17,54 €
19,49 €
-10% with code: EXTRA
Surviving a Revolving Door of Trauma
Surviving a Revolving Door of Trauma
17,54
19,49 €
  • We will send in 10–14 business days.
Who doesn't want to wear a pretty dress to her first day at school? I decided that I would, and that choice, from that moment on, seemed to set the tone for my life; a life full of trauma and abuse. Before the pretty dress, my life as the daughter of Greek migrants had been relatively normal. My mother was a seamstress, and she spent long hours at her sewing machine or in the kitchen. My sister and I would sit at the kitchen table and read or write. Sometimes Mum would help, her hands leaving o…
  • Publisher:
  • ISBN-10: 1669831965
  • ISBN-13: 9781669831969
  • Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
  • Language: English
  • SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA

Surviving a Revolving Door of Trauma (e-book) (used book) | bookbook.eu

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Who doesn't want to wear a pretty dress to her first day at school? I decided that I would, and that choice, from that moment on, seemed to set the tone for my life; a life full of trauma and abuse. Before the pretty dress, my life as the daughter of Greek migrants had been relatively normal. My mother was a seamstress, and she spent long hours at her sewing machine or in the kitchen. My sister and I would sit at the kitchen table and read or write. Sometimes Mum would help, her hands leaving our pages dripping or smudged. She was always busy, and never smiling; ever serious.

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  • Author: Corina Sinclair
  • Publisher:
  • ISBN-10: 1669831965
  • ISBN-13: 9781669831969
  • Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
  • Language: English English

Who doesn't want to wear a pretty dress to her first day at school? I decided that I would, and that choice, from that moment on, seemed to set the tone for my life; a life full of trauma and abuse. Before the pretty dress, my life as the daughter of Greek migrants had been relatively normal. My mother was a seamstress, and she spent long hours at her sewing machine or in the kitchen. My sister and I would sit at the kitchen table and read or write. Sometimes Mum would help, her hands leaving our pages dripping or smudged. She was always busy, and never smiling; ever serious.

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