I needed to be loved. Bashny.Net

I want to speak about unconditional love and acceptance of the child. More precisely, about what may arise from the lack of it. It turned out that these concepts have become key for me. It would seem that everything is simple and on the surface. In practice...

I have a standard Russian environment of the residents of a large city. And this is my environment, no one understands nor unconditional love nor the adoption of the child. No, in words – Yes, of course, we love, and otherwise; in fact, the standard “Soviet” education, based on punishments and rewards aimed at the formation of “correct” behavior.





©Magdalena Berny

I also grew up in this system of education. I loved my grandmother very much. I to 8 years old was the only child in the family. In this all-encompassing love I was perfect: I didn't misbehave, not hysteria, was polite and mannered, has never whined to me played (with me, however, and never played it), is not plagued by the uncomfortable questions, and has not had its problems (not because they were not, but because not telling). And listen, even when family wasn't around. I was easy to love.

Of methods of influence my mom had a one – ignoring. Behavior which did not suit my parents were attracted to that didn't talk to me like I'm not.

They loved me through my behavior, I am with my inner world was not interesting to them, or rather, they wouldn't even understand what I mean: between the child and his behavior was a sign of equality. And in the head they just didn't think it possible to love something else.

This model was passed down the generations. They got the perfect child, all the ideality which was based on the fact that all efforts were focused on one thing – getting the love.

Only now, already a Mature thirty-five year old aunt, I realized how “crippled” I have this love. Normal, standard, conditioned love.

At the age of 7 years old when my mom was expecting my sister, I dreamed that that would be my sister, I'm going to her home. She will love me more than anyone else. This is “love the most” haunted me for years, I struggled with the fact that parents don't like me. The whole question of youth: why you love sister more than me? Because I, unlike her, “athlete, Komsomol,” I'm perfect, I'm all you want! The father answered honestly and simply: I don't like them, and my sister like them and they understand.

I couldn't be friends if I wasn't his only friend, even the mother-in-law I was supposed to love more the second daughter-in-law. To say nothing of such trifles as the pursuit of “love” of his superiors and colleagues – a mirror of all their opinions.

All aspects of life were subjected to the single – I needed to be loved. In all ways, from all people, I was trying to fill this barrel “love and acceptance”. He hasn't left.

After all, if you have a child didn't have a bike, you grew up and bought a Bentley, the bike you have is still not there...

When my oldest was born and I put her mom to work, I threw a tantrum of jealousy that here, at last, someone who must love me the most, and she prefers grandma's hand to go. In thirty years, I was shaking, and I didn't understand why. Now I understand.

Here's a long backstory.





©Monika Koclajda

Now I have two daughters. Complicated olderthat me (PA-BA-BA-BAM!) it's hard to accept and unconditionally love. She's not like me. And this feeling of guilt and horror that I do the same for her, causing suffering itself. All my difficulties come up against it in this – in the difficulty of adoption.

And Junior -- I don't know how to describe it... Loving her is like breathing. Easy. Of course. In every moment. Her entire being. Though sleeping, though in hysterics. And to take it up. It's so simple. It is a delight.

And why? But because the younger, unlike the older, empathic. She feels me and my mood. She is affectionate and sociable. She is not hyperactive. She loves me. More than anyone else. And it's obvious. It fills my pot. I'm like a vampire: he stuck to it.

I love her because she loves me. In my opinion, it should not be.
And I want the third to and to it to cling...

And I wanted to say about the consequences of punishment by neglect. Just recently realized. I'm a quiet person. But I instantly explode violently and poorly controlled. When? When you can't hear me. My requests. My part. My instructions. All that in childhood while ignoring the clogged inside, breaks.

 

Also interesting: What you see looking back?

Respect for the child

 

This text is from the category of psychotherapy is to speak. Maybe that settles that in my head, because it's getting scary how my parental behavior may backfire.published

© Anastasia

 



Source: alpha-parenting.ru/2017/01/19/hochu-vyiskazatsya-o-bezuslovnoy-lyubvi-i-prinyatii-rebyonka/