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Re: the power of a name

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Ditto on all of that, very well said.

> I was looking back over old writings recently. Something I shared on my blog

last year caught my attention this morning. It had to do with being called a

" name. " I am surprised at how relevant it still is today. For just last night I

took a phone call from my nada, in which I was called a name, the name that

rhymes with " witch. " I think she flung the name my way, just before my she hung

up, because I would not answer a question without knowing the reason for it. I

was called the name because I insisted on full autonomy.

>

> But I've been called other names, that were far more specific and painful.

Experience showed me the mistruth of those sing-song words, " Sticks and stones

will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. " Right.

>

> For most of my adult years, I've felt a secret sensitivity about an identity I

was given in childhood: my nada repeatedly called me a leech. I finally shared

this ugly imagery with a trusted friend a couple of years ago. She was just

finishing raising two teenage daughters herself. I heard the empathy in her

voice, when she shared her very different image--she saw her girls as having

gone through a phase, caterpillars becoming butterflies. I can laugh now as I

remember a book title I saw a few years back. I think to myself, " A caterpillar

eats all the green shoots, and leaves. " I too left when I was ready for

metamorphosis, the year I turned eighteen.

>

> But my mom sees that as abandonment, and only knows how to fight back and hurt

me with her words.

> She still clings to odd notions about my nature and her prize description,

" leech, " still comes up from time to time.

>

> Not long ago, I took time to clean my office and found an old draft of a

letter that I had planned to send her. It stunned me to realize my mom still

has this idea of me, even as recent as last year, as evidenced by the focus of

my letter. Through my own letter, I was trying to put that (thirty year old)

" leech " concept aside once and for all, and help us both be more honest.

>

> In it I tell my nada this, " As you can imagine, I don't like being called a

leech. It is incorrect speech. I was a person being raised by you who had needs

and wanted help in getting those needs met. " As I am already hard on myself, I

am very grateful to see my own words in writing today and they are good enough

for me (even if I never did send the letter).

>

> Today I realize that I can only be honest with myself, and expect NO change in

attitude from my nada, even when I speak my truth with love. It is enough that

my words help ME to change.

>

> I realize I have struggled with words used against me, taking them very

seriously, for too long a time. I am grateful to be able to identify the

distortion in the inventory my mom has done. Today I find it easier not to

fight with her about what should be MY inventory.

>

> May we all heal.

> Smitty

>

>

> „All right, every day ain't going to be the best day of your life, don't worry

about that. If you stick to it you hold the possibility open that you will have

better days.‰ Wendall Berry

>

>

>

>

>

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(((((Smitty)))))

Children are so abjectly vulnerable and affected by their parent's opinion of

them. Its just cruel to inflict harsh words, particularly harsh names or

labels on a child, especially when the child has done nothing to deserve such a

label.

Calling your child a " leech " is punishing and shaming the child *for being a

child.*

Which is insane! Which is why those with bpd should not be left alone with

children, IMHO.

My take on this is that your nada was probably projecting her own unwanted

feelings about herself onto you: perhaps she felt herself to be a " leech " which

made her feel bad about herself, so she scraped that figurative crap off of

herself and flung it onto you, instead.

I grew up thinking that my middle name must be " You Ingrate " , because that is

what I was called so often. " Stupid Idiot " , " Clumsy " , and " Lazy " were some of

my other names. Amusingly enough, my nada learned early on to not use any

words around me or to me that she didn't want me repeating in public. She told

me that when I was little she used to curse like a sailor, and I picked it up:

" Answer the G*d-d**ned door " , or " Somebody pick up the f**king phone. "

So, I agree with you: words DO hurt, I have felt almost literally stabbed in the

heart by my nada's harsh words and harsh names for me. And I agree, sometimes

the only solution is to just stop making oneself available for abuse. As

children, we had no choices, but as adults we CAN remove ourselves as targets

for abuse.

-Annie

>

> I was looking back over old writings recently. Something I shared on my blog

last year caught my attention this morning. It had to do with being called a

" name. " I am surprised at how relevant it still is today. For just last night I

took a phone call from my nada, in which I was called a name, the name that

rhymes with " witch. " I think she flung the name my way, just before my she hung

up, because I would not answer a question without knowing the reason for it. I

was called the name because I insisted on full autonomy.

>

> But I've been called other names, that were far more specific and painful.

