Those films which make you cry tap into your deepest longings. To be loved, to be the rescued child, to be the winner. We’ve all of us gone through trauma.
Odin who saved a child, was the hero. And Loki is the liar, the trickster, and the ungrateful wretch who threw it in his face.
Maternal narcissism is not exclusive to adoptive scenarios, but maybe disproportionately more prevalent in the adoption triad.
I have a son and a daughter (with a man who is as far removed from being an asshole as it is possible to be). If either of them were ever caught up in a situation where they were the perpetrator or the victim of such a situation, I don’t know how I would contain my vitriol …or my guilt. Because in both positions, my children would be operating out of a place of low self-esteem. One who needed to feed their ego by taking power to control and manipulate. One who felt they were worth very little and that this was the only relationship they deserved.
My grandmother was the essence of respectability, sometimes sharp tongued and very much cultured. And to insiders – who knows? For I am not one of them.
Take responsibility for your feelings. You are in charge of them. But that’s difficult. Because we need to feel angry. We’re allowed to feel angry.
It’s not what I know I’ve done. But what I don’t know I’ve done. Yawning black holes of nothingness taunt me with their awful possibilities.
My family was not one I was born to, it was one I made and continue to make on a daily basis. My family is a group of people who I trust and whose support I use to empower myself to grow in this world. I have relatives of course, but they are not who I consider my family.
Secrecy was the best choice. But being adopted whilst outwardly respectable, was only another word for disgraced bastard. And everyone knew it, even if they didn’t say it.
If I enable a lie, it will take away a piece of me. Sometimes I think I am driven by sensationalism – a hangover of my desire for attention. That’s a part of it (and that’s the truth). But my experimentation with life, my experience, is my own way of determining what makes me happy outside of what society tells me makes me happy, and what makes me, me.
That you desire to earn money from writing out your paltry experiences is exploitative, unskilled and ultimately worth nothing. But of course you know all of this even as you try and cover it with swathes of denial.
The guilt of who I am, what I have done is so shameful that I cannot face the pain. There is no point in holding someone who is shattered and worthless.
The most useful tool I’ve discovered on our life journey is compassionate honesty. It heals so many wounds. This month has given me the chance to compassionately and honestly re-examine the relationship between my adopted Mother and I, to see whether the wound has healed between us. But my mother continues to want to play the game of ‘who-is-right-and-wrong’, and … Read More
We have each claimed our respective subjective realities to be ‘the’ one and only truth over the years, but as it turns out there is no one and only truth. We can’t change our realities, only accept that my experience is true for me as your experience is true for you. I am not trying to make you wrong. But nor will I undermine my own reality to make you right.
I discovered last week that you read my blog. This blog! Although my initial reaction was one of fear, after 5 seconds I started laughing at what I imagine your reaction to be when you read about my not-so-private sex life out there on the web.
Discover the truth about your own motivations. Then discover that even your truth is not constant and be able to accept this. Truth changes, which means that to be a seeker is not a destination, but a never ending path (and then you die).
I knew, even at 21, that my ‘off’ button didn’t function in the same way as other people’s. I lost 4 pairs of shoes out drinking over the course of 2 years.
It is always a matter of self-protection, or indeed what we believe to be self-protection… which is why stopping playing it seems counter intuitive.
If consent cannot happen without the ability to make a free and informed choice, then chances are we do not give our consent freely about anything at all.
Once upon a time someone you loved told you that you were not perfect. You internalized it and it became your belief. And so you acted accordingly.
I cannot admit I am magnificent in public, or even in private, because doing so would turn me into a person I myself dislike. Someone big headed and cocky. Someone society would hate.
I’ve created routines, bought activity books, depended a little too much sometimes on Peppa Pig. I’ve forced myself to go out, to face the demon.
As the world evolves, so humanity remains essentially emotionally the same. One part angel, one part devil, all of us suffering from the influences of religion, society and our parents. All of it crystallized in sharp relief within the hellish prison of childhood. I always said I’d never forget…and yet now I have children, I find myself getting annoyed because … Read More
There’s a rumour going round that goes something like this. You won’t truly be loved by another until you love yourself. It’s been repeated in various guises by many over the years and notably several Hollywood actresses. They seem – unsurprisingly – to be the most in need for a little self love. Love yourself first and everything else falls … Read More
I’m no longer sorry I didn’t get drunk in Dublin all those years ago. I’m only sorry I didn’t realise earlier that my sorrow, was a waste of time.
My unhappy oppressed soul had been searching for escape. Any escape. And the escape I needed, was to be an adult even as a child. Because an adult was free.
I don’t know whether the roaring was in my head or from his throat, but it felt like I had gone mad.
And in an instant, late at night, I changed. This person was in pain. Ugly and blank. My features were twisted into a belligerent mask.
The prospect of maternity leave of 12 months for my newborn together with toddler daughter makes me want to curl up in my own foetal position and hibernate.
Who would have guessed that the high achieving little girl who was–to all the outside world–a perfect privileged child, was so busy hating herself?
I recoiled at her touch and thought ‘I don’t want to put cream on them. I want them to stay there so you see every day how ugly you made me.’
Pethidine locked me away in my own pain prison far away from the delivery room. I rocked myself moaning quietly in the foetal position whilst blue shadows flitted across the room ignoring me, now I was ‘manageable’ and in an altered state of reality.
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