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Detail of the Sciore group in the Rhaetian Alps in Switzerland.

What does not destroy me…

What does not destroy me
makes me strong.
– Freidrich Nietzsche

I confuse myself and most of the men I meet by being positive, upbeat and well understanding my value, attractiveness and worth, then turning into the scared, insecure and frantic woman my mother chose for me to be.

It’s almost as if I were Snow White, the princess sentenced to death by her stepmother for fulfilling her potential. I retreated into failed relationships and food to give me a shroud and walls to keep her away from me. (I feel I should add that I recently read this paragraph in shock. Did I say I hid from her behind my weight? Yes, I did. But isn’t it true I hide from everyone that way? Or, am I still hiding from her?)

She led me to believe that it was wrong to be desirable, that if men desired me I should be ashamed of inspiring that in them.

How can you have a healthy relationship with someone if you’re wrong to make them want to be with you? You can’t. If you believe you shouldn’t be desired then a relationship can only happen with someone who doesn’t want you, and they can’t be the best person for you. And if they do want you then you feel you have to run and hide, heaven help you if someone is actually nice. Why do women choose the bad boys who treat them poorly? I have a few theories.

I’m sure you can see where my love hate struggle with my self, body and love found root.

Intellectually I don’t believe the negatives my mother handed to me in the bucket, but emotionally it’s very hard to let go of them and when I feel very vulnerable, when a man desires me, or even if a man is simply nice, I often dig into that bucket and wear my mothers image and my mothers shame.

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