Late Bloomer Quotes

I was a late bloomer. But anyone who blooms at all, ever, is very lucky.

Dad says I’m a late bloomer.' 'Maybe. Or maybe you’re blooming now, and you’re just not the kind of flower he was expecting.

She is often the broken-winged one, who does everything all wrong until people realize she's been doing it... pretty right all along. She's the poor girl who never dressed right, who had torn hose, and they were all baggy around her ankles. She's the Raggedy Ann of the sophisticated world, who pulls it out at the last minute, flies by the seat of her pants, cackling all the way home. She is the late bloomer, the late start, the autumn bush, the winter holly. She is Baubo, all the classical Greek goddesses. She is the old girl who still blushes, and laughs, and dances. She's the truth teller, maybe that people hate to hear, but they learn to listen to. She is not dumb and in some ways is not shrewd. She works on passion, and the doll in her pocket, and the intuition that leads her into and through all the world.

So called 'late-bloomers' get a bad rap. Sometimes the people with the greatest potential often take the longest to find their path because their sensitivity is a double edged sword- it lives at the heart of their brilliance, but it also makes them more susceptible to life's pains. Good thing we aren't being penalized for handing in our purpose late. The soul doesn't know a thing about deadlines.

So what exactly does it mean to be a late bloomer? Simply put, a late bloomer is a person who fulfills their potential later than expected; they often have talents that aren't visible to others initially... And they fulfill their potential frequently in novel and unexpected ways, surprising even those closest to them. They are not attempting to satisfy, with gritted teeth, the expectations of their parents or society, a false path that leads to burnout and brittleness, or even to depression and illness... Late bloomers are those who find their supreme destiny on their own schedule, in their own way.

Daddy, I'll be fine. Smalley says some people are late bloomers, that's all." Actually, what she'd said was, 'Tis a marvellous bud that opens its petals at midnight - not so eager as the weeds of daybreak. I figured that translated to, Just because you're not a slut like Veronica, doesn't mean you'll end up alone.

It's just as important to know when to drop something and shift direction as it is to know when to stick with something. When we quit the things that aren't working for us, we free up our willpower and perseverance for the things that really do matter.

Lots of famous people are late bloomers. My father says it’s an advantage to be a late bloomer. Because when good things start happening, you’re ready for it.

I was going to be a late bloomer but I was going to bloom spectacularly.

Sometimes we are late bloomers because the world needs to catch up to us.

This was one of those moments when I realized that my emotional baggage, once a few neatly packed pieces, was now like the Joads' truck, stacked high with old clothes, half a rocking chair, a mule, all barely secured with twine.

late bloomer–small, plain, ignored. In some ways, her ugly duckling status had been like a force field, keeping the world at bay so she could grow, come into her own, and figure out that there was more to her than the way she looked.

In a fruitless year, take a fearless heart Those who bloom late will light sparks through the dark

When I was growing up, in our house nudity was defined as the period of time between the shower and your towel.

Confidence gets you off to a fast start. Confidence gets you that first job and maybe the next two promotions. But confidence stops you from learning. Confidence becomes a caricature after a while. I can't tell you how many confident blowhards I've seen in my coaching career who never get better after the age of forty." -- Bill Walsh

The worst thing a company can do is kill off the creative energy of its young and talented people. The second worst thing is to blindly walk into avoidable traps that a wise senior employee can help them foresee.

Pay attention, follow the directions, use good ingredients, practice technique, share with friends, and voila! Happiness abounds!

In every aspect of our lives, there are many, equally valid ways to reach a positive outcome. There are always many ways to achieve a goal, gain expertise, or find success.

In loving my people, I am a late bloomer and feel horribly prodigal for it.

Being a late bloomer gives you a second chance at life.

That late bloomers bloom late because they simply aren't much good until late in their careers.

No one becomes a late bloomer doing something they hate.

Late-blooming success can be complicated. As people age, they are more likely to judge their accomplishments on their own terms; however, late bloomers often use the benefits of broader acknowledgment and publicity to help them meet their personal and professional goals.

