What Is Love

I was asked today how do you know love. Somehow that answer came easy to me. It’s when you feel like you are choking and your heart is aching at the same time when… someone you love leaves you, someone you love is hurting, someone you leave that you love, someone you love is in the hospital, someone you love is dying. Someone you love….

This also hold true for animals you love.

It is simply felt by the choke in the throat and the pain in the heart.

That’s how you know…. love.

It may be painful… but worth it….

Existing

It was interesting.  I recently decided to go through my letter box and photo albums.  Strangely enough there were letters I wrote and never sent.  One I found intriguing that I want to share.  The letter was this:

Relfection – upon life, the future, the past.  Time passing.  Struggling to make time a friend, to alter my perception of it as a foe – as a theif.  I fear it, creating perpetual thoughts of what was, wishing I could embrace that which was and return.  I long to be in that place where mother’s hand was smooth, where not yet had developed the creases in Dad’s forehead.  Time then had not yet sucked the moisture out of life.

I want to be a child held and loved.  When mother kissed a bruise and softly swept a tear away.  But in knowing this impossibility, I give my son what I long for.  I hold him close and caress his soft plump skin.  Embracing him is embracing life.  So close – yet I feel so far.  As though I do not exist – or should not exist – or should not exist in his life.

I sit and watch my husband and son and feel so removed from them.  This creates a sense of non-being.  I ache at this.  My heart feels torn – irreparable – until the small child reaches and asks for a hug.

Emotionally I consider myself the equivalent of yo-yo.  I fall and rise just as quickly.  My ability to deal with stress is quite pitiful.  I somehow transform into a self-destructive monster filled with inner turmoil.  This inner turmoil – like a hungry creature – eats at my insides.  To satisfy this hunger, I eat.  I try to fill the void – to feed the creature.  Then I purge my soul.

Oh, it didn’t start that way.  I started swallowing food at a very young age – to avoid humilitation caused by sitting at the kitchen table hours after everyone else had left… because I had to finish everything on my plate, but didn’t want to.  Sometimes I just fell asleep.

I don’t know how this would have ended back over 25 years ago when I wrote it, but it was telling for me today.  I am so blessed that I don’t feel any of that anymore.  That I hugged that baby who is now 28 just two days ago and didn’t feel apart, or that I did not exist.  I exist, and I love my life, and I hope that this will help anyone going through what I went through to know, you exist.  To more people than you know.

Existing

It was interesting.  I recently decided to go through my letter box and photo albums.  Strangely enough there were letters I wrote and never sent.  One I found intriguing that I want to share.  The letter was this:

Relfection – upon life, the future, the past.  Time passing.  Struggling to make time a friend, to alter my perception of it as a foe – as a theif.  I fear it, creating perpetual thoughts of what was, wishing I could embrace that which was and return.  I long to be in that place where mother’s hand was smooth, where not yet had developed the creases in Dad’s forehead.  Time then had not yet sucked the moisture out of life.

I want to be a child held and loved.  When mother kissed a bruise and softly swept a tear away.  But in knowing this impossibility, I give my son what I long for.  I hold him close and caress his soft plump skin.  Embracing him is embracing life.  So close – yet I feel so far.  As though I do not exist – or should not exist – or should not exist in his life.

I sit and watch my husband and son and feel so removed from them.  This creates a sense of non-being.  I ache at this.  My heart feels torn – irreparable – until the small child reaches and asks for a hug.

Emotionally I consider myself the equivalent of yo-yo.  I fall and rise just as quickly.  My ability to deal with stress is quite pitiful.  I somehow transform into a self-destructive monster filled with inner turmoil.  This inner turmoil – like a hungry creature – eats at my insides.  To satisfy this hunger, I eat.  I try to fill the void – to feed the creature.  Then I purge my soul.

Oh, it didn’t start that way.  I started swallowing food at a very young age – to avoid humilitation caused by sitting at the kitchen table hours after everyone else had left… because I had to finish everything on my plate, but didn’t want to.  Sometimes I just fell asleep.

