I used to, and sometimes still do, carry an immense amount of anger toward my mom. My inner child cries out at the pain it experienced. Some of my wounds have yet to heal. It wasn't until I began asking more questions about my mom's story that a fog began to lift. I was able to begin to see someone who had experienced an unimaginable amount of pain and suffering herself. It was through listening to memories of what she survived I was able to connect to a place of empathy and love. Slowly... some of the pain and resentment I was experiencing melted away from my heart. It turns out. My mom is a brave woman.