To succeed at anything worthwhile in life requires persistence, no matter how gifted, fortunate, or passionate you are. When I interviewed late bloomers for this book, nearly every one said that once you find your passion and your "pot," you need to hang in there--you need to persist.

The Poets say you can live on love alone, but if that were true their books would be free.

When we force ourselves to do things we’re not naturally inclined to do, or that don’t fit our passion or purpose in life, we pay for it with reduced motivation and drive.

Tenacity, or willpower, is a limited resource.

Early bloomers enjoy many advantages in affluent societies. But one huge disadvantage they face is that by dint of their youth and accomplishments, they give themselves credit for their success, more than the rest of us do. That's understandable: adolescents and young adults tend to be self-centered... The problem arises when early bloomers have a setback: either they put all the blame on themselves and fall into self-condemnation and paralysis, or they blame everyone else. Late bloomers tend to be more circumspect: they are able to see their own role in the adversity they face, without succumbing to self-condemnation or blame shifting.

We get smarter and more creative as we age, research shows. Our brain's anatomy, neural networks, and cognitive abilities can actually improve with age and increased life experiences. Contrary to the mythology of Silicon Valley, older employees may be even more productive, innovative, and collaborative than younger ones... Most people, in fact, have multiple cognitive peaks throughout their lives.

People who self-handicap purposely shoot themselves in the foot in order to protect themselves from having to confront their possible shortcomings. Many self-handicapping behaviors are those small, subtle bad habits like being late, gossiping, micromanaging, behaving passive-aggressively, or being a perfectionist. We may not recognize these self-defeating--and self-handicapping--traits for what they are. Or we may even wrongly perceive them as strengths. But in truth, they often get in the way of us blooming.

Whenever you're late, make others wonder if they can handle your success if you came on time

You're on your own, kid.

Is this thing on?

A butterfly that doesn't break out from its chrysalis can't survive.

And she said that people were just like century trees. You never know when they will bloom, but when they do, it’s always an extraordinary sight to behold.

Most late bloomers win big at life in their older years. Don't sleep on the unnoticed and the underrated. The wheel of fortune will eventually turn in their favor.

I guess I’m a late bloomer.” “I sure like you blooming with me, Bev.

(About her age when her first poem was published...) As a poet, it's fair to say that I was a 'late bloomer.' My youngest had published two poems by the age of nine. Isn't that amazing? I was a little older when I saw my first poem in print -- almost 40 years older. Now my little boy is my editor, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm the only writer I know who used to burp her editor.

We’re all suffering. I guess I just relate to people who are willing to share more of themselves. A lot of pain in the world could be alleviated if we could all admit when we’re having a hard time.

[Young] adults who take gap years tended to be less motivated than their peers before the gap year. But after their gap year, most of them find new motivation. They had higher performance outcomes, career choice formation, improved employability, and a variety of life skills. The gap year can be seen as an educational process in which skills and critical reflection contribute to an individual's development.

Some people are late bloomers and come to particular stages at a relative late stage. You have to have a feeling for where you are. You only have one life to live and you don't have to live it for six people. Pay attention to it.

How many of us were tagged with “no ranking” in high school, or dismissed early in our careers, or are dismissed even now? What gifts and passions might we possess that haven’t yet been discovered but that could give us wings to fly?

I was a late bloomer. I was still naïve about what 16 year olds today have known for years. I remember sitting up and taking notice—of the world, my body, others—in a way never before experienced. I noticed boys, or rather they noticed me, at 16.

So,” she giggled. “When will Damon’s wings come in?” Damon fl ushed and sat beside her, completely embarrassed. Dean cracked an amused smile and glanced at his son. “Damon’s a bit of a late bloomer,” he explained. “His wings’ll be coming in any time now.” “Father…” Damon whined.

The Late Bloomer by Leon Friedman. The book is familiar to A.J., but he’s not sure why. He opens the galley and a business card falls out: amelia loman, knightley press. Yes, he remembers now. Of course, he has encountered Amelia Loman in the years since that awkward first meeting.

