family
Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.
The Ego and The Paradox of Time
Do you know that the time dimension, as you know by the clock, is man-made? We should be all interested in time because we use time in mathematics and science. We measure time in seconds, minutes, hours, days and years. Also, we calculate distances in time, light years away and eons etc. Time is used for cooking, travelling, growing and achieving things. Everything we do has a time attached to it – even our bodies age with time. There is time to be born and time to die for all of us. Time consumes our thinking and our whole being. There is a saying, "Time and tide wait for no man". Our perception of time traps us in time from the moment we are born and from which there is no apparent escape. With time there is a past, present and future, and there is always a beginning and an end.
Mal MohanlalPublished 2 years ago in Psyche- Top Story - June 2022
Mom's Window
As recently as October, 2021, Alzheimer’s and Dementia stepped up their game and began working hard to take our mother away from us. A lot of people know and love my mother as someone with an infectious smile and a laugh larger than life. Most would remember playing hide-and-seek at the big house in Fort Wayne, or playing “Red Light/Green Light” in the yard at my grandmother’s house in Augusta, or her singing, laughing, playing pranks, etc., but one thing is certain, they’d definitely remember mom having to get the first and last hug and then waving good-bye until she couldn’t see their car any more. Those closest to mom understood her insatiable love of art and natural light.
Veronica ColdironPublished 2 years ago in Psyche Rage Spreads Like a Fire
The Dry Wall Doctor It’s early morning and mum and dad are asleep. I tiptoe from my bedroom down the long hallway and pause at the living room door. A light film of cigarette smoke hovers around the room, thickest just below the ceiling where it has gathered like a filthy cloud. I walk in and sit in front of the TV, switching the channel to the morning cartoons. There is shattered glass all over the linoleum floor in the dining room adjacent, and somehow also stuck to the roof. There are holes scattered around the walls too that would fit dad’s fist like a glove. Posters and smiling family portraits will be placed over the holes later today and eventually, someone will plaster them.
Shocked, Shattered, and Unprotected
A hug. What does a hug mean—love, affection, camaraderie, friendship—joy, perhaps? Or sympathy, comfort, nurture? We don’t often hug people we don’t like or at least care about, do we? A hug expresses care, certainly, at its most simple.
Catherine KenwellPublished 2 years ago in PsycheLessons
You once told me to never let anyone put their hands on me. So, what was I supposed to do when you put your hands on her?
Love, Anonymous.Published 2 years ago in PsycheA Good Death
Ever since her divorce, Veronica immersed herself in spirituality, first studying meditation technique, then reading the many masters of recent times. One theme kept popping up: a good death. If one could overcome the illusion that one was separate from all else, Veronica read, then one would be able to accept death peacefully, even joyfully. She learned that death is merely the continuation of life, in a new form, of course, and was even beginning to see that true union is fully possible only in death.
Denise DavisPublished 2 years ago in PsycheTrapped in my Toxic Mother’s Home
We’ve started our own little family. My boyfriend of 7 years and I have welcomed our baby boy into the world. He wasn’t planned, but we were so happy to meet him. We live in my mother’s house, alongside her and my younger brother. My older brother, his wife, and their toddler also live in the same house; however, they have their own sectioned off piece of house where they can steer clear of the drama that is in the main house. It’s difficult for us to not be involved in drama because we are so close.
Paul Harvey and My Father With the Detox Shakes
He put the drink aside years before, but his hands still shook as he worked the wood in front of him. My father, ever busying himself in the dust-filled, smoke-choked garage with his newest projects. Some he would find at flea markets, these fortresses of a former age. They would come through the garage door, huge wooden cabinets so old even my father had not been born before they were already dust-covered in an attic somewhere.
Ira RobinsonPublished 2 years ago in PsycheAre You Married to a Psychopath?
Jonathan Hinternish Are you Married To a Psychopath? A memoir on the author's true events And a helpful guide for you
Jonathan HinternishPublished 2 years ago in PsycheOur Mothers Gazing Back
When you looked in the mirror, I wonder if you saw me or your own mother gazing back — some sort of paradox, the living and reliving of the past. When you found my face, traced the outline of my nose, so familiar, was I ever anything different than a shadow, a silent reflection of yourself?
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 years ago in PsycheA love child
It was a normal day for us. My boyfriend and I had spent the entire day together. We got up in the morning per usual and ate breafast with our daugther. We then spent the day out as a family and it was one of the best days we have had in a long time. He then asked if jus the two of us could go for a drive and grab a burger and fries. As we were eating our food something seemed off. He was quiet and a lot more distant than what he had been all day.
Isabelle TorresPublished 2 years ago in PsycheBlacksheep among Blacksheep
I never really did fit in among my family members. I always felt a little different, or dare I say unwanted? It wasn't only me at first because it was my entire family unit. Out of my grandfather's 4 children, 3 of them were different. Only the youngest was wanted around and was allowed to be himself. My mother was the only female and, while she was favored a little here and there, she shot herself in the foot when she married my father and had me.
Holly ThackstonPublished 2 years ago in Psyche