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Quote by Victoria Secunda

“Many daughters live out their lives avoiding or abiding or arguing with their mothers-burying the long-ago injury or insult or childhood deprivation under a blanket of forgetfulness-and not confronting it head-on. It's humiliating to remember the ways in which one demeaned oneself in order to prevent being in a mother's bad graces, the willingness to do anything in order to not be rejected, when rejection felt like death.”

Quote by Victoria Secunda

Book:When You and Your Mother Can't Be Friends: Resolving the Most Complicated Relationship of Your Life
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When You and Your Mother Can't Be Friends: Resolving the Most Complicated Relationship of Your Life

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Victoria Secunda

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“Another reason it's dangerous to acknowledge that you were unloved is that it implies the possibility that your mother may have been right-you are unlovable.”

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Book:When You and Your Mother Can't Be Friends: Resolving the Most Complicated Relationship of Your Life
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“If your mother lived your life as though it were her own-never allowing you a moment of stress or frustration, routinely sleeping in your bed when you had a bad dream, never setting limits or establishing boundaries, seldom or never letting you out of her sight, excusing and failing to provide consequences for your negative or hurtful behaviour, insisting on a daily chronicle of every detail of your life, all in the name of maternal love-then you never had to grow up and take responsibility for your actions. You remain a child.”

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Book:When You and Your Mother Can't Be Friends: Resolving the Most Complicated Relationship of Your Life
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“She went around reading everything- the directions on the grits bag, Tate's notes, and the stories from her fairy-tale books she had pretended to read for years. Then one night she made a little oh sound, and took the old Bible from the shelf. Sitting at the table, she turned the thin pages carefully to the one with the family names. She found her own at the very bottom: There it was, her birthday: Miss Catherine Danielle Clark, October 10, 1945. Then, going back up the list, she read the real names of her brothers and sisters: Master Jeremy Andrew Clark, January 2, 1939. "Jeremy," she said out loud. "Jodie, I sure never thought a' you as Master Jeremy." Miss Amanda Margaret Clark, May 17, 1937. Kya touched the name with her fingers. Repeated it several times. She read on. Master Napier Murphy Clark, April 14, 1936. Kya spoke softly, "Murph, ya name was Napier." At the top, the oldest, Miss Mary Helen Clark, September 19, 1934. She rubbed her fingers over the names again, which brought faces before her eyes. They blurred, but she could see them all squeezed around the table eating stew, passing cornbread, even laughing some. She was ashamed that she had forgotten their names, but now that she'd found them, she would never let them go again. Above the list of children she read: Mister Jackson Henry Clark married Miss Julienne Maria Jacques, June 12, 1933. Not until that moment had she known her parents' proper names. She sat there for a few minutes with the Bible open on the table. Her family before her. Time ensures children never know their parents young. Kya would never see the handsome Jake swagger into an Asheville soda fountain in early 1930, where he spotted Maria Jacques, a beauty with black curls and red lips, visiting from New Orleans.”

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“My dad managed to convey the importance of working hard in school using a subtle blend of emotional blackmail (I’m paying for the best high school in New York, don’t make me regret it) and fear (if you don’t work hard now you won’t get into a good college and you won’t get a good job and you won’t meet a nice man and you’ll end your life filled with regret and fast food). It was incredibly effective.”

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“To przedziwne uczucie odkryć, że się jest w wieku swojego ojca czy matki. Człowiek nieomal broni się, żeby nie uwierzyć w to odkrycie. Chciałby wciąż być od nich młodszy. Wydaje mu się, że złamana została naturalna reguła życia, że się jest zawsze młodszym od swoich rodziców i będzie się zawsze młodszym aż do swojej śmierci. I jak w dzieciństwie wydaje mu się, że oni są wciąż jego tarczą, za którą się chowa, mimo że ich już nie ma.”

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“Ma mère n'allait pas subitement recommencer à se soucier de moi. Elle n'aurait pas de révélation sur ses erreurs passées, elle ne me prendrait pas dans ses bras en me promettant de se rattraper. Elle refuserait de reconnaître sa part de responsabilité. Elle préfèrerait même l'enfouir six pieds sous terre. Elle me ferait des reproches. M'accuserait d'être égoïste, irresponsable, idiote, tous ces adjectifs dont on accable les adolescents abandonnés par leurs parents alors que, complètement brisés, ils hurlent en silence et se débrouillent tant bien que mal pour grandir malgré le trou béant qu'ont laissé les racines sur lesquelles ils auraient dû pouvoir s'appuyer.”

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“Was Grandfather trying to tell me something significant in a language I could not interpret? I wanted to establish a sure relationship with him despite his thunder. Grandfather was a man with whom one could be intimate, if he permitted, without ever enjoying an intimate moment. His devotion to me was direct, captivating. He did not want to talk about it, or even show it in any normal manner.”

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