You’re definitely a different person at different stages in your life.” — Ben Harper

And that’s my problem. I’m so hungry to connect with someone—anyone—I settle for crumbs and pretend like they’re a full meal.

i am scared i will blow away too far from who i was and not end up at who i want to be

Do they have any of the old country songs, or is it all Taylor Swift?

All the suffering that is in the world arises from wishing ourselves to be happy. All the happiness there is in the world arises from wishing others to be happy.

The antidote of envy is to rejoice in the good qualities of others.

Books can tell you a lot about a person, Vince. You find the books, you find the heart.

The most beautiful thing is that despite the shallow life we sometimes succumb to - the soul has no timeline and it knows what it wants and will yearn within until it seeks the journey

Given that my first crush was a mythical centaur hybrid of Garrison Keillor and Ted Danson, you won’t be surprised to learn that I was a late bloomer. There were other indicators, too, like my troll doll earring collection and the fact that I was naturally drawn to gorgeous best friends who transformed me, by comparison, into the homely sidekick (in troll doll earrings

The popular advice is we just need more confidence, more assurance, more chutzpah. But the issue with confidence is how we try to achieve it. Too often we try to win high self-regard in cheap ways. We undermine others, or we compare our achievements to those of the weakest around us. We conform to cultural norms, believing that what society values is what we value and that how society defines success is how we must define success. These cheap self-confidence tricks are unsustainable and can lead to narcissism during good times and depression during hard times.

Just as functioning isn't uniform, it isn't linear either. There is a commonly seen phenomenon in autistic children where they'll make big gains in elementary school then regress when they hit adolescence. Or a child will be labeled a late bloomer, seeming practically "normal" in their teen years, then seem to backslide dramatically when they go off to college or enter the adult world of work and independent living

Plum's own romantic history so far had been pretty limited, with minimal drama. It was one area where she felt comfortable lagging behind her peers. But she prided herself on her powerful philosophical insights into other people's relationships.

All the suffering that is in the world arises from wishing ourselves to be happy. All the happiness there is in the world arises from wishing others to be happy. That's this old Buddhist dude's way of saying you should always think about other people.

Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people who show you all the time that you're valued and worthy. You deserve it all.

How long have you known that you also fancy men?” Merrick’s breath hitched as he dropped his head, panting heavily as the sponge stroked across his nape. He attempted to get his jumbled thoughts in order. Was this Cassius’s attempt to understand him? To form an amicable connection with him? “Not also,” he replied. “Only. I only fancy men.” For of that he was certain, and saying it out loud made it ring even clearer in his head. “I’ve known for as long as I can remember. When Marjorie played with her dolls, I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest as she pretended the male was courting the female. I would change the script in my head and…and have the gentleman court another gentleman.” The silence was nearly deafening in the room, the only sounds their harsh breaths and the water dripping off the sponge. “And you?” Merrick asked, clearing his throat. “It’s taken me a bit longer to know…to understand. I thought something was wrong with me, or that perhaps I was a late bloomer. My life has always been about my family…not about friends, nor anyone I ever fancied. When I finally took time to look inside myself, to allow myself pleasure, women had never figured into the equation

Sometimes you have to be the person that makes someone unhappy.’ That was it. No big deal.” Max shook his head like he was hearing this advice for the first time, his shaggy brown hair drifting into his face. “My mind was blown. It was as if someone had just given me permission to be a human being.

There was never a threat of things going too far when we were fake. But I see now how fast things can change without you even realizing it. It can go from a kiss to hands under my shirt in two seconds, and it’s so feverish, so frenzied. It’s like we’re on a high-speed train that’s going somewhere fast, and I like it, I do, but I also like a slow train where I can look out the window and appreciate the countryside, the buildings, the mountains. It’s like I don’t want to miss the little steps; I want it to last. And then the next second I want to grow up faster, more, now. To be as ready as everyone else is. How is everyone else so ready? I still find it very surprising, having a boy in my personal space. I still get nervous when he puts his arm around my waist or reaches for my hand. I don’t think I know how to date in the 2010s. I’m confused by it. I don’t want what Margot and Josh had, or Peter and Genevieve. I want something different. I guess you could call me a late bloomer, but that implies that we’re all on some predetermined blooming schedule, that there’s a right or a wrong way to be sixteen and in love with a boy. My body is a temple not just any boy gets to worship at. I won’t do any more than I want to do.

