Re: Christmas Trees

[Guest guest]

Dear Lois, Thanks for the reply. I need as much reassurance as I can get w/the

tree. And

as a matter of fact, getting in touch w/my inner children--or, 'ego states', as

they are

called in the trauma world, is the ONLY form of therapeutic treatment that has

worked for

me. For those of you who have not yet heard me harp on this--there is a theory

that

people who go through repeated, chronic trauma have unintegrated

personalities--sort of

a milder version of multiple personality disorder. Threre are scientific

articles about it on

Baldwin's Trauma information pages, and the approach is used by a trauma

treatment center on the east coast somewhere--I can't remember if it's DC or

Philly area.

The idea is that there are unintegrated 'ego states' of many ages at work inside

of

traumatized children, and they are working at odds with each other. As I have

learned to

identigy these ages (for me they are 3, 12, 16 and 19), I have been able to talk

to them,

re-parent them and 'integrate' them. Whenever something is hurting me--ie, a

strong

nada tape--I can now usually find which age it is pinned to, talk to it in age

appropriate

language, and truly deal with the problem. This approach might not work for all

KOs, but

it is the ONLY think that has worked for me--in fact for me it has been almost a

miracle, it

has so improved my level of happiness. So yes indeed, I have found my inner

children! I

also wanted to point out that there is very likely a difference between those of

us who've

had a full stress breakdown, and those of us who are just in discomfort from

nada. The

nature and severity of my abuse, coupled with some serious re-traumitization,

led me to a

place where I had no choice but to seek therapy. For many of you, especially

those of you

who were lucky enough to marry and have families of your own, your childhood

coping

mechanisms may still largely be in effect for you, and though being in touch

with nada

may cause you great distress, it won't overwhelm your coping mechanisms to the

extent

that you get PTSD like symptoms. It was not so for me. I was overwhelmed;

there was too

much pressure put and my coping mechanisms blew out, and I was absolutely forced

to

find new ones. Of course I'm glad I did, and I wish everybody would, but it's

important

that I try to remember that some of my friends don't need to make such a total

life change

as I did, and, if they're not in therapy, it may not be the end of the world ...

Still, I would

encourage anyone w/a nada to enter therapy anyway, because it WILL make you

happier,

and it may help you to avoid a breakdown where you lose work time or end up

switching

careers, leaving a marriage, etc.

Love

Charlie

> >

> > Dear all,

> >

> > Yesterday I bought a Christmas song on i-tunes. It was one from my

> childhood. Then last

> > night, I had a dream where my subconsious wanted to tell me

> something. It was about the

> > Christmas tree.

> >

> > From my earliest memory, my nada used the Christmas tree as one of

> her instruments to

> > make me seem inept, ridiculous and annihilated.

>

[Guest guest]

I thought I'd add my contribution to the Christmas stories (and yes--to whoever

remarked that the posts seem to have doubled lately, I do think it's all of our

traumatic holiday memories resurfacing!!)

I've always loved the AA idea that we should retell our stories until we are

tired of telling them. My Christmas story is one I have yet to tire of telling

so I'm assuming that is still plaguing my subconcious.

Christmases were always tricky in my house--the presents for nada had to be

plentiful and exactly what she'd asked for and the slightest, strangest thing

could set her off. For instance, last year, a simple chapstick in her stocking

caused an almost three hour screaming fit w/ step dad triggered by: Where did

you get this? From a gas station? Mobil you say? Which Mobil? There's no

Mobil near here. The one in X? What on earth were you doing over there? When

was this? Why didn't you tell me you'd been over there? And on and on until

she'd convinced herself that he was secretely keeping a mistress in X and had

never loved her etc. etc.

But the story I'm referring to happened when I was about 15. Each year, it

had been my tradition to make my parents breakfast in bed. That year, I got up

early, made homemade muffins, omelets and all sorts of goodies that took me

nearly three hours. Nada and step dad #1 were at it from 7 am on, screaming and

chasing one another around the upstairs which I tried to block out by listening

to a X-mas CD (I still remember it was a whole CD of carols played on bells). I

brought up the food, along with some fresh sprigs of holly (it's all very vivid,

strange) and left it outside their bedroom door because they were still

screaming and wouldn't let me in.

Shortly after that, my mother suddenly ran downstairs and told me to hide in

my room. I obeyed and ran upstairs to find the tray I'd so lovingly prepared

toppled over with muffins ground into the carpet and juice and coffee

spilled...I went into my room and suddenly, the cops showed up, their lights

blazing outside in the driveway, neighbors coming out of their houses to see

what I suddenly saw--step-dad being handcuffed and put in the cruiser.

Mom sped off immediately to the hospital, to have her wrist x-rayed because

she claimed he'd 'broken' it during their dispute. The doctors of course only

found some mild swelling (and my dad later informed me that she'd been clawing

at him and to defend himself he'd wrenched her arm off of him--I believe him as

I saw her attack him dozens of times and never saw him lay a finger on her).

However, she still had him arrested and charged with domestic abuse and got a

restraining order against him and I wasn't allowed to see him for seven months.

(And talk about a smear campaign...)

So there I sat, stunned, presents unopened, food all over the hallway, while

my dad was in jail and my mom didn't return for two days. I don't really

remember what I did when I was home alone during those two days but god, it was

awful, so sad. Oh dear, here I am crying at Starbucks:)

Anyway, like I suspected, that just needed to get retold and it feels good to

acknowledge that this happened, and is a part of me and my memories, not just

some distanced thing that I witnessed...

