Mother Wound

Dear Delyara, I never told my mother that she hurt me. Not because I don’t remember. I remember too much. I remember every time she made me feel like love had to be earned. Every time she compared me to other people. Every time she made my pain about her sacrifice. Now I am an adult, and people expect me to “understand her generation” and “let go.” But some wounds do not disappear just because you grow older. I still crave softness from the person who taught me to survive without it. And I hate how childish that sounds. But it’s true.