Pretty Ugly

"Do you think you're pretty?" she would ask.

7-year-old me knew there was an answer, just not what it was.

If I said yes, the response would be, "Pretty ugly!"

If I said no, the response would be "You're a sourpuss, just like your grandmother."

It must be true, if it comes from the ones closest to you, right? The ones that love and protect you, right? Or, at least, they're supposed to.

Along my path, as an adult, I questioned her on this.

First, it was, "that didn't happen."

Which changed to, "it was a joke."

Or, "you always were so sensitive."

No ownership. No apology. No self-reflection, only trying to manipulate facts, invalidate my perspective, and make herself the victim.

I used to try to make her happy, even as an adult. And it never worked.

Then, I shifted to making my inner child happy, and that worked.