Читать книгу I Am Nobody. Confronting the Sexually Abusive Coach Who Stole My Life онлайн

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At her funeral, I heard all about the person she had been before life got the better of her. It was like listening to stories about a complete stranger. I wished that the woman who others had seen had been my mom—someone warm, kind, open with her emotions, helpful, encouraging.

And I know this is awful to say, but I never believed she really loved me. I mean, of course a mother loves her child, and of course I must have memories of loving moments stored somewhere, right? But even as I write this I struggle to find memories of any loving moments. The truth is, I have none. She wasn’t wired that way. Maybe she was a product of her generation, maybe a product of her stern farm upbringing, maybe a product of her alcoholism, but whatever it was, she could not show love.

Of course, if anybody outside the family had said, or were ever to say, a bad thing about my mom, I would be livid. That’s the way it works. You keep it within the family. I did, until now. But I loved her, and I tried so hard to be as loving as I could.