I grew up in a home where love was measured by abuse. Not only did they abuse those they loved, but they measured our love for them by the amount of pain we were willing to endure at their hands. Talk about a recipe for a disaster in later life, where pure, vulnerable love appeared suspicious by contrast. Little did they know that our willingness to endure their abuse was not a measure of love- it was a reflection of our self-hatred. You don’t endure abuse because you love someone- you endure it because you don’t love yourself. Once you do the work to regain your sense of worth, abuse becomes an impossible path.
Posted on: Wed, 25 Jun 2014 14:15:49 +0000
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