Blog 92 The Home That is and The Home That Was (Gary)

Why am I resisting my good wife?  Why am I afraid of partnering with her?  She is like the good mom I have never had, and she keeps patiently waiting for me to show up.  Well, time is running out.  

            I did enough therapy around this to finally get that I had to kill my mother.  No, she was already dead.  I’m not suggesting that anyone actually kill his or her parents.  It's about killing the power they have inside of you.  That took a lot of work, but I realized that I could not love myself until I had ended the wrath I had for my mistreatment.  It became my critic and my shadow.  The secondary effect is that no matter how much my wife displayed her love for me, I couldn't fully accept it.  No matter what I accomplished in the world, it was not enough.  It took remembrance and making note of every little way I felt abused and abandoned by my mother.  I had to constantly uncover, reinvigorate, and spit it out over and over until I was able to put it aside.  Otherwise I could never be myself or be available for anyone else.  

            All of this has to do with the pain of the world I created to deal with being alone.  I have a home in my mind that no longer exists.  It's that little house outside of Coos Bay, Oregon, in the suburb of Englewood.  My little kid holds on to it like it is still there when in fact it is not.  My dog’s not there, my swing is no longer there, and the front yard has been taken over by a large house.  No more apple trees. Get it, Gary.  The only "home" I can now make for myself is here.  That creates an internal fight for me to accept.  

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