Anita,

but you are good with words, in my experience of reading your words.

Thank you 🙂

I have a long, long history of struggling with words, as in: what to say (or type), what words not to say..  what didn’t I say (what did I forget to respond to) but should have; going over my words in my head to detect wrong words, or missing words.

I too, struggle with words and I understand you very well. I sometimes delete words when I think they are too much.. not appropriate. Re-living conversations thinking what I should have (not) said. Not a good habit, I guess.

I am making progress on this matter, but I still struggle. For example, only a moment ago, when I read the beginning of your post before last, where you wrote: “Anita, thank you“, I thought to myself (with some distress), paraphrased: Joanna said “thank you” at the beginning of her post, but I didn’t start this post with “you are welcome”! Did I say “you are welcome” in my last post yesterday? I should check to see if I did!

Please do not worry about this. Nothing bad will happen if you do not respond to something or use wrong words. I appreciate your posts very much and I am not critical of them.

What is this all about? It is about my mother policing my words, accusing me of words I said and words I didn’t say and should have said, accusing me of intentions that I did NOT have when I said this word or the other word, accusing me of purposefully not saying what I should have said, etc.

Most people are not like your (and my) mother. Not judgemental, not accusing of bad intentions. I say this to myself too and I think it’s good to remember.

*I noticed (as I often do when I write about my mother) that right above, I used the present tense: “It is about my mother…”- I didn’t have any contact with her for nine years and yet, her mental representative in my brain is still policing my words.

Do you sometimes use past tense when talking about difficulties related to your mother’s abuse?

As far as words of affection, like using “precious” in regard to you, that felt awkward, uncomfortable, but it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable now, to use it… precious Joanna (see? I used it again and … I feel fine!)

Thank you for your honesty! I really like this word and I am happy you wrote it to me and that you are more comfortable with using it 🙂

good, remind yourself of this repeatedly, as you walk in the park, and at other times.

I will!

“‘Children…  maintain that this psychological defense mechanism—known as dissociative amnesia”...I remember thinking ‘That’s why I have so little memories from childhood’“- I read the same thing and thought the same thing. 

we are very much alike and also have similar realizations 🙂

I can relate (not surprising). I had trouble myself putting together into one person the two extreme images of my mother: the cold, cruel, angry, hateful one… and the warm, kind, affectionate .. seemingly loving one. Which one was my mother? And consequently, who am I: If she is the hateful one, then I am her victim; if she is the loving one.. then she is my victim.

I remember thinking not too long ago: if my mother was always bad, consistently bad (cruel, hateful, etc.)- my life would have been so much easier because I would have known she was bad and I would have completely stayed away from her, not having her in my life at all. But because of the mix.. I was a mess, didn’t know who is whom and what to do.

That is exactly what I was thinking.. Seemed to me I realized much later than I should..that my mother is in fact abusing me. I resent myself for it. I had those thoughts in early childhood, yes, that I hate her and she is evil, but once my parents got divorced and she started talking about my dad’s drinking, how it was “impossible to live with that men” I was so gaslighted, more and more each day, because I started spending more time with her – living with her only. One time my dad came to visit me and she started yelling at him, he was just sitting here and listening. I started crying and she told him “see what you did to a child??!” and he.. didn’t know what to say, he was silent. I knew I was crying because she was yelling but I didn’t tell her that, I .. knew I had to play her game: that I cry because he came here, because I saw him. But I knew that wasn’t true. What she did to my mind is terrifying to me!

another aspect of same mother= same daughter experience… it is amazing how much of us is formed as a result of our childhood (aka formative years) experience with our mothers.

Nothing more to add here. I agree, it’s amazing. I sometimes wonder am I similar to some of my ancestors, grandparents? Who am I, what would be my talents etc if it wasn’t for the abuse shaping most of my personality.

– both our mothers were very fragile, unstable, unpredictable, suspicious, paranoid.. quick to detect anger when there is none, and react angrily: accusing, persecuting… and the persecuted smiles so to.. not further disturb the one already so very disturbed.

Sad truth.