My parents...
My parents...mostly my dad knew how hard it was to be a parent. My father frequently took on both the father role and the mother role. He treated my handicapped mother as weak. Consequently I got a female role modeling of what it is to be weak. Now I step out into the world wondering where all these strong women have come from and I know the sufferage was part of it. The women of our pasts laid the groundwork for where we are today. To them I am grateful. To my Dad I am also grateful however he did not have appropriate strong female roles either. He lived in a world of male domination and control. We still in many ways live under the male guise of control. We allow it as women. We allow a lot of things because "we don't want to rock the boat". That one reason my mother gave me for not fighting back and being the obedient one. It counts against me now. My head is so screwed up from wanting to be the strong woman that I am, however having the expectation that I am going to be beaten down, thus causing me to be beaten down. ANy time I try to assert myself I get into trouble. Mostly from men who are tired of being asserted upon. And we also trained them to take it. We knew they were weaker in some ways and we kept our mouths shut and did not teach them as mothers. We taught some of them to be our slaves. Slaves rise up. Slaves rebell. I did. I took my freedom. I appreciate it.
My parents did the best they could. They grew up under very harsh conditions. During war, during depression, during persecuting times so that *I* could have a good life. That *is* sacrifice. I appreciate them for it. Somehow they got here. SOmehow they survived. They had a lot going against them 55 years ago. I am going to miss thier stories when they are gone. I hope I can capture some of them. I hope someday I can inspire my mother to write about the horrible travesties she had to endure.
My mother was born in a time when there was very little availability of food. OF course it's possible that her mother didn't really want her...or that she had sex forced upon her by the husband. In fact it is quite likely given that that father then sexually abused my mother when his needs weren't met from the wife. And yet they can't talk about it. It pains me. The fact that truth often does not come out and we do not learn from our families mistakes. *dirty secrets*
Sharing is god, even if it hurts. Why do we not do this more often? WHy am I punished for sharing my hurts in order to deal with them when I am perfectly willing to listen in a non judgemental way about others hurts?
There is only the shame that we ourselves create in our minds.
I used to feel ashamed of my own abuse. I was later told it wasn't my fault. By many many authors to try and reconcile the pain...to feel better...so I wouldn't become an abuser like I was abused...despite my attempts it didn't work very well. Later than that I am told that we choose our parents and our circumstances in order to learn certain lessons or heal from certain pains. So the truth is, it really was half my doing, ultimately. I chose my entire circumstances...so I get to feel that shame anyway. Funny how healing is....how you have to bounce all around the place till you hit some extremems and then find a balance in the middle.
I am able to tell people these days ..."I'm glad it happened....I wouldn't be me without it....it shaped me" Most would not understand being in that place. I feel isolated in that place.
*unfinished, continue later*
My parents did the best they could. They grew up under very harsh conditions. During war, during depression, during persecuting times so that *I* could have a good life. That *is* sacrifice. I appreciate them for it. Somehow they got here. SOmehow they survived. They had a lot going against them 55 years ago. I am going to miss thier stories when they are gone. I hope I can capture some of them. I hope someday I can inspire my mother to write about the horrible travesties she had to endure.
My mother was born in a time when there was very little availability of food. OF course it's possible that her mother didn't really want her...or that she had sex forced upon her by the husband. In fact it is quite likely given that that father then sexually abused my mother when his needs weren't met from the wife. And yet they can't talk about it. It pains me. The fact that truth often does not come out and we do not learn from our families mistakes. *dirty secrets*
Sharing is god, even if it hurts. Why do we not do this more often? WHy am I punished for sharing my hurts in order to deal with them when I am perfectly willing to listen in a non judgemental way about others hurts?
There is only the shame that we ourselves create in our minds.
I used to feel ashamed of my own abuse. I was later told it wasn't my fault. By many many authors to try and reconcile the pain...to feel better...so I wouldn't become an abuser like I was abused...despite my attempts it didn't work very well. Later than that I am told that we choose our parents and our circumstances in order to learn certain lessons or heal from certain pains. So the truth is, it really was half my doing, ultimately. I chose my entire circumstances...so I get to feel that shame anyway. Funny how healing is....how you have to bounce all around the place till you hit some extremems and then find a balance in the middle.
I am able to tell people these days ..."I'm glad it happened....I wouldn't be me without it....it shaped me" Most would not understand being in that place. I feel isolated in that place.
*unfinished, continue later*