open to ALL feelings, I was overwhelmed and flooded, lost in the sea of emotions.  I sat for days (really years) and just felt. I wrote and felt, and walked and felt and expressed and swore and hollered and vented. I cried and cried and sorrow poured from me…

    When I finally sat down to feel, I had 40 years worth of feeling to do.

    The past emotions clashed with my present day ones to be felt, and the volume was scary and volatile, I literally thought I was losing my mind, but what I was really doing was coming alive.

    I not only was feeling feelings on the darkest end of the spectrum, but I was at the same time feeling the most exquisite feelings of warmth, joy, peace, love.

    I was moved to tears by beauty.

    While it may be the scariest of rides, this ride through the grieving process, to accept the horrors of life, it also is the gateway into living an authentic feeling life.

    My feelings now are welcome, for I know the cost of repression AND how it really is an act that is futile; for unexpressed emotions never leave you….time travelers they have been called.  

    All you are doing is blocking ALL feelings. If you can't feel the sorrow, you will not be able to feel the love, the peace and the joy.

    I lived blocked, like a block of wood for way too long.  I now celebrate feeling!  It matters not to me what the feelings, are I accept them all.

    This book also offers to me and explanation for so many who are unable to walk in their truth…and feel.  It explains how they are not skipping around the mountain, but trying to hold it back…they can until they can't.  For now, they are not willing to leave that stage of the grieving process.

     

     

  • Grateful for being Detached

    "We cannot begin to work on ourselves, to live our own lives, feel our own feelings, and solve our own problems until we have DETACHED from the object of our obsession. From any experiences (and those of others), it appears that even our Higher Power can't do much with us until we have detached."                        Melody Beatte

    When our choices 'affect' another's happiness there is a codependent relationship…or if we feel unable to do what we want, we are not detached, but connected.

    And the work towards healing is learning how to detach; to make a choice that you know is against what the other wants, but it is for your own happiness, that you begin to work yourself free of this codependency.

    I love that even the Universe is unable to do much with us while we are focused on the happiness and peace of others….while we are neglecting us, so is the Universe.  It honors our free will….and we are using our free will to dance to make others happy…neglecting our own soul.

    I use to be a great jailer of my children's lives, and wanted and needed them to act a certain way for my happiness and peace of mind.

    When I detached from my children, my children did not have to run away to be free…they had a free life in my presence.

    There was nothing they could or could not do that would change the climate inside of me. I was the only person responsible for my feelings…it now seems so hopelessly silly to imagine that old life, and totally debilitating for me, and harshly selfish and cold towards them.

    Neither of us were in control, and both of us needed the other to act a certain way…how incredibly hard to live this way.

    How freeing to just act for me….which leaves you at act for you.  

    I am grateful for being detached.

  • Who Knew and Turned Away.

    The evidence report adds credence to my journey, it gives supporting evidence, names, locations, and sets the tone or energy of what I felt towards my father.   It takes this inner feeling that I had and makes it public knowledge.

    This public knowledge sits so heavily upon me, for years I watched and waited for a reaction that would tell me that others seen my father as Not Normal, yet he was always treated normally, so my feelings that he wasn’t right went unsubstantiated. 

    I had to look up Unsubstantiated.

    1.             Unsubstantiated means, unverified: not proven factually.

    Synonyms: unconfirmed, unproven, unsupported, uncorroborated

    The greatest tragedy is that I waited for an adult or any person to verify that what I felt about my father was true.  That my terror feelings were spot on, and yet no one led on to what they knew or suspected.

    I was left alone unsupported with this knowledge and my body refused to let go of.

    I am thinking what is a deeper wound than the abuse itself is to then have your feelings of the event go unconfirmed.

    No one wanted to corroborate what I had experienced and what fills my body with incredulousness is that I now have facts, verifiable facts, and supported data showing that they knew, but kept this information from me. 

    When I need an adult the most, they failed to support me.

    Here is what I read yesterday…

    “Jenich spoke with Marvin Heinonen, retired Houghton County Protective Services Manager.  Marvin informed myself that indeed Ray Huhta has been under suspicion for at least THIRTY years for sexual assaulting his own children and most of the young girls in the Saint Mary’s Location neighborhood north of Hancock.”

    (a paragraph has info on a victim, so I am excluding it)

    “Marvin Heinonen said back then and even into the later years when Ray Huhta was suspected of molesting girls, there seemed to be a cover up all the time, meaning people in the church and family members would not believe that Ray Huhta could be doing this.  Marvin said the information kept resurfacing for years that Ray Huhta is a pedophile, molesting his girls…”

    One victim wrote in her statement about her family contacting Peter Torola of the Apostolic Luthern Church that she was molested by Ray Huhta. She recalls Torola’s response to her, “What is your motive in telling on Ray Huhta?”  She also stated that three more victims approached minister Pete Torola after she left the area and nothing was done.

