The weeks surrounding Mother’s Day are always complicated for me. Despite the fact that I love my children more than I can put into words and thoroughly enjoy spending time with them, what should be a happy time for me is bittersweet at best.
Those feelings stem directly from my childhood and the complicated relationship I had with my own mother. I never really knew my mother.
I knew her untreated bipolar disorder with fits of rage. I knew the abusive woman who I remember telling me that she hated me and wished I was never born as early as 7 years old.Read more on themighty.com