I don’t know how this would have ended back over 25 years ago when I wrote it, but it was telling for me today.  I am so blessed that I don’t feel any of that anymore.  That I hugged that baby who is now 28 just two days ago and didn’t feel apart, or that I did not exist.  I exist, and I love my life, and I hope that this will help anyone going through what I went through to know, you exist.  To more people than you know.

 

Perfect Parent

I’ve had insightful weekend.  Much of which was spent being lazy and stupid by speaking to my family.  My adult family, may I clearly say.  This adult family I refer to as my parents or sisters.  Not my children.  Definitely not my ex.

I’ve managed, for most of the past few years, to get along with my mother.  My father is easy to get along with for the most part.  He doesn’t like conflict, even more so these days since his third stroke.  He’s still the dad I always knew, but a bit more fragile.

Mom, on the other hand, has always been difficult for me, and I expected, as such, that I would perceived the same with my children.  But there is a difference.

One:

I do not believe myself to have been a perfect mother, and I admit I was not and to my mistakes.

Two:

I could not be like my mother.  She called us hypocratical.  She is.  She still thinks she did the best she could and that we have nothing to complain about.  STOP… true.  But to be perfect means we would not have anything to complain about and every child, for the most part, has something to complain about … about their mother or their father…

What bothered me the most the other night while have a great conversation, but that went sour, was at the end of it my mother asked if I was drunk.  Question was because I called her on telling me I was a failure for not graduating from University with a career oriented degree.  I told I understood that.  She then denied she ever said it.  OK… I continued to say she did… and that DAD went upstairs to my room where I was crying and said she didn’t mean it in that way.  At that age “that way” doesn’t mean a thing.  I graduated.  With a BA.  In Art History and French Minor.  It wasn’t really where I wanted to be to begin with.  I wanted to go to a University to take Journalism.

I did end up with an Honours Journalism Diploma after my University, which I paid for with my own money.

All this was silly, but I just wish she would have admitted to remembering to say that.  Because it hurt.  So did mom and dad not showing up to my graduation.  But that then.

So I tried to explain this I understood why she said it because she wanted the best for me.  She would not listen to that… she only listened to the part that I told her she called me a failure.  SHE DID.  So just admit it.

But no.  She had to accuse me of being drunk.  I finally ended it with telling her I loved her and asked if she loved me?  She didn’t answer.  She hung up.  Nice.

I would never hang up on my children.. and if I did something they are hurting about, and I have, and they have told me… I apologize, and hope they will never duplicate my own failures as a mother… but they do know… biggest and far most… IF THEY ASK ME IF I LOVE THEM??? I would not hesitate to say YES… YES… I LOVE YOU TONS…

It ends a problem with a pillow that you can hold onto…. and know… parents and children will have their ins and outs… and that I likely said something to my children that hurt them… if they tell me?  I would say… I’m so sorry… and explain it if I can… or just be sorry if I can’t.  I like their honesty.  I like that they can talk to me.  Even if it hurts.  But we can’t learn to forgive ourselves for parental mistakes if we can listen to our children and say sorry, or as said explain… and resolve…. and let it go.

Perfect parent?… never… but we try… but we need to listen to our children when they become old enough to talk about their issues… listen, explain or apologize… it’s that simple.

 

Perfect Parent?

I’ve had insightful weekend.  Much of which was spent being lazy and stupid by speaking to my family.  My adult family, may I clearly say.  This adult family I refer to as my parents or sisters.  Not my children.  Definitely not my ex.

I’ve managed, for most of the past few years, to get along with my mother.  My father is easy to get along with for the most part.  He doesn’t like conflict, even more so these days since his third stroke.  He’s still the dad I always knew, but a bit more fragile.

Mom, on the other hand, has always been difficult for me, and I expected, as such, that I would perceived the same with my children.  But there is a difference.

One:

I do not believe myself to have been a perfect mother, and I admit I was not and to my mistakes.

