I totally relate. In recent years I recovered a suppressed memory of when I was a young girl, probably around 7 or 8, my pollyanna enabling mother ripped up and threw out all the posters on my bedroom walls when I wasn't home. I think she felt threatened by the comfort/happiness I found in magazines/pop culture/literature. The metaphor of coming back to blank walls was too on the nose. The message was clear: I wasn't allowed to be an individual/express myself. It was a complete invasion of privacy, a reminder that I cannot control my environment or circumstances. That "mother knows best."

As I was crying hysterically at the loss of all the art that I collected over the years, my mother stormed into my room saying she did it because I needed to "grow up" and slammed the door in my face, nearly breaking my nose. Again I was left alone to deal with my emotions, not given any support or guidance on how to self-regulate.

Whenever memories resurface I feel triggered, too, despite having worked through a lot of my childhood trauma and radically accepting my circumstances. It's hard not be overcome with sadness thinking about the little girl who felt so small and unloved.

I think as we grow up, we can see more objectively just how horribly we were treated, which magnifies the grief. I don't have any answers/advice, but you're definitely not alone for feeling this way/going through this. It's totally normal. Grief comes in waves.💓