The only thing we can create are those things we believe in and the opposite is true as well.
No one can create what they do not believe is possible to create.
When I think about my mom, who spent over 50 years appeasing a narcissist whose agenda it was to keep her small, afraid, in check, and to himself, a fire ignites in the pit of my soul.
When I think about the sexual abuse my mother endured as a child, and how it was never spoken about, my teeth clench.
When I think about my mother's father domestically abusing my grandmother, I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths.
When I think about my grandmother showing up drunk and with a wet head, with mascara dripping down her face at my mother's wedding, I have to try not to crawl out of my skin.
When I think about my mother's last year of life, and I remember the callous ways in which my father spoke to her, and I recall the words he used to describe how angry he was with her dementia, I want to scream--and some days I do.