Emotional Wilderness

In my family, I got little attention from my parents unless I was bleeding or broken. If I cried, “I’ll give you something to cry about” was a common admonition used to shut me up. In that emotional wilderness, my tears dried up, leaving a salty residue. At the time, I couldn’t have said how thirsty I was for someone, anyone, to hold me and say, “I understand how you feel. Your sadness and anger make sense.” Looking back, putting words to feelings, I know I believed that if my mother didn’t take my pain seriously, who would? A companion question to “If my father can’t be trusted, who can?” Pg. 35

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