My mother had only completed 9th grade. Though, 9th grade in 1940 was quite the chore back then. She had enema prowess she was very proud of.
In her final years, as she regressed, her past was more present than the world she had to live in. During those years, her care became my living, as I quit work to care for her full time. On multiple levels this worked best for all of us. She thought my wife was that other woman, from next door. And that was gut wrenching, to say the least. I found it necessary to pet and dote on her for her peace of mind. In these times she revealed her past with nothing held back. Part of that was a medication she was taking, I believe. Sometimes she thought I was dad, and other times her little brother. Releasing the visions traveling across her mind, allowed her to feel normal. Trying to live in the present was a terror for her.
I learned to place her into a comfort zone that allowed her refreshment. My wife was gracious and pretended to be one of Mom's sisters. Mom knew better and would shake her head like Girtie was silly or daffy. In these times mom poured out. I was caught in the middle of this confusion and even struggled for my own sanity.
Please excuse that catharsis. Mom and her little brother comforted each other with fondling enema games and cuddling. From an analytical view, maybe the year before I started school, or at least on summers when chores were lighter, she taught us to appreciate a loving enema day and hope for them.
When I was in high school, mom started evening GED classes toward a diploma. Psychology was the subject she began to talk about to everyone.
Point being: No, mom had no psychological reasoning, she just lived and worked and loved us with all that she had.