I am so sorry to everyone, who has suffered. Reading your stories has been very harrowing. Yet despite many having suffered far worse treatment, somehow many of you seem to have faired better than me. Perhaps it is because unlike me, you found love and connection with a sibling, grandparent or other significant person. For that I am glad as I don’t wish the pain I suffered on anyone and congratulate you on your resilience and self love. If I could do it again, I would hope to find the self love required to find the surrogate mothers some of you found and take the opportunity of friendships offered. And to those still in a dark place, I hope you find the strength to know how fantastic and loveable you really are. 
I didn’t know the concept of unconditional love until I became an adult. My mother loves me, in a very limited way. But it isn’t the real me as she doesn’t see me as a person in my own right. She has always projected all of her negative feelings about herself onto me. I never felt grounded or secure, always ashamed of myself. I remember getting momentarily lost when I was about 2 and she laughed at my panic rather than comforting me. My whole childhood was a mixture of confusion and panic.
I remember pangs of jealousy from about 5 when I saw how other mums treated their girls, the shame that I wore a hand me down t-shirt I loathed the day of the group school photo when money was not an issue, when other mums had bought the non compulsory school uniform they’d outgrow in a flash just so they looked smart. The shame and hate I felt that day turned to self-loathing as I always blamed myself for such things and I still struggle to look at myself then even though I know I was tiny and had no control over my life. I knew there was something really wrong when I saw how my friend’s mum was so loving. When I was about 7/8 sat in the sofa with me and her dd giving us both a hug. This was such an alien concept and I wanted to stay there forever. After I had my dd, I became incredibly angry when she reached about 5 months. This, I pin point to when the maternal love stopped, because this is when I became a real life child rather than the living, malleable doll she wanted.
I tried so hard to please her, spending my pocket money on gifts for her at a very very young age and was so good. Even now in my 50s I have to stop myself from thinking my mum would like x when I see it. She maintains I was such a happy child, which went wrong in my teens and will not acknowledge the truth that I covered my pain and tried to be lovable with smiles. She allowed my brother to destroy every last shred of dignity I felt for myself with the vile names he called me to the frequent violence and misogynistic displays of ‘manhood’ used to degrade me into a non human. The latter of which I call sexualised abuse as there was no touch involved.
My father was a workaholic and selfish man. I adored him although I hardly saw him. I actually idolised both of them but I expect she was very jealous of my feelings toward him as she did everything for us. He didn’t know who I was either or my childhood dream to follow in his footsteps. He was too busy expecting my brother to do this despite neither having the skills nor inclination.
In the event, neither happened as my father died when I was an adolescent and she never once comforted me. She said some things after his death to try to damage that relationship, which made me feel the worst person in the world. Something really minor and typical teen behaviour. I thought it so terrible at the time that I pretended to myself I hadn’t done it but she used it as a stick to beat me with for years and years until in my 40s I finally learnt to shut her down. This is the thing I find the most hard to stomach.
Despite all this, we do love one another. It’s so very complicated and we are both so very angry with one another. I know she thinks I’m an ungrateful child for all the things she did for me. I get it wasn’t easy with my father, who put so much on her and did nothing to help.