    Another victim said her parents confronted Ray and he denied the whole time, from that point on her family’s children were forbidden to go to the Huhta house.

    What was more horrifying to learn so many years ago, was not only did I have to find peace with having a pedophile for a father, but I also learned that so many knew and did nothing.  That 30 years ago he was suspected and the girls told to stay away…

    And some knew 40 years back and at the time wanted to know the ‘motive’ for telling on Ray. Telling on Ray.  Really?

    Imagine that?  Like we are gossips?… And how telling is it that Pete Torola didn’t disbelieve it, he just wondered about the motive for telling.

    Perhaps he had a motive to keep it silent…for a child’s only motive is for you all to see what we see, for you to change your ‘normal’ definition to not normal.

    I guess I wasn’t prepared to hear the details of the little girls, and had braced myself,  but I hadn’t expected the stories held bits and pieces of how uninterested the adults were about the children in the Huhta house.

    I am not meaning to lessen the girls in my neighborhood who were abused by my father, but what stands out is that their parents warned them away from our home, but no one came and took us out.

    I have six sisters…plus eight brothers, and we lived with the Pedophile and his wife. That was our only home.

    We were left there knowingly.

    Somehow, I would feel slightly better if no one knew…if we had gone underneath the radar, an incest nest undetected, but instead it was operating in full plain view and many just turned their heads away from the Huhta children living within.

    What does a person do with this information?

    How do your process the minister’s neglect or Protective Services suspecting but without follow through or neighbors keeping their children away with no heed to us living full time with a ‘suspected’ pedophile. 

    Surely these are actions of an enemy and not of a friend.

    I am not bitter or angry, but I am wise and now validated, vindicated…but it is a hollow victory.

    You find out no one was standing for you…you never mattered enough.

    The main reason I am working with Tom Rosemurgy, is I refuse to be one of the adults who knew and turned away…

     

  • Everything as it is.

    There is this thing called ‘something’ that keeps you from being totally happy, at peace…something precedes your every step and lives out in front of you stealing your peace, and when you can dismantle the something making machine, you will find life a friendly place to be.

     

    It wasn’t until I lost ‘something’ that I found it had stood between life and me.

     

    Perhaps it was the absence of desiring, wanting, being disappointed or stressed that felt odd, or the lack of plans or having to reach a certain place, that I realized it was gone.

     

    This elusive something changes and ties strings to all your destinations and gatherings, it runs ahead and creates images for you to reach for and scurries off before you arrive, is always one step ahead of you.

     

    In my mind it wasn’t crystal clear, what the something was, but I searched for it like a hidden treasure in each place when I arrived.

     

    I had an image, a feeling or a desire to be fulfilled when I arrived.  I sought it and when it wasn’t found, I left disappointed.

     

    This future something rode ahead of my life planting little seeds of desire for me to harvest when I came behind it, sprinkling my world with what I thought were dreams, when in fact they were moment wreckers.

     

    These moment wreckers became larger than reality, like an overlay, I sought them more than I appreciated what was actually there.

     

    On my latest mini vacation, I was pleasantly surprised I had arrived ahead of something.

     

    I arrived minus a preplanned or arranged idea in my head.

     

    Usually, I had a something plan set in my head that a place had to match.

     

    Whether it was a mood or experience I had to find a certain thing to make me happy.   I didn’t arrive happy, but had to find something to make me so.

     

    I may be unable to articulate this, but to travel with zero expectations, and instead see how you feel when you arrive is totally the opposite of my old traveling/living days.

     

    Before a romantic getaway had to deliver a certain number of things to make it so, perhaps the right sunset, the perfect dinner, the right clothing, the awesome motel, the right weather, the right vehicle, the temperature…you get the picture.

     

    In fact I painted a picture in my mind and then IF reality didn’t match most of it, I wasn’t fully satisfied.

     

    And it can happen in the smallest of situations or on a weekend getaway or two week vacation.  Prior to going your mind sets in motion a something trail that you have to follow and depending upon how many things you match, your trip will be a success.

     

    Imagine the insanity of your trip having to measure up to a trip in your head, a desire or fantasy list?

     

    This last little getaway I forgot to pack the list of something.

     

    I had no preset emotions, feelings, desires and things to capture in order for it to be completed.

     

    In its place instead was arriving…like a free motion painting.

