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I’m hated in my own home and the sexaholic has to get away from me.

So, if I had to write a personal’s advertisement, what would I say about myself?

“I’m a good kind person with a good heart. I’m giving and genuine, easy-going and down to earth.  I cook, clean, wash clothes and dishes and go to work.

I enjoy watching TV, movies and going to cafe’s. I like walking and talking together, reading, animals, long drives and the beach.

I like cooking traditional Italian meals, drawing, pottery, sewing and beading.  I potter in the garden and love warm weather.

I love walking my dogs, swimming, shopping and surfing the internet.

I am quiet natured and enjoy current music and meditation.

I like going on holidays to the bush and the beach.

I enjoy psychology, catching up with friends, old wares, writing and going to op shops hunting for bargains.”

I think I’m a pretty good person.

How would you write your personal’s ad?

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When I was a young girl I was rarely allowed to do what I wanted.  I wasn’t asked what I thought or needed, I was simply told how it was going to be.

I often begged, cried and screamed for someone to hear me but nobody ever did.

I robotically did what I was told because if I didn’t, I was punished with beatings and solitude.

My mum said I was a trouble maker, stupid, I’d never get anywhere in life, a child, ignorant, know it all, an idiot and hopeless.

My room became my safe haven, my place to be left alone.  Nobody could get me in there, say bad things to me or order me around. I would sit in my room and create my own world that was safe, loving and full of fun. I was worthy, beautiful and popular in my room.

My self worth was destroyed and I tried to get some love very young in life by firstly offering myself to my father, then later latching on to boys and faking injuries so I’d be noticed.

I grew up as a people pleaser with a inner longing to be heard and considered worthy by someone.

I chose a man who was an only child, who unknowingly re-inforced my lack of worth through his deceit, contol and sex addiction.

I’m a follower and a dreamer (of course), stuck in a cycle destined for misery.

I’m back in my room with a soothing hand stroking my hair.  My soul screams “when will I be important to someone, when will they hear me?”

“It will be OK” says God, “I am here and you matter to me”.

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There was a time in my life where I could not feel any hope. I had completely forgotten what hope felt like.  Today I am recognising that hope has returned to me.

I am learning to love in a different way, to love a person for who they are, not what they do.  I am feeling a more deeper, grounded, accepting love. It has been a very slow process however the results are worth the wait.

For too long I put my life on hold waiting for others to save me, change their ways and make me happy.  In my eyes, “they” were the problem.  Now I acknowledge that I am the only one who has the power to change myself.  I have had to step forward regardless of what others do or do not do or my life will keep passing me by.

I am told to get myself out of denial but for today I cannot for I know my patner tries, he works his Program and is at a different place in his recovery than I am.  I continue to carry the full load alone in the hope that one day he will be considerate of me, acknowledge all the things I do and be willing to share the load equally with me as is done in a healthy partnership.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings
the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That
could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet,
never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

– Emily Dickinson.

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are you blind?.

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I know very little about Amy Winehouse but when I read of her death and reports that she had been a drinker, drug taker and self harmer, I wondered what was causing her so much pain.  So I took the time to take a look at what had been reported on her family of origin over the years.

Amy Winehouse with Daddy's Girl Horseshoe & Naked Lady Tatoo

When Amy was 2 years old,  her father Mitch Winehouse reportedly began having a ‘not so secret’ affair for eight years before leaving the family home to be with his secretary/mistress when Amy was 10.  The Winehouse kids used to call their father’s mistress “Daddy’s work wife”.  I can only imagine the emotional pressure Mitch was under trying to maintain a business and keep two women happy at the same time.

She reportedly took the news of the family separation ‘all in her stride’ and it ‘didn’t seem to affect her’ according to her father yet she suddenly became more independent.

I can only imagine the thoughts in her head would have gone something like this:

  • “Can’t trust anyone anymore, need to look after myself now”;
  • “I’m not good enough”;
  • “I am alone”;
  • “Nobody loves me”;
  • “I’ll be good and he will come back”; and
  • “I need to be strong, mum needs my help”.

Fear of abandonment runs very deep and when you have a father that is not emotionally available to you, you do what it takes to get people to notice and love you.

As an adult, it seems Amy went on to seek out emotionally unavailable men, trying to make right the wrongs of her past yet ended up repeating her childhood like so many of us do.

However I do applaud Mitch Winehouse for publicly admitting his wrongs.  He would not be the first parent to walk around with their head in the sand not realising exactly how their actions affect the lives of their children.

If we had more people in the public eye opening up about their parental errors, the world just might start listening.

Mitch Winehouse, the power is in your hands. Let’s not let Amy’s death be in vain.

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There is nobody here to share my sorrow

There is nobody here to cut the ball and chain of my responsibilities, my chores

To allow me to run and play like a carefree child, to think of happy things and make daisy chains in the sun

When will someone hear my cry?

You walk away and leave me alone to deal with my internal sadness, you desert me

Who is here to soothe my pain, to love me and tell me it will be all right?

Only God, but Dad said God does not exist

So I am alone

I get tired of fighting for acceptance, to be heard, to be understood and to be unconditionally loved

But most of all I get tired of fighting to be considered, to be thought of and cared for

You cannot look at me, you stare away or down at the ground

You no longer care what happens, you are not interested in my words unless they are happy ones

I am an adult yes, but I am still a lonely child

It’s deja vu, its history repeating itself.

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I learned very young to deny my reality, to wish and minimise it away because I didn’t know how to deal with what was put in front of me, the pain was too great for a child to bear on her own.

“Mum – is dad drunk again?  No dear, he’s just sick today.  But mum, he’s swaying all over the place, he smells like beer, he’s angry again?  No he’s sick, don’t worry about it, just get to bloody sleep!”

Oh OK then, it’s not how I see it, I must be wrong, I’m all right, there is no problem, I’m safe.

Move forward twenty years.  “Mum, I don’t understand why my boyfriend never has any money.  I pay for everything, he works but I never see a cent of it?  Well dear, he’s probably got a lot of expenses, things must be hard for him, don’t let those things get you down.”

You can see from the above now ingrained minimising and denying my reality is.  I learned to do it from a very young age so come adulthood, I was faced with situations that were harmful to me but minimised and denied what was in front of me through habit.  I continued to protect myself from my reality as I had learned so well to do as a child.

I continue to be skeptical of sexaholism being apparent in my family of origin.  My father, my grandfather and my great-grandfather had affairs during their marriage and my mum’s father had sexual abuse issues with women and children – so what right?  Affairs are normal aren’t they?  Men think of only one thing don’t they?  That’s what my mum told me.  It was just bad luck I picked a sexaholic as a partner wasn’t it?  When dad whispers to my recovering partner he has three women on the go at once and feels like he’s struck gold why do I still not see that he is a sexaholic?  I feel so naive.  Family history and past events are slapping me right in the face but I refuse to accept that evidence.

I think for me to believe it I need for him to admit he is a sexaholic.  I need to hear the whole kit and caboodle.  I need to hear it from the horse’s mouth, I need to hear him say he has a problem and he needs help.  Trouble is, he thinks multiple partners are “gold” so I doubt I’ll be receiving any admissions from him in the near future.

I”ve discussed him attending a 12 Step Program for sexaholics before but he gets so anxious at any suggestion of it.  You see, he too has spent years denying and minimising his reality but with the added factor of alcohol helping to numb his pain.

On writing this post I’ve had a light bulb moment.  In securing my father’s admittance to his sexaholism it’s quite possible I’m looking for someone to blame for me attracting a sexaholic partner later in life and I’m needing my father to validate my reality as I see it.

 I can see I still have a lot of work to do on trusting myself.

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