Mocking shadows

After reading Are You My Mother? I’m left with questions and lots of holes.
Though Bechdel ‘s books are graphic novels they are at times as dense as textbooks. Her asides are academic annotations and footnotes that have me searching for obscure essays on child development and personality formation.
Her mom sounds remarkably like my own, cold, needy, demanding, narcissistic in such a way that I developed a false self , or actually many, in unsuccessful attempts to please, be loved, or at least less reviled by the one person that could, and would never love me. And that, I’ve finally discovered had absolutely nothing to do with me, which I reckon, feels somewhat irrelevant at this point.
I hate my mom, as I imagine my children hate me. It’s genetic, or at least some of it is, enough to be familiar with, as I hear the edge in Jacob’s voice as he struggles.
Or, in Jack Henry’s tone when he blames me for the fall off of his bicycle, which I somehow caused by calling him on his phone when he was riding home from school.
Or, for Gus ,who will return home in a week, from five months and twenty thousand dollars of more debt for me, for a semester abroad.
So, now that all of that hate and acceptance is established. What now?
Hello Dr. Freud It’s me Abby.