No, But This Time I Mean It

I intend to end this year of insanity, by allowing my mother’s recent passing to mark the end of my active attachment to a system which has collectively rejected me from my earliest days.  The ways in which I differ, they cannot understand, respect, OR control.  I officially accept my rejection.  Being excluded from the details of my mother’s death and the memorial service, is perhaps what I needed to be 100% certain. I accept my powerlessness over the fact of their impeccably consistent behavior.  I accept my powerlessness over the fact of their impeccably consistent behaviors and statements. What a pathetic waste of time, working so hard to reject their rejection.

I must waste no more time trying to understand or be understood.  The time to move on is RFN! 

Praying for the willingness to be guided by love and God and not my feeeeeeelings about the tragedy of this and the effects of THEM on my young sons.  My own recovery is the only thing of value I may offer my children. -Step One- I am incapable of service to my children, for as long as I remain mentally entangled. Please feel free to drop me a shiny gold ⭐️ for each day in which I post nothing of them or this.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I am sorry, I won't be spoken to that way. We can work to resolve this whenever you are ready and then maybe gather as a "family".

Clear Boundaries are not Grudges

Omg. I woke up thinking about exactly this. How holding a clear and healthy boundary, within my family of origin(and marriage) gets labelled “holding a grudge”. Hellooo ??? It’s not at all, magnanimous to be willing to move on from abuse by your own mouth or hand without willingness to acknowledge and amend.  I can honestly say that in my entire family and marriage experience, not one conflict was ever openly engaged in a way that was mutually aimed at genuine peace, connection, resolution.  The only explanation I find anywhere for a person to punish a plea for resolution is the narcissist personality disorder-which prohibits any sort of rigorous self reflection.  The ego is so large and fragile and will crack if forced to consider any wrongness or fallibility and so they lash out–to punish and reduce those who challenge their sense of rightness. I continue to try to understand my part in this and I recognize beyond doubt, that I do not cause others to say or do bad things.  I am just not that powerful.  

At my mother’s service, it was said a few times how “she never held a grudge”. She was quite good at pretending that hurtful things had not been said or done. It was the expectation that I do the same.  That ability/value was not passed to me genetically, as it was my sister. We differ in this way.  And my need to work together to heal and reconcile is labelled and judged as grudge holding. By refusing to gather with a person(or people) who feels free and right to verbally assault me publicly, privately, passively, and repeatedly is not a grudge. It is a fair and sane boundary.

I presented my self a million ways to Tuesday, for healing and reconciliation. Requests denied. Repeatedly screwing someone over, while insisting you are free from bad feelings and would gladly welcome/allow them “back” into the fold (for more of the same) may not be a “grudge”, but, it is something foul.

Is shunning grudge holding? Is triangulation grudge holding? I think that malevolent behaviors are in fact proof of grudge holding(just without the courage of transparency). Knowingly imposing harm, no matter how smiley while doing it, is egregious non-benevolence.🤷🏽‍♀️  

Yes, I cry, get angry, hurt and need to resolve conflict to reconcile, even and especially when I have a hand in it.  This, this is maturity and mental wellness,  according sources I trust.  Ugh,  Grief is messy. My boys asked how they could be so loved that destroying their mother and father co-parenting was called for, yet mentioning them by name at the service was not.  The mixed messages continue, even from the grave.  They also asked why only my sister was mentioned as caring for her in illness, we relocated cross country and showed up day after day and week after week to serve and love on her–until… Feels like shit, to share with my boys that the lack of mention could be for one of two reasons:  Either, they were not thought of at all…or they were, and then were intentionally excluded.  And much of the service was written/scripted by her, in advance. If she had wanted, she could have said one healing thing. In true Ghoneim fashion, she offered a passive middle finger which, I could only have imagined or earned. This brand of love is as unsafe as it is unwholesome.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Are You My Mother?

To state that my feelings about and reasons for attending yesterday’s service for my mother are messy and confusing, is an understatement.  At this moment, this is what I am able to discern. 

  • I did not want my children paraded by and fawned over by people (who wish to claim them as family while shunning their mother) . 
  • The manners in which I was notified of both the death and the service, speak volumes to the collective statement of my “place”.  I would not miss or avoid the service out of fear or shame.  As, I feel neither.
  • The heavily orchestrated gathering illuminated, beyond doubt, that I was not a part of, that I am not even a little included, welcome, or connected.  No belonging.  No business.  The collective has spoken.  I am grateful to have fully witnessed this, together, alongside my children, Favorite, and Sweet Greg.  I have missed much of my life waiting and trying to be heard, understood, welcome, connected. In addition to losing decades to the grief and confusion which defined and consumed me, what hurts more; how that despair, longing, and obsession robbed/robs my boys of my full presence.

As my sister spoke of Judith, I looked at Greg and said “Who is she even talking about?”  He calmly and without delay squeezed my hand and whispered, “She is describing the mother she had”.  That was IT. To hear that sentence is what I have always needed.  Our realities differed, and mine has been regarded as wrong, punishable, invalid.

I am grateful that my sons were able to more clearly witness the dedicated arrangement in which they are being required to force themselves to feel as if they belong and “fit”.  Their father sat neither with us nor with the “family”.  I wonder how he feels about his participation and contribution.  They are definitely more his people than they are mine.  He is easily charmed by shiny people and things. I am certain he glowed with pride over his affiliation with such an accomplished group of people.  I am less easily impressed by things.  

My relationship with my ex, because of our children, is something that may mentally tether me to this.  The boys and I will get counseling to manage the effects of parental alienation.  I cannot spare them, but I can help them become informed and armed with the language to identify the things that, without help, would emotionally wound, and defy the articulation of young boys.

