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

Being a good person is very, very important to me. And in that intent, in that commitment to be a good person, to be the best person I can be- I must be good to me, first and foremost.

“The Betrayal We Buried”- no longer accommodating those who betray me.

No longer betray myself.

anita

More: It is no longer about you, Ima. it is about me: someone has to be here for me, and I am that person here-for-me.

There is no anger at you, Ima, only compassion as always. Only I don’t drown in my empathy for you: there is me here, and I matter.

I matter, Ima. I matter.

anita

You know the feeling that you would climb the tallest mountain, cross the driest desert for someone, do all that you can for someone else?

And when the person you’d climb the tallest mountain for has died, never to be reached…

How does it feel?

Here I am older than I last remember my mother to be, my precious, beloved mother, the one I always loved, the one I will never stop loving because I don’t want to, because I was never about not loving you anymore. It’s in the core of me, in the heart of me forever- to forever love you.

I love you, Ima!

I love you.

I always loved you.

When all is said and done and you are 84 or 85 years old as I am typing this, across the world from you, I want to say: Ima, I always loved you and I love you still. Tears are in my eyes. My essence is and always has been just this love to you. This is who I am- one to love YOU!

My scream: I-Love-You-Mother- muted as always because you are not hearing it. But this scream of mine is who I am.

This love for you is in the core of who I am, no longer to be denied, repressed or suppressed, yet with no happy ending because of this undeniable, excruciating truth- you don’t hear me, Ima, you don’t get it, you don’t take it in- that I love you, that I always loved you.

The complexity of it all- that I love you so very much.. and that none of it has reached you- that’s a reality that is difficult to integrate. It’s a scream from the depth of my soul, the truth of who I am, my essence: LOVE for you, Ima.

I love you, I will miss you, Ima. There is nothing I wouldn’t do still to let you know that you are loved, that you can be loved. Unreachable, can’t reach you. Love you nonetheless. Always. This is who I am.

anita

Trigger Warning-very emotional post to follow-

As part of my Shadow Work, I pay attention to when I am triggered by people, particularly when I am angry with someone for no discernable reason, and figure out what part of my own self is trying to speak to me, a part projected to the other person. This morning I had a horrifying moment: I am angry at my own vulnerability, my own weakness, my own desperation, angry at the little-girl-that I was. I am angry at her for having been weak, and being weak- deserving the mistreatment she got.

I wrote the above without censorship, without commenting about how.. inappropriate it is to feel that way.

Oh, but there are no inappropriate feelings. There are inappropriate actions, but not inappropriate emotions. All emotions have a positive motivation behind them, to somehow help the individual and to help others.

So, what is this anger about?

What comes to mind is this image/ memory of my mother looking at me with hate and condemnation in her eyes. I see her face: she is in her thirties perhaps, looking down at me as something despicable.

I say “something” and not “someone” because saying “someone” would give me more value than what she expressed in her eyes, and in that mild smile of hers, the upward angle of her lips.

My weakness was something to punish, in her mind and heart.

I took in her anger as something valid. And why wouldn’t I? There were no other options presented to me from which to choose.

I took in her anger, her condemnation- as if it was mine. It became mine.

There was no thought processing involved: she hated me for being vulnerable=> I hated myself for being vulnerable. She hated me for being an imperfect something=> I hated myself for the same.

But I ama not a something- what a concept! The title of a book comes to mind, “A child called It”, I think is the title. It caught my eye decades ago because it resonated.

Looking at the title of this thread: “The Betrayal We Buried..”- I find myself just now in the process of intellectualizing, trying to rationalize, to explain, but I don’t want to take that familiar route because that’s not where the child that I was can be found.

Back to the image, typing as I think-feel: I see the face of a monster. No, there is no “I” to see the face of a monster. There is a monster. A monster looking at me with hate. Correction: a monster looking at “it” with hate. “It” is not me. It is a stranger out there.

Hate that stranger is what I am taught. hate that stranger is what a daughter is taught to do. And daughter follows suit with what (it) is taught.

Still resisting rationalization: “It”- that’s me. But it isn’t. There is a person in there. There is depth in there. there is nuance.

But don’t tell that to the mother-monster.

Child within me says: oh, my beautiful mother, oh, my beautiful mother-god.

I see. I feel that reverence to the mother, why.. she is god. There is no other god, no other option for the child.

A vengeful god though. “Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them.” (Deuteronomy 32:35), impending things hastening upon me. “leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19), “A jealous and avenging God is the Lord; The Lord is avenging and wrathful. The Lord takes vengeance on His adversaries, And He reserves wrath for His enemies.” (Nahum 1:2)- I was my mother’s adversary, I was her enemy- in her own mind.

Obviously the experience is not particular to me, it’s been many people’s stories for thousands of years.

It’s just after noon here. the sun is shining, the leaves on the trees are gently moving to a gentle wind.

Gentle, that’s a good word, a good experience.

In my mind’s ear I hear a thousand people screaming at me: MOVE ON! Why are you making A BIG DEAL out of nothing, why wasting our time?

Who is screaming this in my mind’s ear? Is that you, a person reading this?

Oh, the fear of condemnation.

No pressure in this process, in this post, no intended destination. Only the relaxing into the truth, which is..

I can’t help it, I will always love my mother. Not because I want to, but because I know no other way. I should say.. love the version of my mother I have to keep: for if she didn’t love me, who would?

It’s a deep, deep need to be loved by one’s mother, my mother, a non-negotiable need.

Sure, I can say: oh, she didn’t love me, she was incapable, her past, her childhood, etc.-

– But it doesn’t change the fact that she was the only mother I had and there was no other discernable source of love.

So, of course, the child’s mind had to twist any and everything to accommodate that need for love, including joining her in .. her hate of me.

anita