going back to where it all began 2

This is another childhood imagery exercise, copied here from my notebook.  I'm not sure how old I was at the time, anywhere up to eight years old. 

'We were sitting in church - Mum, my friend Anna and I.  The priest was giving a sermon on the journey to eternal life. I suspect he was looking to do some teaching by analogy and keen to involve the congregation, he called for children to come up to the altar and tell stories about how they travelled to different places.  I had no intention of going up.  My mother had other ideas.  She told me to go, I refused.  And refused.  In frustration, and unable to raise her voice, she started pinching my leg and insisting I go.  I relented and went.  I felt awful.  I did what I had to do and came back completely embarassed in front of Anna. 

Although I couldn't have articulated it at the time, I felt completely invalidated.  What I wanted didn't matter.  All my mother cared about was looking good in front of the rest of the congregation.  I was learning that my wants, wishes and needs didn't matter. 

This is where I started losing myself.  Losing the ability to feel that what I want is right and okay.  This is where I became not important.  This is where I started giving up even trying.  This is where I split my existence into two realms - the real world where I would never get what I needed and the fantasy world where I could.

This is the roots of my rebellion.  Angry at everything. Refusing what my parents desired because that was the only means I had to be myself.  Me ≠ Them.  The anti-them.  The only self I could find.  The wrong self.  The defective self.'

Typing this out, the feelings evoked are very strong.  Anger is at the forefront, but also humiliation - the sense of being devalued.  I'm just breathing my way through the emotions, letting go the temptation to analyse it away or distract myself.