NOTE:  If we do not heal and fix what hurts us, we will seek, date, marry it.  Hopefully, my ex is my final lesson on this.  Abusers, enablers, and less enlightened people may pose the question “Well who is the common variable here, and therefore the problem?”  Abuse is a cycle, a legacy.  

NOTE:  If we grow up being treated as if we are worthy of and the cause for cruelty and banishment, we will seek relationships that affirm that.  If we are raised to feel valued and connected, we will seek relationships that affirm that.  Those become core guiding (beliefs) myths about connection and our “selves”.

My sister and I lived two different experiences.  My mother’s approval and endorsement of her, as clear evidence of fine mothering, connected my sister to the rest of the family.  My mother’s experience with me was used to divide me from them. One of us got a bridge and one got a stonewall.  On my less difficult days, I was sometimes treated kind of like the sick mangey dogs roaming the streets in South East Asia. I recall badly wanting to hold them tightly and whisper “it will be ok”.  But I was afraid and that was a lie(it would never be ok), so I would pet them with a smooth stick or a piece of trash and offer them scraps of food.  It made me feel both sad and like an asshole because I recognized that more was needed and deserved.  

A wise friend shared with me that “Difficult children are here to wake their parents.  But your mother was not interested”.  It is true, she showed reflexive aversion to or dismissal of anything/anyone which/whom was not emotionally simple and intellectually stimulating.  I have been anything but those.

Regarding the memorial service for my sister’s mother, I fared well, until reaching the parking lot where I was met with love and compassion by someone who could see.  I crumbled.  I am not sad for the loss of the mother who discarded me, repeatedly and then departed the world.  I am grateful for her heroic financial rescue during my divorce.  I thanked her for that in all of the ways possible, but never in the form of submission to people who righteously, and with her blessing, diminished me.  Yesterday, that family at the service said good bye to my sister’s mother.  They never even knew mine.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Our Mother Who Art in Heaven

Dear Mother,

You must be pleased that I married someone emotionally and morally similar to you and to my sister?  And equally contented that YOUR family shows unyielding loyalty to your will and way in the form of continued stonewalling.  Rest in peace.  Someone should.  

What was my crime again…Oh, I learned to say No to bullshit without screaming and swearing and I refused to actively engage in a war that you all insisted on and have the nerve to ask directly, repeatedly, and without shame why you all so readily hurt me?  I know the answer now, because that is the best you can do.  While you may have banished me, and that hurts like hell, probably forever…the truth is I do not belong with people capable of this.  I am definitely not one of you.

I am breaking the cycle, mourning the footing of the bill, by my children–for the continued and imposed spiritual and emotional sickness. Oh how I do miss the gorgeous 2500 miles between here and California but am eternally grateful that your physical illness and Randy’s desire to buy a home, brought us here. Even with the grief of your triangulation with the boys’ father, the pain you all bring, means little compared to the healing love of my sweet Greg and Favorite. I could not live without them. In a way, you and R are responsible for that also. So thanks!

Always,

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Social Media for Abuse Awareness

People say don’t use social media to post your personal problems. I use social media to post about abuse because it is a social problem.  I am taking all necessary measures to protect and to heal myself from decades of abuse.  Being shamed and silenced is secondary trauma, which typically yields more damage than the initial or continued abuse. There are two parts to every trauma, the initial trauma (what did or did not happen) and the secondary trauma of how that gets handled(or not handled). Each person who has known me, pre-recovery, has certainly, in some way been impacted by me, probably in ways that were disturbing or damaging. Hurt people hurt people. I learned what I lived and it was awful. I can see that.

We each are in daily contact with someone who is suffering from some form of abuse, past or present. Just consider being a loving witness. Not to fix or gloss over, but to listen and be present.  Hold space for healing. So many of you have done that for me this week. Thank you. Very Grateful.

Just as rape is not always a bloody take down, in an alley by a man against a woman, and drug abuse and addiction don’t always look like track marks in an arm, a lost job, DUI, or a car wrapped around a tree, abuse of people does not always present with marks of observable physical violence.

It is very disturbing that in our culture, it is more acceptable to impose abuse than it is to speak of it. I object to that. Speaking up is considered more of a transgression, a sign of non-forgiveness or mental instability–therefore making all claims inadmissible and unworthy of action or attention. I will continue posting, sharing, recovering and connecting with others who have the courage to do the work and to grow beyond.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Pills That are Hard to Swallow

Trying to surrender my current prayer of “Make it fucken stop” for “PLEASE 🙏🏼 Help me become willing to accept the things I cannot change and to just love the hell out of my sons and my people”. Digging deep to accept the things I dislike and over which I have no power. Recovery teaches me that if it is a problem, there will be a solution. If there is no solution, it is not a problem, but an unpleasant fact—to be accepted. Not, the feeling of “It is ok” but the practice of acceptance—doing nothing to try and make it be different from how it IS. I am so very distraught over my boys being used in a game of egos. My sons will lose, no matter what. Anything that requires dissociation is toxic. My pain stems from my lack of acceptance that my sister and ex actively submit my children to things from which they will need to numb or recover. These are the pills which I am gagging down—as many times as it takes. My reaction to the bullshit is neither wholesome nor badass.  AND, I cannot even contemplate grief over the death of my mother- becuase I am too tangled up with my despair over the damage which is righteously heaped uponon my children.  Trauma and dysfunction are messy. Grief is messy.  Healing is messy.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram- wholesomebadass https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/