Need to talk?

The logical part of me is standing back thinking it is interesting that you are starting to dip into depression, since I am just sort of normalizing.  I am feeling balanced right now.  I was having a hard time for a few weeks, both trying to keep life on an even keel and feeling like no one listens to me.  I was beginning to wonder if I am childish, uninteresting, boring.  Of course, it would never enter my mind to consider that everyone else is just busy.

But then, and I don't know how she knew, someone I have been friends with for maybe 12 years, but who has recently become closer asked if I needed to talk.  I was so grateful.  She also gave me a question to consider...Does this serve you?  Does it restore you or deplete you?  Good gauge for life...So, little sister, do you need to talk?  (Voice to voice or written word to written word, I'm up for either!)

I have so many stories of Dad being mean.  They still hurt a little - sometimes a lot.

What's a PIA?  I do understand the description.  After I delivered, everyone wanted to get to know the baby.  Visitors would come in and offer to take the baby so I could clean house, do the dishes.  But one day a friend came over and said, "Oh, look - dirty dishes.  You sit and cuddle your baby, and let me do this for you."  Ever since then, this has been my approach - notice the mama!  Do what I can to help her.

My youngest knows she is safe here.  But thank you for reminding me that I am important.

All of my kids know they can always come home. No matter where they are or how old they are, if they need sanctuary, and if I have a home they are welcome for as long as they want.  You too, sibs, nieces and nephews...I want people to know there is a safe place in the world.

And we can thank Dad for that lesson.  He let me/us know that we were not welcome.  Once we were 18, we were out.  He also repeatedly told me that they were not interested in babysitting our brats.  So they didn't, and now my kids don't know them as well as they might have if we were welcome.

I remember the day I realized I was furious with Mom.  She let Dad be mean and cruel, and played the good parent.  I divided them in my mind - Mom was good and Dad was bad for years.  Then one day, something shifted in my mind, and I was furious.  Now I think I have a better balance of understanding of the roles they played, and how they played them together.

It is late...I have to work early tomorrow...so I am off to bed...

Love you,

Clare