     

    Creating an artful vacation by being inspired in each moment, not knowing what you need until you see it, and bringing it in to your vacation instead of hunting for the right thing, the right thing came to you.

     

    Giving up something you can greet everything as it is.

     IMG_6271
    We came around a corner and this guy caught my attention…he was standing in front of an Art Gallery…he beckoned me inside.

     

  • Out of Control Controlled Person

    While discussing the attributes of suicide, two different people suggested that the body is out of control…and neither felt it was ‘them’ that did it, but a whole other person, a self that they did not know.

     

    I am very intrigued by how they see the person who almost died as someone different than them…and yet when they are well, or back on solid ground, that depressed person does not resemble the person who now has some control.

     

    This led me to ponder that you can be out of control as a rock, who is incapable of moving…or out of control moving… incapable of stopping.

     

    And it matters not whether you are moving or not moving, what matters is the lack of control.

     

    This lack of control means something or somebody else has control over you.

     

    You have lost owning your self.

     

    This lost self and the found self are totally different.

     

    A self that is under the control of a cult like religion and who has grown up in a dysfunctional family does not have control of her self at all.

     

    We give up the rights to our own lives, choices, beliefs…we lose control of self movement.

     

    No one says that a brainwashed person is out of control…we use that term only for moving things…yet it works the same for unmoving.

     

    The staunch faithful will not make a move that goes against the teachings of the church…while being controlled by others, they themselves have no control.   

     

    They only control themselves to remain faithful to the other that is controlling them.

     

    There is no self to control; they lost contact with the self.

     

    They see themselves through the controller’s eyes.

     

    Who would ever think that a person who is completely under the control of cult etc, is out of control?  It seems like an oxymoron.

     

    A very out of control controlled person.

     

     

     

     

  • In Peace I walked Free!

    After my last post about the Civil War in abusive homes, I had to look up the meaning of Civil to see what it means to be in a Civil war.

    Civil -polite: polite, but in a way that is cold and formal.
    And then I looked up the combination of the two words, Civil War,

    Civil War – is a war between organized groups within the same nation state or republic or, less commonly, between two countries created from a formerly-united nation.

    The formerly united family is now at war with themselves, brothers against brothers, sisters against sister, children against parents for some of the blind can now see, some of the brainwashed are beginning to think on their own, an awakening is happening, and this causes a war within a war.

    I don’t want to leave the feelings that in this Civil War no peace is found, for it is. Peace is found in no longer remaining silent. Power is replacing the forced politeness…children are rising up and finding their true self, they feel the stirrings of their Spirit.

    They are finding their unused voices, speaking forbidden words and names, identifying the enemy and no longer remaining civil – polite cold and formal.

    They will become warm and informal, perhaps become unconventional and different, they will be marching to their own drums, hearing their own music for the very first time.
    Hearing the stirrings of inner freedom and expression, of passion and of self-awareness, they will fight now to be free from being held prisoner to another.

    This civil war will end for the lucky ones, for the ones who can find the thread of their soul, the inner knowing that their very aliveness depends on them leaving the family, that if they stay they may as well die.

    There wasn’t a moment of hesitation when I left my family, there wasn’t a drop of doubt, for to the depth of my being, I knew I had been one of the living dead and staying there aware would be to be buried alive, for now I knew I was alive but dead.

    What I had found that day back in December of 2004, was a dead me. A me that had no me in it. A me that was full of the definitions from my parents, the beliefs and thoughts of my religion, but there wasn’t but a speck of me there.
    Not a part of me that defined by me, just me.

    I was a body being used by my family and a religion, but I wasn’t alive and now I was aware of it. And once I knew, I could no longer not know. And when you know you are then awake of how asleep you have been.

    And when you are awake, you see the civil war you lived in.

    Imagine being in a war but unaware you are at war. Or even aware that you are scarred and lame due to the battles you unsuccessfully fought.

    A civil war refugee that finds its imperfect self is on the path to perfection.
    “Coming from whence you came…” you should act, be and walk and talk like the walking wounded.

    You are the perfect representation of an abused child. You are the signpost or the poster child for abuse. You have displayed yourself perfectly, the perfectly abused.
    Perfectly abused people act perfectly abused. When you are aware of how abused you are, you can then begin to heal.

    Denying your brokenness is denying your self.

    I found myself in a completely broken state and complete freedom arose, for I no longer had to strive for perfection instead I embraced my imperfections and found them to be perfectly me.

    In agreement with my history I found peace…and the freedom to be myself.

    To walk my walk.

    To talk my talk.

    To be a me I had yet to be.

    An individual, a free spirit, with a clear mind no longer washed by others, in peace I walked free.

    Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose!

