There's a bitter paradox that awaits many of us who've suffered from harsh, unloving childhoods.
We have an above-average chance of ending up in, and blindly putting up with, harsh, unloving adult relationships.
Our original unfulfilling bonds to our caregivers, far from warning us away from future turmoil, appear to compel us to recreate its features in grown-up life.
The true toll of bad childhoods isn't circumscribed to their actual duration, it's exacted by a lifelong search for their sad echoes.
We suffer from an instinctive pull towards dimly familiar forms of mistreatment and struggle.
We unconsciously gravitate towards situations that mirror our early wounds.
Like everyone else, we want love to take us home.
It's just that for us, home was a place of grief and persecution.
It's easy enough to see why children put up with poor treatment.
They're born radically powerless.
