The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Dealing with the roiled up crap.


I'd never considered that my mother was gaslighting me. And yet.

"Of course he loves you, he's your father!" "Oh, you can't think that!" "How could you think that, that never happened!"

Reframing is a powerful tool. Not that I think it was, mostly, on purpose. She was deeply in denial. But, she had to know, however deep down. She had to know, and not want me to cotton on. She denied my truth, any truth, when it suited her comfort.

not because they value or even like their children (though they’ll use the word “love” like it’s going out of style) but because they want the outside appearance and validation of “We’re Good Parents™, right? And that’s what Good Children™ Do For Good Parents!”

Another one from Captainawkwardcom.

My father used to say he treated me like he did, because the world would be so much harsher on me.

have been hungry, I have been cold, I have been sick, and I have been scared but I have never, ever been as unhappy as when I lived under my folks’ roof as a kid and had to just sit there and take whatever it was. Never.

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