Dear Farnaz:

You are welcome and virtual xoxo back to you! No need to apologize for your net connection. “I like the sound of rain“- I do too. One interesting thing about the sound of snow falling is that there is no sound, it is eerily silent.  It snowed enough here that I am stuck (I can’t drive/ be driven in the deep snow. I am living outside the city limits and therefore, there is no city-sponsored snow clearing service here… and there is way too much area to be cleared by people without heavy duty snow clearing machinery).

“It’s called the city of rain” – I imagine a Farnaz elegantly walking in the City of Rain…

“Actually I was thinking about good topics we can talk about, what do you think about telling our stories of  (the) successes  you had after the therapy… You once told me about the moment you realized your mom is enjoying hurting you. Do you have similar experiences?“-

-I like the topic! I am not sure about the last question I quoted above.. do you mean: did I have other similar realizations in regard to my mother? If that’s the question, then yes, one was a few months ago, maybe half a year ago, I don’t remember. It think, the stark realization (and it is related to what you mentioned right above), that my mother didn’t love me. She told me that she loved me many times but it always felt wrong, uncomfortable.. incestuous, really. I mean, I never experienced motherly love, the love of a mother. Not that I remember. Whatever her emotions toward me, outside her anger.. it was not motherly. I have zero memory of feeling relaxed and comforted in her presence, NOT A SINGLE MOMENT!

(It angers me, hence the big print).

There is a saying: the proof is in the pudding, and in this context, it means that if my mother loved me, I would have felt loved, and there would have been some evidence of her love in my being.. but there is none.

anita