Thanks for anyone who read this all the way to the end.

charlottehoneychurch wrote:

Dear all,

Yesterday I bought a Christmas song on i-tunes. It was one from my childhood.

Then last

night, I had a dream where my subconsious wanted to tell me something. It was

about the

Christmas tree.

From my earliest memory, my nada used the Christmas tree as one of her

instruments to

make me seem inept, ridiculous and annihilated. Here's how she did it. She and

my

younger (split good) sister were the ones considered capable of decorating the

tree.

Whenever I tried to help, they would watch what I did, then verbally shame me

and give me

grief (that doesn't go THERE), and half the time they would go back and move

ornaments

away from where I had put them. If I wanted a certain something--like a color of

tinsel or

lights or such, there was more of that shaming, there would be a response in a

tone as if I

had just said the most ridiculous, insulting thing to them that deserved to be

completely

scoffed, rebuffed and dismissed. When I went away to school, they started

decorating the

tree before I came home, so I could not even participate at all. One year, nada

bought a

smaller tree and put it in the kitchen, and when I got home she gave me all the

older,

leftover ornaments and lights and said that was 'my' tree and I could decorate

it. And I

did, stupidly. (Not knowing about BPD. Now I would have refused of course). This

was all

surrounded by that terrible twisting of reality--like how dare I get angry about

it or try to

defend myself, they were doing absolutely NOTHING wrong, they didn't SAY I was

ridiculous, they were letting me help, what was I TALKING about, why was I so

mean and

viscious?

I knew this had happened but I didn't realize how much it broke my heart during

childhood til I dreamed about it. What little girl wants to be shamed with the

Christmas

tree? The idea was that I had no sense of beauty or decoration or such, I was

incapable of

being able to pick the right ornaments and put them in the right places,

because, overall, I

was a ridiculous person, not to be taken seriously, whose only motivation in

life was hate

for my nada. And this reality was so FORCED upon me, so confusing!!

So I am going to verify another reality here with all of you: Christmas should

be a fun and

loving time for the family. Nothing should be used to pit one child against

another,

including decoration of a tree. The mother's role should be to make sure that

all the

children feel included and festive and happy. It was absolutely right of me to

sense that

injustice was going on with the tree, and try to do something about it.

I was thinking of maybe trying to do my own tree this year at my apartment ....

To maybe

purge some of this crap.

Love

Charlie

---------------------------------

Access over 1 million songs - Yahoo! Music Unlimited.

[Guest guest]

This is truly a horror story, and I can understand the need to

retell it until you have healed from the trauma. My horror holiday

was at Easter. Please keep on retelling as often as you need to. I

like that suggestion of retelling until we are tired of doing so. I

had never heard it before, but based on my own experiences, it

really makes alot of sense.

Take care,

Sylvia

>

> I thought I'd add my contribution to the Christmas stories (and

yes--to whoever remarked that the posts seem to have doubled lately,

I do think it's all of our traumatic holiday memories resurfacing!!)

>

> I've always loved the AA idea that we should retell our stories

until we are tired of telling them. My Christmas story is one I

have yet to tire of telling so I'm assuming that is still plaguing

my subconcious.

>

> Christmases were always tricky in my house--the presents for

nada had to be plentiful and exactly what she'd asked for and the

slightest, strangest thing could set her off. For instance, last

year, a simple chapstick in her stocking caused an almost three hour

screaming fit w/ step dad triggered by: Where did you get this?

From a gas station? Mobil you say? Which Mobil? There's no Mobil

near here. The one in X? What on earth were you doing over there?

When was this? Why didn't you tell me you'd been over there? And

on and on until she'd convinced herself that he was secretely

keeping a mistress in X and had never loved her etc. etc.

>

> But the story I'm referring to happened when I was about 15.

Each year, it had been my tradition to make my parents breakfast in

bed. That year, I got up early, made homemade muffins, omelets and

all sorts of goodies that took me nearly three hours. Nada and step

dad #1 were at it from 7 am on, screaming and chasing one another

around the upstairs which I tried to block out by listening to a X-

mas CD (I still remember it was a whole CD of carols played on

bells). I brought up the food, along with some fresh sprigs of

holly (it's all very vivid, strange) and left it outside their

bedroom door because they were still screaming and wouldn't let me

in.

>

> Shortly after that, my mother suddenly ran downstairs and told

me to hide in my room. I obeyed and ran upstairs to find the tray

I'd so lovingly prepared toppled over with muffins ground into the

carpet and juice and coffee spilled...I went into my room and

suddenly, the cops showed up, their lights blazing outside in the

driveway, neighbors coming out of their houses to see what I

suddenly saw--step-dad being handcuffed and put in the cruiser.

>

> Mom sped off immediately to the hospital, to have her wrist x-

rayed because she claimed he'd 'broken' it during their dispute.

The doctors of course only found some mild swelling (and my dad

later informed me that she'd been clawing at him and to defend

himself he'd wrenched her arm off of him--I believe him as I saw her

attack him dozens of times and never saw him lay a finger on her).

However, she still had him arrested and charged with domestic abuse

and got a restraining order against him and I wasn't allowed to see

him for seven months. (And talk about a smear campaign...)

>

> So there I sat, stunned, presents unopened, food all over the

hallway, while my dad was in jail and my mom didn't return for two

days. I don't really remember what I did when I was home alone

during those two days but god, it was awful, so sad. Oh dear, here

I am crying at Starbucks:)

>

> Anyway, like I suspected, that just needed to get retold and it

feels good to acknowledge that this happened, and is a part of me

and my memories, not just some distanced thing that I witnessed...

>

> Thanks for anyone who read this all the way to the end.

>

.......