That's what my mom said.
I was five or six. Something bad had happened to me and I went to her for help and comfort. And she told me that I was wrong, that it couldn't have happened. My mom could not handle messy truths any more than she would tolerate a messy house. Her philosophy was that if you denied it, it went away.
That was the last time I told my mom anything embarrassing/bad because I didn't want her to tell me it wasn't true again.
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