Half of the half ... one quarter of my hell.

Growing up in a variety of foster homes, "friends of the family" and random relatives was a load of fun. Said no-one. Ever.

I'm not grateful to my cousins who took me in when I was 12, because they were violent and hypocritical assholes people parading around as good members in the Mormon Church on their little farm in Utah. I am, however, grateful to the Mormon Church for instilling within me a decent foundation for what being a good person is. Yes, there ARE good people everywhere, not just in religious communities; however I believe that if it had not been for the LDS Church (Mormons are called "Latter Day Saints, hence the LDS) I might be a horrible person.

For the sake of my point and the process of this post, let's define a quality in a good person as someone who does not actively seek to mitigate or diminish another to elevate themselves.

I have a beautiful young lady visiting us this weekend (she's the one in the picture) which is one of the reasons I've been less active on HIVE. She's the adult daughter of a woman I once considered "anam cara".

Anam Cara is a phrase that refers to the Celtic concept of the "soul friend" in religion and spirituality.

In retrospect, I suppose we are soul friends who don't speak to each other anymore. Sadly, it was her choice, not mine. I tend to want to find some kind of common ground for effective communication. Reconstruction, not deconstruction. How else are we going to evolve any negative patterns?

Whatever. It's her choice, because she is marginally aware of her mistakes and lies as the mother of this young woman in the picture, who, no thanks to her mother, has become a critical thinking, conscious and loving human. Kind, and compassionate too. She wins all the bonus points.

Over the years of watching her grow up, and navigating what her mother was saying vs. what I was witnessing and experiencing with my eyes and brain? It became apparent that one of them was full of sh*t. When The Big Guy and I went to visit her over the Holidaze, this is when her mother stopped talking to me and blocked me on social media without a single word exchanged between us. That was the biggest "tell" of all and essentially sealed the deal on the end of our faux friendship.

It causes me tears, from time to time.

By the way, "full of sh*t" is my non professional terminology, we therapists do tend to have our own 
language for identifying con artists and sociopaths. Sadly, some of us -cough- me -cough- have blind spots
as we drive through life.

You know what else causes me tears? Listening to this beautiful young woman tell me about her food odyssey with her mother.

I told her about one of mine: standing in the kitchen when I was 16, shaking because I couldn't figure out what the female quasi parental unit meant when she -- in a very calculated moment -- told me to get the potatoes ready for mashing.

Mashed potatoes should not cause trauma.

Well, perhaps to the potatoes, but generally speaking, preparing food for most of my life has been a journey from hell. I will always be in recovery from Bulemia and food addiction, but we will talk about that some other day...
...for now, I'll share that each time I prepare potatoes, I have the memory of my "Mother/Cousin" telling me to "Halve and quarter" the potatoes.

No big deal, right?

Wrong.
That sad b*tch knew that I had serious issues with fractions and food. She also knew that I was experiencing issues with regard to math, and my status as a member of the Illuminati in High School for the United States, aka: Honor Society was at risk. I was in the process of placement testing for college and in spite of my ability to sail through geometry I had a block with fractions. It made no sense at the time, but that was then.
Returning to the moment I re-entered the living room all those years ago, nearly in tears, terribly embarrassed but also fearing the taunting of the dysfunctional cousin who needed to dominate and control. I was in constant fear she would end up screaming or having some kind of emotional meltdown. Now, I understand that was how everyone in the house felt.

Each time I have boiled potatoes in the last 40 years, a part of me boils. I'm hoping by sharing this moment I can bring the boil to a simmer. She doesn't deserve the power I have given her or that moment of crumbling self-esteem and worse.

It's my desire to move beyond that sense of bewilderment followed by resentment that people could be so destructive simply because they need to be empowered through emotional and physical abuse.

It's not difficult for me to be a "good person" even through the conditioning I endured. It's because I had "good people" around me in between the horrible people.
Now, when I cook, I do it with more love and less ego.

My young guest admired the door hanging on my office door earlier, and so we read it together. She turned to me, "Thank you for being that for me."

May I become at all times both now and forever ...

• A protector for those without protection
• A guide for those who have lost their way
• A ship for those with oceans to cross
• A bridge for those with rivers to cross
• A sanctuary for those in danger
• A lamp for those without light
• A place of refuge for those who lack shelter

...and a servant to all in need
~ Dalai Lama

Do you have a similar food memory or something comparable that you have managed to overcome?

Thank you, so much, for reading and I always welcome your comments!
Take a look at @Labyrinths when you have a moment, and join our labyrinth community on HIVE if you're interested. We just started it, so there's not much going on yet, but if you're ever in the need for a "down to earth" (but not too earthy) psychic, you can find me online at Brigid's Aether.

Any images and graphics (unless noted) are mine.