A wordless encounter this week. A moment
of reflection…
Just a woman on the metro with a book
you think.
True, but…… the title of the book means “These kids sick of their
parents”.
Here’s the synopsis of the book:
Without wanting it, without knowing it
and in spite of us, our parents, our grandparents, our ancestors leave us as a
heritage of the things they didn't mourn, the traumas they didn't “digest”, of their
secrets. Early death, sexual abuse and other dramas: Insurmountable injuries
leave their traces. They continue to exist and are transmitted.
Even when these things aren't told, the
body sometimes expresses them: It’s called somatization. The body of the child,
the grand-child or the great grandchild, no matter what age, will become the
language of the hurt ancestor, the "word" of the traumas.
Therefore it’s necessary to get the “skeletons
out of the closet”, to analyze and treat the open wounds. To free yourself –
finally – of the “cold” you carry inside.
I couldn't quite read the look on her face and was left wondering; Is she one of “these
kids” or is she a psychologist reading up for her work?
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