To be succinct and private… My incubator worked me for weeks to build rapport and trust with me in my younger days, to get me to tell her a something that she would ultimately, and immediately use and weaponize against me and others.
This wasnt the first time I tried to have a relationship with her, but it did finally open my eyes and become the last. In the many many decades since, I’ve not so much as acknowledge her existence when crossing paths.
There isn’t enough time in the day to talk about what my parents did and didn’t do that they should have. The breaking point was when I discovered that my mother was abusing my autistic son in the same manner she had me. It made her happy to make him cry and she was cruel in how she did it. May she rot.