Part of me feels like how dare I have the nerve to say I was unloved. I wasn’t even enough on their radar to be close to being considered about being loved- how presumptuous of me.

I remember an incident, maybe I was around seven. I was crying in my bed, and finally my mother came in. Maybe I had tried to sit in my father’s lap and he shoved me off. The memory is sketchy. I said, “Daddy doesn’t love me.” She went out there and after overhearing yelling, he finally came into my room. I’m not sure if he stood or sat on my bed. He said, “I love you.” No hug. He said it like he knew he had to because my mother screamed at him, not like he meant it. Awful memory.

It was never said to me any other time either. I don’t think my mom ever told me she loved me either, until more recent years. I think she may have said it after we had it out over her being a pretty bad mother.