Giving of me & mum's seduction

Yesterday was a really nice day - nay good day. In the morning I suggested we go for a walk in the sunshine, and we walked around 4.4 miles. The scenery was great, and we had an enjoyable time together. We talked the whole way (my and my wife that is!).

And there's good news. The landscape is changing. I'm changing. My wife is changing. So what we do and how we interact is changing. Old templates are dying, new ones have to be built. And that's exciting.

But there's one area which I still need to work at, or sort through, and that is as follows - but is primarily around the giving of me.

When I was working at BT, and bored out of my pants, my wife was very supportive. She listened to my endless hours of ranting and encouraged me to move on - even if it meant risk. And she has done that throughout our marriage. Listened to me -showing she cares - and encouraging me - even if it meant we may not earn any money.

Her point yesterday is that I come from a very guarded place when we discuss, for example, her project. It's as if I connect on an intellectual level, but fear giving of myself.

I can see it with my sisters. They will do the thing our family does, which is offer advice and guidance (often from an arrogant place, I'm better than you place). But it doesn't get into the situation with the other person, why? Because I think there may be a cost, and our family does not do that. We don't give of ourselves, of our emotions. We can give of our time, money, energy even - but anything which may take something from us as a person, our insides, we protect at all costs.

Why?

What does this remind me of from my childhood? What's the feeling?

The feeling is that I will be sucked in, and that I won't have any choice. I'll be tied in. It's as if an alarm goes off, I go into red alert status. My insides scream -they'll suck you dry, protect yourself at all costs!

Why?

Because that's what my parents did? I couldn't give emotionally to my mum because she wouls suck me dry. Her own pain meant that she had a permanently operating radar to suck any sense of well being towards her. It's as if she was an arid desert - and others were clouds that may provide her temporarily relief. For me - that would mean she would suck all the moisture out of me she could, leaving me a dried mummy.

I think it's where I get the sense of incest from. My mum sucking life out of me, out of any of us. Giving presents became a tortuous affair. The sickly gratitude, the show, the performance, the guilt. Not pleasant at all. But it wasn't just present giving. It was meal times, doing jobs for her, running errands. It always because a sign of "our love" for her. A token of our affection.

'Just make me a cup of coffee darling? You do it so well'. I would almost sink under the thick layer of slime.

'Just do the washing up, you know I would but I'm so tired'

'Just do the vacuuming would you, because you love me'

PUKE. She never could ask in a straight way. It was always laden with guilt, with an icing layer of sickliness. Because you love me. Because you are the best at it. Because you make the best coffee. Because you are considerate, the oldest, the most caring. And even if she didn't say it with her mouth, she expressed it with her eyes and body language. And that was the incest bit.

It was as if she was using seductive mechanisms to get her small boy to do what she wanted.

How wrong is that?

And of course, I recognised what my mum was doing, and would remove myself as far from it as possible. I learnt how to do whatever it was she wanted whilst protecting myself from her yuckiness. If that's possible. It applied to every area. In church, in the family, in the home, on holiday... anything and everything. It was as if she knew that she possessed this key would could unlock any situation, get her what she wanted, defuse anger (even if justified).

I guess that's another thing - she would not let me exhibit emotion - for in so doing it would threaten to engulf her. She had enough trouble with dad and some of my sisters without me doing it too. So she would use this weapon she had on me at all times, to control me to ensure I never stepped out of line, never got exasperated, never got angry, fed up.. never showed any emotion other than undying love for his mum.

I'd not seen this bit before - that mum would use her control to control my emotions. She only ever wanted positive, working in tandem, working together, strength type feelings from me. Like I was her saviour. I was the one who would help her keep everyone else sane. I would help keep her sane. I was somehow special - and I have touched on this before - in that I was her ally. Though she would have used anything and anyone to achieve that - it's just that I was readily available.

Used. She used me. She used me to her own ends. Not for me, not to bolster me, not to build me up, but to build herself up. To protect her interests. Her coffee. Her shopping. Her emotions. Her needing to know she was loved.

Used. Incest. Used. Abused.

To use someone is to abuse someone. My mum abused me.

If dad was at home I was not safe. Mum was (almost always) at home, so I was never safe. Dad's abuse (domination), mum's abuse (control). What a shitty yucky crappy way of living.

So I feared being used by my mum at any time. They way she abused me was to use my own emotions (guilt?) to get what she wanted. She would deploy sophisticated tools to get me to do what she wanted, without it appearing that way. Is that not seduction? Is that not why I feel there is a sense of incest?

Horrible.

So I couldn't trust my own mum to have my own best interests at heart. Neither could I trust my dad. Who could I trust? Who was there that I could trust who would look after the real me? Who would see me for who I was? Who would want the best for the real me? Who would listen to the real me, accept the real me, think that the real me was significant besides what I did.

No one. Bar God. And He didn't have physical arms to hold me tight, and sit opposite me and see me, and go fishing with me, and all sorts of other wonderful things.

No wonder my values (see previous post) include the fact that people see me for who I really am, regardless of what mistakes I make.


So - question - do I fear that others will do the same?

Of course I must. But first I need to allow myself to feel the crap that I feel - recognise that it is there, not suppress it. Then I can start to work on what is the wrong template and who is my real wife..