Experience showed me the mistruth of those sing-song words, " Sticks and stones

will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. " Right.

>

> For most of my adult years, I've felt a secret sensitivity about an identity I

was given in childhood: my nada repeatedly called me a leech. I finally shared

this ugly imagery with a trusted friend a couple of years ago. She was just

finishing raising two teenage daughters herself. I heard the empathy in her

voice, when she shared her very different image--she saw her girls as having

gone through a phase, caterpillars becoming butterflies. I can laugh now as I

remember a book title I saw a few years back. I think to myself, " A caterpillar

eats all the green shoots, and leaves. " I too left when I was ready for

metamorphosis, the year I turned eighteen.

>

> But my mom sees that as abandonment, and only knows how to fight back and hurt

me with her words.

> She still clings to odd notions about my nature and her prize description,

" leech, " still comes up from time to time.

>

> Not long ago, I took time to clean my office and found an old draft of a

letter that I had planned to send her. It stunned me to realize my mom still

has this idea of me, even as recent as last year, as evidenced by the focus of

my letter. Through my own letter, I was trying to put that (thirty year old)

" leech " concept aside once and for all, and help us both be more honest.

>

> In it I tell my nada this, " As you can imagine, I don't like being called a

leech. It is incorrect speech. I was a person being raised by you who had needs

and wanted help in getting those needs met. " As I am already hard on myself, I

am very grateful to see my own words in writing today and they are good enough

for me (even if I never did send the letter).

>

> Today I realize that I can only be honest with myself, and expect NO change in

attitude from my nada, even when I speak my truth with love. It is enough that

my words help ME to change.

>

> I realize I have struggled with words used against me, taking them very

seriously, for too long a time. I am grateful to be able to identify the

distortion in the inventory my mom has done. Today I find it easier not to

fight with her about what should be MY inventory.

>

> May we all heal.

> Smitty

>

>

> " All right, every day ain't going to be the best day of your life, don't worry

about that. If you stick to it you hold the possibility open that you will have

better days. " Wendall Berry

>

>

>

>

>

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Sticks and stones may break my bones ,

But words will never hurt me.

Adolph Hitler giving speeches

Should not then, alert me.

Little Bastard, stupid whore,

From Nada Dramas pound me.

But wiser men, pick up the pen

To say it hasnt found me.

To them ,we say, we KO s here,

Who know the pain of words.

For all their wisdom and degrees,

We think that they are turds.

Well, guys, ya gotta keep your sense of humor.

:)

Doug

>

> I was looking back over old writings recently. Something I shared on my blog

last year caught my attention this morning. It had to do with being called a

" name. " I am surprised at how relevant it still is today. For just last night I

took a phone call from my nada, in which I was called a name, the name that

rhymes with " witch. " I think she flung the name my way, just before my she hung

up, because I would not answer a question without knowing the reason for it. I

was called the name because I insisted on full autonomy.

>

> But I've been called other names, that were far more specific and painful.

Experience showed me the mistruth of those sing-song words, " Sticks and stones

will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. " Right.

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Awesome, Doug!

I think that would look great as a hand-embroidered sampler, framed and

displayed in a prominent place!

-Annie

> >

> > I was looking back over old writings recently. Something I shared on my blog

last year caught my attention this morning. It had to do with being called a

" name. " I am surprised at how relevant it still is today. For just last night I

took a phone call from my nada, in which I was called a name, the name that

rhymes with " witch. " I think she flung the name my way, just before my she hung

up, because I would not answer a question without knowing the reason for it. I

was called the name because I insisted on full autonomy.

> >

> > But I've been called other names, that were far more specific and painful.

Experience showed me the mistruth of those sing-song words, " Sticks and stones

will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. " Right.

>

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Thanks all for the validation. Doug, what a poem. I read the first and last

stanza to son and DH. Quite sardonic.

Annie, thanks for the empathy. I really DO downplay the pain, when I put my

story into words, don't I? It isn't until I hear back from others that I realize

how much I use an anesthetic. Or am I just plain used to medicine that hurts,

that I am the queen of stoicism.

Oh and laughter. I used to take these conversations and find ways to laugh about

them.

I had another conversation earlier this week, that I did write out in order to

study it. In that conversation I was very very aware that of each twist and turn

in the conversation and careful to avoid being hurt. I will share the

conversation, later in the week.

Best, Smitty (AKA )

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