Unfrumped, Rachylou , Diane and Angie all have insightful discussion going about this topic. I wanted to share with you the recent life epiphany I had myself.
Some months ago on this forum Angie and others started threads to define one's style persona. With Angie's help, I realized that mine contained the word "Doll". Which is so true for me, as not only do I look a little like one, being petite, Gamine and all, but, as I came to realize, there is even something marionette-like about how I move. Now "doll" is not something I particularly like or aspire to... but looking at pics, there is no denying, it's a good moniker. (see pics below).
It sent me thinking: where could this come from? Then, having spent some time with my Mom over Christmas, the realization slowly crawled its way to my attention...
My mother was born in Paris between 1940 and 1942. and was placed almost immediately in a "crèche", like a child care facility, a farm really, in Northern France, for the eggs and milk and relative calm. Now don't ask me how my grandmother could separate from her first born in this way... it was another time, another culture. As a result my mother for the first 2 1/2 years of her life did not know her own mother.
One day, her mother reclaimed her. My mother describes it as so: "I was among the other children when this elegant strange lady came to me. I had no idea who she was, but she immediately presented me with a huge doll, a doll almost my size. For a little girl who had never owned a toy, imagine how amazed I was! I didn't care any longer about the strange lady picking me up or anything, I had eyes only for that doll. That's all I remember from the trip back, but when I looked around again, I was in the Paris apartment where I also met my little brother. "
In the times that followed - the war was not over - my Mom went through some traumatic events, such as being part of a crowd forced washed in public by a benevolent squad, which involved being splashed with disinfectant and having all her hair cut off. But she had her doll.
One night, the Germans knocked on the door, requisitioning the Paris apartment. My grandmother and her two little children were thrown out. The Germans saw the doll my Mom was clutching and requested it. She had to give it up. This was a very traumatic moment for her.
I don't know why I never made the parallel. I am my mother's first born: a little girl. Her "new" doll. It must have played some role in how she took care of me. I am sure I downloaded this subconscious role at an early age myself, becoming the "doll" my mother unconsciously wanted me to be!
I made this realisation lately thanks to the YLF threads, and I am sure I would have never never seen it otherwise. Thank you so much! Being almost 45, it comes late in life, but not too late I believe! I don't know yet what I will do with this information in terms of style, but it has had already major positive effects on my life in general. Because life as a doll is not ideal, not quite life! I feel like Pinocchio who has just gotten himself a real human body. Already I have started turning my life around: I now work full time with a real steady salary, something I had had a really hard time doing despite all my experience and post-graduate studies. And I have finally thrown out all these old hand-me-down clothes which I wasn't wearing but that were crowding my closet and weighing on my chest. Literally!
The power of YLF.
ETA:
I want to report that I just dreamed I ... ahem... killed my mother!!! It was a young version of her, the way she dressed when I was under 10, with her towering chignon, and I pushed her out of my child's bedroom window! I remember looking at her falling in horror, but thinking "It's okay, it's necessary! She won't really get hurt". But she did land quite abruptly! However I felt relieved and flew off in swimming motion.
This dream is such a powerful symbol: as I woke up I realized I had needed to "kill" my mother's desire of making me a doll (planted in me) in order to exist as a woman myself! Somewhere deep in my psyche there must be some form of anger towards her, how can there not be? But it is drowned in so much love. Anyway, sorry to impose this 5 cent psychology moment, I just thought you would be interested in knowing.
Some months ago on this forum Angie and others started threads to define one's style persona. With Angie's help, I realized that mine contained the word "Doll". Which is so true for me, as not only do I look a little like one, being petite, Gamine and all, but, as I came to realize, there is even something marionette-like about how I move. Now "doll" is not something I particularly like or aspire to... but looking at pics, there is no denying, it's a good moniker. (see pics below).
It sent me thinking: where could this come from? Then, having spent some time with my Mom over Christmas, the realization slowly crawled its way to my attention...
My mother was born in Paris between 1940 and 1942. and was placed almost immediately in a "crèche", like a child care facility, a farm really, in Northern France, for the eggs and milk and relative calm. Now don't ask me how my grandmother could separate from her first born in this way... it was another time, another culture. As a result my mother for the first 2 1/2 years of her life did not know her own mother.
One day, her mother reclaimed her. My mother describes it as so: "I was among the other children when this elegant strange lady came to me. I had no idea who she was, but she immediately presented me with a huge doll, a doll almost my size. For a little girl who had never owned a toy, imagine how amazed I was! I didn't care any longer about the strange lady picking me up or anything, I had eyes only for that doll. That's all I remember from the trip back, but when I looked around again, I was in the Paris apartment where I also met my little brother. "
In the times that followed - the war was not over - my Mom went through some traumatic events, such as being part of a crowd forced washed in public by a benevolent squad, which involved being splashed with disinfectant and having all her hair cut off. But she had her doll.
One night, the Germans knocked on the door, requisitioning the Paris apartment. My grandmother and her two little children were thrown out. The Germans saw the doll my Mom was clutching and requested it. She had to give it up. This was a very traumatic moment for her.
I don't know why I never made the parallel. I am my mother's first born: a little girl. Her "new" doll. It must have played some role in how she took care of me. I am sure I downloaded this subconscious role at an early age myself, becoming the "doll" my mother unconsciously wanted me to be!
I made this realisation lately thanks to the YLF threads, and I am sure I would have never never seen it otherwise. Thank you so much! Being almost 45, it comes late in life, but not too late I believe! I don't know yet what I will do with this information in terms of style, but it has had already major positive effects on my life in general. Because life as a doll is not ideal, not quite life! I feel like Pinocchio who has just gotten himself a real human body. Already I have started turning my life around: I now work full time with a real steady salary, something I had had a really hard time doing despite all my experience and post-graduate studies. And I have finally thrown out all these old hand-me-down clothes which I wasn't wearing but that were crowding my closet and weighing on my chest. Literally!
The power of YLF.
ETA:
I want to report that I just dreamed I ... ahem... killed my mother!!! It was a young version of her, the way she dressed when I was under 10, with her towering chignon, and I pushed her out of my child's bedroom window! I remember looking at her falling in horror, but thinking "It's okay, it's necessary! She won't really get hurt". But she did land quite abruptly! However I felt relieved and flew off in swimming motion.
This dream is such a powerful symbol: as I woke up I realized I had needed to "kill" my mother's desire of making me a doll (planted in me) in order to exist as a woman myself! Somewhere deep in my psyche there must be some form of anger towards her, how can there not be? But it is drowned in so much love. Anyway, sorry to impose this 5 cent psychology moment, I just thought you would be interested in knowing.
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