I don’t believe my therapist can, or should try to, re-parent me.
I know deep down that the window for parenting has closed and it’s now up to me, and only me, to give myself the love and nurturing and attunement I didn’t get.
I should have gotten it, though.
From my actual parents. The ones who conceived, birthed, and raised me. Two people who chose to have a child and then be unbelievably cruel to her.
That’s on them. Yet it destroys me.
And I think I rage against my therapist because her boundary with me on this reminds me, on a visceral level, of the unbearable neglect I was subjected to as a child.
I will never ever get back the love, compassion, reassurance, kindness, or attunement that I so desperately needed.
The anger is overwhelming.
The grief is overwhelming.
The pain is overwhelming.