  • A good NO.

    There are two small words that I feel are crucial to every relationship and most important to the one between you and you, and they are Yes and No.

    If you haven’t found the inner power to use these words freely, than you are at risk of being abused or most likely have been.

    I think back on the terrible twos my kids went through, and mostly what they were doing was activating their power to use these words and most parents are not happy about this, this opposing powerhouse in a tiny body.

    I do believe that we come with the natural ability to say yes and say no, to speak of our feelings, but during our ‘upbringing’ they are slowly eroded away.

    We are much easier to handle without this freedom.

    In fact I believe my childhood religion thrived on stealing away most of my power, which was the perfect partner for abuse, I had been removed of my tools to fight the enemy.

    When I see very submissive children being so obedient, I shudder now, for I see them being helpless and easy targets.

    My children came with much self -knowledge and I wasn’t able to remove all of it and it is unimaginable what we call raising; for it seems it is more like erasing.

    Erasing their natural abilities to survive in this world.

    I had mentioned to my brother that we would have been better off being raised by wolves, he laughed but then agreed.

    I would raise my children completely different if I had the chance, and perhaps I have been able to reset their buttons in the past six years as I reset my own.

    In fact I believe if we all sat back and followed a child, we could relearn how to be a full and happy adult.

    Who we grow up to be begins in childhood, and in order to change who we are now, we have to head back and see what rules we were taught and what things inside of us were squelched due to the fear of reprisals from our parents and or church.

    We have to learn how to say yes and for stand solid in the word no, become a stubborn two- year old!

    We need to reclaim our freedom that was stolen in our terrible twos!

    I love that we can begin to act like a two- year old and find our power, but how cool, we are two- year olds who are the head of the house and can drive…I say No parents allowed!

    It is time we reclaim our lives, our yes and our no.

    I am not sure, but I feel depression is when we lose the power inside, when we are stuck powerless, without a choice. And brainwashing has to be removing the flexibility to say yes or no that is against what the other wants.

    They brainwash away the free will to say yes or say no…

    These two little words and your freedom to use them will set your free and you will begin to see life as a child full of wonder and delight, for you have the power to steer clear of what you don’t like.

    There is nothing like the power of a good NO.

    Again, as Bryon Katie says, “Saying no to you is a yes to me!”

  • “With Love always mom”

    As I began my workday yesterday morning, I am in high spirits using all my efforts to stay positive with the large volume of mail, willing myself not to get weighed down by the load.

    I am happy to start sorting letters, the tray is filled with colorful envelopes, and a gold one sits in front.

    As I pick it up, my eyes focus in on the familiar name, mine, and the handwriting is hers.

    My high spirits escape in one breath.

    The restraining letter meant nothing to her.

    The weight of the mail meant nothing compared to the heavy heart of disappointment.

    She did not honor me.

    I tossed it into my home slot, and continued on for a minute or two, and then the not knowing was too much of a distraction, so I stopped, opened it up and read.

    “Noel” is printed in fancy letters on the front, and inside the card’s message, “Wishing you peace, love and joy this Holiday Season,” and her added line, “With love always, Mom and Gramma.”

    It is ironic that what I need for peace, love and joy is for her to honor me, and yet she stomps down upon the restraining letter I sent and sends her usual card.

    Her love always is one that disregards my needs, my wishes, and me.

    I am not seen at all, as she continues on, her stride unbroken by my restraining letter to her.

    My last written words to her, my first in 6 years, was a plea for space, for her to honor and respect our silence…

    My last line was, “If you fail to honor our separation as it is, you are deliberately seeking to disrespect and hurt me; I will take it as such.”

    Her love comes in with disrespect and hurt.

    I felt it as I stood there in a mountain of mail holding a card that yet again doesn’t see me.

    Feeling abused on the inside, my feelings tore up, I tossed it back in my slot, and tried to gather myself back together to continue on.

    Her failure of honoring my words should not be a surprise, yet I guess I am the ultimate believer.

    Believing that one day she will see me, even as sit behind a wall of restraining words, that she will hear them and see me.

    See me telling her, you hurt and disrespect me.

    My words to her fall upon deaf ears.

    It’s like my needs were never written.

    Like a bad energizer bunny she keeps going and going and going.

    Her blind bullheadedness is abuse.

    She is bullying me.

    With words of love.

    Love that knows no boundaries.

    Love that doesn’t hear.

    Love of a bully.

    A one-sided affair.

    Being bullied by words of peace, love and joy.

    The juxtaposition, a card of noel, a Christmas song…carrying the tune she has always sung.

    Actions of hurt and disrespect signed, “with love always mom.