Recently, a dear friend of mine wept silent streams of tears as she learned a little bit more about my childhood and some of the suffering I experienced in my family of origin. This is not a topic I talk about often, but when I do, it does not currently hurt me. It did at first. The ache; the ripping open of my chest as though I would die; the hot feeling of acid on every inch of my skin and the acute, instinctual reaction to pull back from every single person? I felt it all as a young adult when I first started to look back, acknowledge what had happened to…