Mother’s Day is coming around again and I’m standing in the aisle looking for a card to send my mother. The cards never express what I’d like them to say. I dread this every year.
Years ago, I sat in a therapist’s office hoping my marriage could be saved. At that appointment, I began to understand the connection between my relationships with my mother, my husband, and myself. I’d been carrying some significant wounds since long before my wedding day. The future seemed insurmountable, but I dug into the deep pain that had been sealed up and put away decades
