I’m clearing out ‘stuff’ including paintings by Dymphna, the person who for the first 43 years of my life, I believed was my mother. One of her paintings in particular irritates me. In it she has tried to capture my mood of defensiveness. Accurately or not, it does capture my reactivity to ‘touch with expectations’ that still affects me. Time to edit, create a new story from ‘this is not me’ to ‘this is who I am’.
Progressing on … a quite by Harley Davidson seems apt: “when writing the story of your life, don’t let anyone else hold the pen”.
I’m tired of the overwhelming anger from my childhood experience of being separated from my mother at birth, and then placed with people who did not have the competence to overcome my trauma and provide nurture and safety. She did not know me. I know me. Now I can nurture that young girl and take her to safety.