Two:

I could not be like my mother.  She called us hypocratical.  She is.  She still thinks she did the best she could and that we have nothing to complain about.  STOP… true.  But to be perfect means we would not have anything to complain about and every child, for the most part, has something to complain about … about their mother or their father…

What bothered me the most the other night while have a great conversation, but that went sour, was at the end of it my mother asked if I was drunk.  Question was because I called her on telling me I was a failure for not graduating from University with a career oriented degree.  I told I understood that.  She then denied she ever said it.  OK… I continued to say she did… and that DAD went upstairs to my room where I was crying and said she didn’t mean it in that way.  At that age “that way” doesn’t mean a thing.  I graduated.  With a BA.  In Art History and French Minor.  It wasn’t really where I wanted to be to begin with.  I wanted to go to a University to take Journalism.

I did end up with an Honours Journalism Diploma after my University, which I paid for with my own money.

All this was silly, but I just wish she would have admitted to remembering to say that.  Because it hurt.  So did mom and dad not showing up to my graduation.  But that then.

So I tried to explain this I understood why she said it because she wanted the best for me.  She would not listen to that… she only listened to the part that I told her she called me a failure.  SHE DID.  So just admit it.

But no.  She had to accuse me of being drunk.  I finally ended it with telling her I loved her and asked if she loved me?  She didn’t answer.  She hung up.  Nice.

I would never hang up on my children.. and if I did something they are hurting about, and I have, and they have told me… I apologize, and hope they will never duplicate my own failures as a mother… but they do know… biggest and far most… IF THEY ASK ME IF I LOVE THEM??? I would not hesitate to say YES… YES… I LOVE YOU TONS…

It ends a problem with a pillow that you can hold onto…. and know… parents and children will have their ins and outs… and that I likely said something to my children that hurt them… if they tell me?  I would say… I’m so sorry… and explain it if I can… or just be sorry if I can’t.  I like their honesty.  I like that they can talk to me.  Even if it hurts.  But we can’t learn to forgive ourselves for parental mistakes if we can listen to our children and say sorry, or as said explain… and resolve…. and let it go.

Perfect parent?… never… but we try… but we need to listen to our children when they become old enough to talk about their issues… listen, explain or apologize… it’s that simple.

 

7 Years!!! I made it!!! And I can’t see going back!

Wow, I can’t believe I’m posting this a day after my Sevenversary. Seven years clear of bulimia. That too is a WOW… a big one.  And I don’t even have any desire to go back.  I said this before im a blog that they are wrong.  And I know they are wrong.  You can fully recover from this.  And I will not even call it a disease. I call it a hanger.  Something I hung onto when I needed it to help me through my stupid.

Okay, you may think that is nasty to say, but seriously, for me to not be able to handle people in my life that were controlling and turning to this, what was my friend at the time, to eat and purge my weaknesses…. pause….. I think I just realized in these words just that!! I guess I never want to go back because I don’t feel that way anymore.   And it’s because I left the controlling people and ended up with me.  And my animals…. and the things I love to do on my time, when I want to and without judgements  or restrictions of time.

Having said that… I still fee some controls are in place.  I have to visit my parents.  This is a tough one.  I willingly send love to my children.  I happily respond when they respond to me, but I don’t force them or make them feel guilty if they don’t visit me.

I totally understand that parents are a pain in the ass to have to commit to. So I don’t expect it from my children.  I don’t even care if they hate me, but I’d like to know why.  One wont tell me.  LOL.  But I deal with that.  Again, it’s not going to control my emotions.  I have a life to live.  As scared as I am about life, I live it and I won’t ever again let anything or anyone control my guilt or my emotions… except….

MY PARENTS

Of their four daughters, I have been the most absent.  I know why.  Even visiting them at 55, I feel awkward.  I always felt awkward.  I never felt like I belonged.  I think I posted that before… but over 400 posts,  I don’t fully remember….

