ember wrote:It is always a pleasure to see you participate, reflection.
Thank you Ember.
ember wrote:so they were the models that I had for appropriate interpersonal interaction. Naturally, the boundaries in our relationships were subtly abnormal. The increased aggression taught me false things about myself and relationships. When I saw my parents physically fight one another, I was taught that lover can be enemy. When they lacked the patience to meet my needs, I was taught that I needed too much. When they confided in me things beyond my years, they taught me that others are demanding, that I am uniquely able to meet others' demands, and that I am expected to meet those demands or be held morally responsible.
I learned from my parents that I held no value. That I was as disposable as the trash they took out. That love is conditional and nothing lasts forever. That if you do not meet the expectations of others they will abandon you.
I relate to you when you write of your parents' lack of patience to meet your needs and, as a result of that, believing that it was you who needed too much.
ember wrote:I should say that there was no sexual abuse.
There was “bordering” sexual abuse in my past. I was never penetrated. The person who is guilty of it always wanted- -a kiss.
ember wrote:I feel an unusual...anxiety (?) right now.
I think this is due to the discomfort of sharing. I always feel a form of panic in the center of my chest when sharing. Even as I type, I shake.
violetAasA wrote:In my understanding the healthy relationship is the one that includes both physical an emotional intimacy (not that I am an expert). So what would perhaps constitute a healthy relationship, somehow turns into whore?
Provider and someone who take care of me - this sounds like a father role?
A warm welcome back to you.
I don’t think of him as a whore. I just cringe when he touches me sexually. As if he shouldn’t expect that from me.
ember wrote:I sometimes have fantasies about my love interests treating me in a maternal way; I imagine them stroking my hair in the role of what a parent would be.
What you describe is a reality for me. I call it “touch”. It is my connection to my husband and something I request daily. I sit at his feet and he plays with my hair. He is someone I look to for comfort. Much like when a child is hurt and they require someone to make it better.