Yesterday, on the previous page of this thread, I received one or two (I don’t want to go back and look at that post or posts) replies that were not only unempathetic, but rude and crude, totally uncalled for. That post or posts hurt me deeply! These were posted by Jana, or Yana, a member with whom I communicated for quite some time, and for whom I have done my best. Following this yesterday experience, I have no desire whatsoever to ever communicate with her again-with you, if you are reading this, Jana.

I am not the owner of this website, Jana, nor am I a moderator, nor am I anyone more than a member, a member like you. And so, you are welcome to post as often as you would like- in your threads, or in other members’ threads, for as long as the original poster does not request that you do NOT post in their threads. I am taking this opportunity, therefore, to request: Jana- please do not post on any of my threads: this one, past ones, or future ones.

You are no longer welcomed in my threads. You are no longer welcomed to communicate with me anywhere.

And now, back to my hopefully (???) undisrupted, uncriticized shadow-work healing process, (breathe, calm down)- my mother, my Ima, my 84 year-old mother who can’t stand straight because of arthritis and old age, about my love for her vs her love for me: I love you, I always will. I can’t help but love you. Ima. I remember you at your best moments, when you were young and standing straight (not horribly bent over). I remember you at your youth, your face younger than my face is now. Your face decade younger than my face is now.

it’s always been an unbridgeable gap- the vast distance between you.. and me.

It’s about.. why couldn’t, wouldn’t you and I, Ima, have a bond, one in which we could both relax and recharge?

The lack of connection- the lack of a meeting place. That’s the tragedy, a lack of a meeting place.

Instead of helping each other, it was about you tearing me apart. You should have built me up- that way, I could have had it within me to help you in practical ways.

An Unbridgeable Gap- decades, half a century of an unbridgeable gap. And how could a scream animating from me, reach you, so old, so bent over, can’t stand straight.

I am crying right now, tears in my eyes.

Love, this is the lingering force pushing against it all. Love rejected. Love abused.

Love abused. That twists the soul around itself, suffocating in the twist.

anita

Tuesday evening and I am alone at home, no socializing tonight. Did 3 hours work today weeding in a partly grey, partly sunny day. Here, at home, still light outside and lots of trees outside the very large windows, I am listening to nostalgic music. I choose to be here, in my thread, doing my favorite thing when alone: deepening my awareness of my suppressed and repressed emotions.

More than half a century of repression makes for LOTS and LOTS to express.

The other day, a member who didn’t have to visit my thread, a member who didn’t have to read my writings (in my own thread), chose to give me her rude and crude, judgmental and accusatory five cents. I didn’t appreciate it, not at all. I figure: if you choose to visit MY thread and you have nothing nice to say- don’t say anything at all.

I am a six year-old girl awakening in a sixty something year-old body.

I keep my body slender, slightly underweight (108.6 lbs. at 5’5′)- it makes me feel like the girl I never got to be when I was young. I wear my size 0 jeans and looking down at my legs in jeans, I look like a teenager, Yes!!!

When I was a teenager I was a very old woman.

And I didn’t have the option of sitting in front of a computer on a public forum expressing myself. I was closed-in, repressed, suppressed and depressed, terribly lonely and alone.

I had love in me but I was afraid of it, afraid of getting hurt by it and afraid of hurting others.

As you know, there are people who have hurt you and who will hurt you- they are just around the corner. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is my intent and my commitment.

On the other hand, I will not submit and go belly-up to aggressive people. This is my intent and commitment.

I went belly up for my mother. My submission was her pleasure, her Power-over-me.

It didn’t work out for me, it didn’t work out for her- not beyond her short-lived moments of power and pleasure.

I didn’t make the rules. I accommodated. Now I make the rules: I don’t accommodate aggressors. And I commit to never, never be the aggressor.

Of course, in my mother’s mind, any assertiveness on my part (like saying: “no, Ima, please don’t!”) was aggression -in her mind. If I didn’t let her do with me whatever it was she wanted, if I objected- in her mind, that was aggression to be silenced immediately and harshly.

What kind of repressed emotions can I access and express tonight?.. I feel it right now, a rush of emotion, too fast, I can’t find the words, it’s like a roller coaster of emotions.

Here are the beginnings of tears. But only beginnings. I don’t cry. anita Doesn’t Cry.

A pitiful, weak person, like my mother, can be a very vengeful, very powerful person, for a moment, enough to scare, enough to devastate. A weak person does not mean a safe person. A vengeful weak person creates the most havoc.

I was fully under the power of a very, very weak and vengeful person, my own mother, the one I was born to.

Do Not Underestimate the Vengefulness of the Weak.

The key is to not submit to the vengeful weak, no matter how much empathy they evoke. No belly-up. No surrender.

anita

Help me, Don’t Hurt me

* Correction: to not allow mistreatment.

Continued- “the raw, intense, fire-like need for my mother.”- and the lack of reciprocation of this need. I only imagined all these years that she needed me. I didn’t know that.. I was all alone in this need. It was only me. The feeling was not mutual. There she was- Everything, in my mind; there I was- Nothing much, in her mind.

Unreciprocated love. I don’t blame her and I don’t feel angry at her, at this point.

It’s just the illusion on my part that I want to .. get over, the illusion that somehow I meant, or could have meant- Something to her, something more than.. well, nothing much.

I am here to grieve this reality. She meant SO MUCH to me; I meant- as a person- so very, very little to her.

Like I said, I am not angry at her. I understand how much she suffered, how incapable she was- through no fault of her own- to be there for me.

I want to grieve this reality so to let go of this old, old, old, futile lingering hope that someday, over the rainbow, she will value me.

She can’t. Not her fault. Incapable.

Yet, her incapability does not mean that I meant nothing, that I was unworthy, that I was terribly, oh so terribly faulty, lacking, far from being close to anything like.. good-enough.

Truth is I am- and always have been- good enough, always a person of worth, no less than any other person.

This means I trust myself now, trust myself to be worthy of others’ trust and my own.

anita

This is it, my goodness- I have me back!

The Return:

I buried pieces deep within, silent echoes locked inside, the weight of words unspoken, pressed against my ribs, denied.

But today, the walls have crumbled, the quiet breath has turned to sound, what once was hushed now rises, raw and fierce, no longer bound.

I welcome back the lost, the hidden, the tremble of truth I tucked away, no longer drowning in repression— I speak, I stand, I let it stay.

And in this voice, I find myself, the one I was, the one I am, not broken, not forgotten— but whole again, unbound, un-damned.

anita

I feel good, unchained. No longer tethered to the past. No longer suffocated by it. No longer trapped in it. And interestingly, at the same time, I feel more connected to me, to the girl I was, the girl I still am.

Interestingly- because all along, detaching from my past left me trapped in it, not really living for the most part, only surviving.

I left little girl-me far behind, proceeding toward an existence of repressed and suppressed emotions, anxiety and depression- all the result of leaving her behind, alone and lonely.

I take her with me now, on this sunny bright morning, joy in my heart. She is not alone. She is not lonely anymore.

anita