Because when the person who was supposed to love you the most can’t — or won’t — it rearranges your insides. It tells you something must be wrong with you. Maybe love is something you have to earn. Something you have to shrink for. Starve for. That’s what the mother wound does. It rewrites your sense of worth when you’re too young to know better. And eventually, you stop trying to be seen by the person who never looked in the first place. You just try to disappear.