But I will see them tomorrow and tell them 7 years….

To my retarded sister who slept with my husband she would find this biblical… sorry… I had to add that… LOL… but to me… it’s good.  I made it… at 55 after 30 years of bulimia… I made it…

NEVER GIVE UP!!!

Unconditional Self Love, and Equality from another to Equate :)

I posted this on my old site.  I can’t seem to find a way to transfer all my old friends of years and years to this site, so I will continue to post these on both sites. 🙂  Enjoy.

https://bullimiaddict.wordpress.com/2018/01/11/love-equally-unconditionally/

“I have had this fear of loving another in a relationship forever. I think it even stems back to my first love who became my husband then my ex. Then my next love and and again my ex.

Interesting when you take a life design coaching course and extras on the side for NLP practices advanced and drawing courses to extend that mental thought and creativity.

It brought me to a very real thought. Over the past 13 years I have been learning to love myself unconditionally. It’s weird I know but most of us don’t. We can love our children that way or our parents that way. Siblings fall into a grey zone I learned.

But self. That unconditional love is the most important.

So back to fearing loving another in a relationship. I’ve changed my views. I am not afraid but I am definitely particular.

I will not engage anymore unless the person loves themselves as unconditionally as I do me and me them and them me. And I want equal love.

I will never love more anymore then someone loves me or allow someone to love me more than I love them.

It’s a big ticket to ask for. In the interim… I am happy single. ????? and loving me. Unconditionally.”

Love Equally Unconditionally 

 

I have had this fear of loving another in a relationship forever. I think it even stems back to my first love who became my husband then my ex. Then my next love and and again my ex.

Interesting when you take a life design coaching course and extras on the side for NLP practices advanced and drawing courses to extend that mental thought and creativity.

It brought me to a very real thought. Over the past 13 years I have been learning to love myself unconditionally. It’s weird I know but most of us don’t.  We can love our children that way or our parents that way. Siblings fall into a grey zone I learned.

But self. That unconditional love is the most important.

So back to fearing loving another in a relationship. I’ve changed my views. I am not afraid but I am definitely particular.

I will not engage anymore unless the person loves themselves as unconditionally as I do me and me them and them me. And I want equal love.

I will never love more anymore then someone loves me or allow someone to love me more than I love them.

It’s a big ticket to ask for. In the interim… I am happy single. 🤗🤗😋😉😊 and loving me. Unconditionally.

***And by the way a note to my followers.  I AM still posting here, but I do have my bullimiadict.com site up and running too.  Please feel free to join me there and let me know if you want me to post anything.  It gets added to my twitter and facebook page accounts.  Hugs to all!!

To 2018! But lest we forget…

So last night I said I would post all the things I am most grateful of on Facebook. The list, not in certain order but the first was:

My parents 

My furries

My children

My two sisters (I actually have 3 but this is in honour of my two loyal ones)

My work family

My true friends in my life still following me on Facebook after 23 moves!

My new friends seeing them online and becoming close through the PRISM program… a new family.

My Facebook friends I have had for years and never met but love their posts.

My life in general.  I am thankful for my life making me so aware of how blessed I am and have been. Through the good the bad and the ugly…. I have always had support in one way or the other…. and a roof over my head and food and water…. and those who really know my life know this barn girl who loves upscale camping… and the ones that didn’t judge me through that time in my life and just loved me… I thank you. You need to know that it was a precious time for me however low others saw me at. It was a time of reflection and learning about myself. And I was bulimic free!!! And I would rather live in a barn with no running water and upscale camping then to feel in a place of being controlled. 

On February 11th I am celebrating 7 years of bulimia free. I got through this in the best places that should have put me back! Crazy country shared apartments in condemned homes, as before stated too… a barn girl with no running water… But I chose. These, although not great circumstances in some people’s eyes… we’re the most eye opening for me.

I won’t say “I’m back at last”. Life doesn’t give you those choices… but life does give you the choice to stop digging and start building.  🤗🤗🤗