How a Deprived Childhood Led to Unconditional Love

You are never too old for a deprived childhood. My sweetie used to be dragged out of bed in the morning by her feet. Mom needed her to be on time for school, and dragging her by the feet seemed to be what it took.

It also seemed that she, the ever loving daughter acquiesced daily. But it is hard to tell where a rebellion starts and it is unlikely it will ever end.

Each night, the woman I can’t stop loving, would turn her light out and wait until the God’s were snoring. Then it was undisturbed reading until the book was done or the hours too wee. Predictably, and consistently the next morning, exhausted, she would be dragged from bed by her feet again, for all the right reasons.

Repeat ad nauseum.

Fast forward to now. We’re in love, madly deeply passionately in love. Sharing everything. Like baseball cards, I now trade my “saint of a mother” card for her “hell on wheels mother” card.

It is not me but her daughter who will teach her this lesson, thank goodness. Her daughter will show her that she was likely rebellious first and that Mom was only a pawn in the game.

I cannot and will not get to know her deeply without experiencing her in her childhood hurts- as if it is right this moment that her mother is pulling her feet. She grew up with an ogre and its still in there. If I’m not willing to feel or paying attention the best that will happen is I won’t see it coming when she plays ogre or imagines that I am one.These formative years will not be denied in the experience of who she is right now and I want every crumb, even the crumby crumbs of all that.

Relationship, unlike summer stock, isn’t trying out for one role. You are as many roles as possible.

Surprisingly, I don’t like the way it feels to be treated as badly as she was. But there is no relief. Outrageously, she can’t imagine my youth without abuse. She is more committed to her awful youth than I am to my good youth. The path of pain is more tempting than that of pleasure. More talked about too, and shared, and felt.

Ouch!

It hurts and yet my Mother isn’t the good guy and her’s the bad guy. We are a product of each moment balanced exactly with each other moment.

You use time. A theoretical construct of then and now, to pretend something happened before–which is code for its over, past done with: ex-husband/wife.

It isn’t.

I need to experience my composite Sweetie. Who she is includes who she was. The math of the moment is simple: Is = Was.

There is no past. If I am to take her unconditionally that means everything she has been, will be and still is. There is no way to negotiate your way out of this without talking yourself into a delusion which will get ugly sooner than later.

I am no longer deprived of a deprived childhood. She will serve it up to me when we both least expect it.

So the trick to loving fully is to ask for her pain now, each moment. Rather than waiting until it bursts forth like a gorilla attack. Like the bad guy in the bad movie left for dead rising again. Like so much catnip to a defenseless cat.

I want all of her now. Right now, and the next now and all nows. Loving some parts of her and not others is conditions and conditions are always abusive. Unconditional love is a different sort of beast with a beauty inside. It melts in your hand, in your heart and in your soul. It even melts in your mind.

I want her–bring it all on. I rub her feet in the morning rather than pulling them and I never make her stop reading at night except when I have to: discovering my own inner Ogre.

I love all of her. The payoff is profound, the road perilous, and worthy of living in the moment for. My love demands presence of me. I deliver..

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