estrangement

While it is true that I have tapped into the magic of self love, this by no means is an expression of being perfect or finished or in love with myself.  It means I recognize my worthiness of  connection, wholeness, peace, and kindness of people who value me.   I no longer doubt and dislike myself enough to subject myself to the painful brand of love-and I have for now stopped begging for it to be different, with my family of origin. Without self-love, I was willing to come around, to dine with people who name call and behave in ways which are diminishing to me- creating unnecessary hardship and loss of innocence for my children.  I realize how I came to marry my children’s father, emotionally and morally vacant,  concerned primarily with appearances.  Not knowing what being loved and nurtured felt like, I chose more of what I knew.  As I have recovered; learned what it means to offer, receive, and welcome wholesome love and nurturing, I no longer tolerate or take blame for  others whose behaviors and words I experience as foul.
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For 4 brutal decades, I was distraught over the confusing swings of mood(with me indicated as THE cause) by my mother, sister, and later my husband/now ex-husband.  At times there would be eye contact, engaging conversation, and something resembling connection– then long periods of averted eyes and zero acknowledgment when addressed, or a surprising character assassination in response to something from months or even years earlier.  Then, compliments, gifts, or initiatives to engage, close on the heels of emotional vacancy or barely contained rage- impossible to discern which.  It is too much.
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My recent exchange with my mother awakened in me the  exact “nature” of my lifelong experience, as her dependent and child.  If I said I was cold, rather than a sweater, snuggle, or blanket, I was offered a reading of the thermostat as proof that I could not feel that way (if I were normal, worthy, and honest).  When I reported  hunger or need a restroom, similarly, I was reminded of having recently eaten or relieved myself, OR that I was just too fucken much.  Support was available only when she shared the sentiment.  When my experience differed, I was reported to be equal parts incorrect and troublesome. I literally learned to doubt myself at a cellular level.  I was wrong about things, over which technically, I would be the ultimate authority:  hunger, exhaustion, fear, sadness, cold, a full bladder.  Right? (more…)