We leave the church, burn the sage, pull the cards, but the emotional immaturity still follows us. What hasn’t been healed doesn’t become wisdom; it simply shape-shifts into new language. And too often, the mother wound becomes the way we treat each other.
Read MoreBeing raised by a wounded mother is a slow unraveling, a starvation of the soul. It hollows you out in places you don’t even recognize until much later, when you're grown and aching for something you can’t name. I do not know what it means to have been nurtured by someone who was whole, who was healing, who had the capacity to pour into me without resentment or depletion. That was not my reality.
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