But the thing is to our brains maybe it isn’t trauma?
It is just a Sunday with no yelling in the car.

My mother loved me and I was completely attached.
Nothing was wrong.
Until I was informed there was something wrong.
She would be willing to fill my missing space with anything else warm and alive, but she could never fully replace me and I grew up knowing and understanding that.
Unconditional love meant that although she was yelling at me, she didn’t hit me like my primary caregiver, my grandmother.
When moms meanness left her body again, she was going to apologize and I’d get to be touched and we could have moments together until the little devil on her shoulder showed up again.
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