She won't understand at first, if ever, why she only attracts other masochists. Sometimes she will do a combination of both of those things, working herself into a pattern of push and pull - I love you, I hate you, I need you, I don't need anyone - that will drive her a little crazy. Then she will either do that with every man she comes within 100 feet of for the rest of her life or until she learns not to - this will take much doing - or she will despise them with such vehemence that she can barely stomach one around. She will even think you will love her properly if she can earn your approval. “What happens when you hit your daughter.įirst, she will bond to you out of fear, mistakenly thinking she has done something wrong, and if she can just manage to not do it again or somehow please you, you might not hit her or anyone else anymore. Until one day I found there was nothing left to gather.” As I revisited that landscape, I grew more in control, could go and go when I needed to. If I got stuck inside scenes in the courtroom, I would glance down at Mogu and wonder, if I really am in the past, how did this blinking thing get in my house? I assembled and reassembled letters in ways that would describe what I'd seen and felt. I learned to stay in the hurt, to resist leaving. Writing this book allowed me to go back to that place. It took me a long time to learn healing is not about advancing, it is returning repeatedly to forage something. I used to believe the goal was forgetting. For a long time, it was too painful to be here. But I do believe that here we are is all we have. I don't believe it was my fate to be raped. Consider that there is not an error, and everything that's come down on your plate is the way it is and here we are. Consider the possibility that there have been no errors in the game. Ram Dass said, Allow that you are at this moment not in the wrong place in your life. It will just be a part of my life, every day lighter to lift. Each time will not require an entire production, a spilling, a sweating forehead, a mess to clean up, sopping paper towels. I believe the same rules apply, that one day I'll be able to tell this story without it shaking my foundation. All I know is that now I do it without thinking, can do it one-handed, on the phone, in a rush. Looking back I don't remember the day that I lifted it with ease. I'd pull up a wooden chair to stand over the counting, pouring the milk with two shaking arms, wetting the cereal, spilling. I do know that when I was four, I could not lift a gallon of milk, could not believe how heavy it was, that white sloshing boulder. “I am not sure exactly what healing is or looks like, what form it comes in, what it should feel like.
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