There is so much to say it would probably fill a few encyclopedia volumes.
What helps me is to keep it simple, working one difficulty at a time. At the moment, my mother and I are communicating but often over a vast distance. What the distance is, I'm not so sure of. However the child in me knows the fear and the pain.
Recently, the child in me has started to find words. They are not words of an adult. They are a child's words, unformed in sentences, broken in syntax, ready to be mumbled. Today he said, "That's bad for me", as if it was something he wanted to say to Mom.
When I do talk to my mother, a lot of old protective voices and forces come into play. I will act like my aggressive brother, feign feminine wisdom like my sister, and push my mother's emotional buttons like my dad. I'm not happy with those responses, but at the moment they are not completely within my awareness and control. Articulating myself in this area is still in fits and starts, but I will let it proceed, slowly and with care.
With regard to fear, I do think that I learned a lot of how to be scared from my Dad. He had fears that he couldn't deal with. There may not have been enough times where I could learn how to set boundaries as a young boy. The fear I felt not only isolated me. It probably distorted my thinking. I still experience that today.
On the other side of the equation, fear can help identify what's wrong in a relationship if looked at from the perspective of vulnerability. I'm beginning to understand that this is where the boy and man in me might come together.
Many of your posts show that you have clarity and wisdom. I hope that will continue to help you. Recovery has worked best for me when I allowed myself to find my own feet for part of the journey. I think a good therapist is only one part of healing. So much of what I have done has been in the area of reflection and an inner conversation with a rediscovered sense of self. The work is slow and is accompanied by a lot of reminders to not ignore the pain which has a way of keeping me imprisoned.
My thought about the child in me is that he may have experienced a bit of the Stockholm syndrome in the midst of all the emotional chaos. When I didn't know where to turn, I simply identified more strongly with what was keeping captive. I'm trying to accept that life doesn't have to be like that so that something else can happen.
Lose the drama; life is a poem.