Once again, it was as if when every other girl was born, a nurse had handed their parents a handbook with instructions on how to be a girl, but the day I was born, the copy machine at the hospital was broken and the nurse had just looked at me and told my parents, Well, she’ll just have to figure it out. I’m sure she’ll be fine.

Do you remember that day in Senior Goals when you said it wasn't strange that I wanted to go to the moon?" "I remember." "I think that was the first day I really noticed you." "Took you that long?" Kath teased her. "Maybe I'm a late bloomer," Lily said tartly. "Why, when did you notice me?" Kath shot her a grin. "You really want to know?" "Yes!" "Well . . . last year, you helped me with a geometry proof. You probably don't remember. You do this thing where you . . ." Kath trailed off, looking a little shy. "What? What do I do?" "You chew on your lip when you do a difficult math problem," Kath said. "It's cute." Lily's face went red, and she laughed. "I'd better stop that in college, or no one with take me seriously.

There were times when I did not stop at Amen. I could make the Beatitudes go on and on. There was never enough time to list all the blessed. Blessed are my students, I said, and blessed be their friends; blessed are the quitters; blessed are the nervous; blessed are those who hide; blessed are the messy; blessed are the ones who say 'Oh, that's over my head'; blessed are the late bloomers, and blessed are the foolish; blessed are those who lisp; blessed are the birthday party clowns; blessed are the waitresses; blessed are the awkward; blessed are those who burn the roofs of their mouths because they cannot stand to wait; and blessed are the heartbroken, the ones who haven't arrived at the other side of their pain. Thank you very much. Amen, amen, amen.

I've always wondered why you're the only one who doesn't have a temper. I've never seen you in a rage." "I'm quite capable of anger," Helen assured her wryly. "Anger, yes. But not the kind of fury in which you shout and throw things, and make nasty remarks you'll later regret." Helen worked diligently on the vanilla vine as she replied. "Perhaps I'm a late bloomer. I could develop a temper later." "Heavens, I hope not. If you do, we'll have no kind, calm person to soothe savage beasts such as Mr. Winterborne." Helen sent her a quick, sidelong glance. "He's not savage. He's accustomed to being the center of much activity. It's difficult for a man with a forceful nature to be idle and ill.

A close study of the southern newspapers fails to show that the bloomer craze has gained any decided hold south of the Mason and Dixon line. Indeed, the bicycle is a new thing, and the women who ride are as fearful of criticism as a woman in tight knickerbockers would be in some Northern places...South of Virginia the real southern women do not ride the bicycle much. The climate is against the exercise...A Tennessee paper so late as last week was wondering if any woman would have the temerity to introduce bloomers in that region. If any did, it said, they would surely bring on themselves such notoriety as must be exceedingly unpleasant to modest, womanly women...Some few women in New Orleans wear bloomers, but in almost every southern newspaper the appearance of a pair of bloomers is treated almost as would be the coming ashore of the sea serpent. - Los Angeles Herald, Sept. 15, 1895

It seemed like a classic trap that women in the workplace find themselves in: We are put in positions without any real power, and yet we are expected to clean up the messes of those who are.

I really want to meet someone,” I told my friend Gabrielle over brunch. I had typically shied away from announcing my intentions so baldly—I had previously thought that it meant you were a sad, desperate, lonely person if you actually articulated that you wanted to meet someone. Now, though, I realized that not only was it okay to be all those things, but also that being single didn’t mean that you were sad, desperate, and lonely, and it was also okay to let people know that you wanted to be in a relationship. I added, “I’m just putting it out into the universe.

Being able to show myself—my true self—to the world is a privilege, and one that I don’t take for granted, and I believe that those of us who enjoy that privilege owe it to our fellow women to help them find their way there too.

Maybe all the stumbling through and making mistakes and feeling bad about myself for so long had been for a reason. Maybe being a late bloomer wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was the point. I was a late bloomer because I had struggled to make sense of who I was and how I was meant to move through the world, but now that I’m here, and living out my late bloomerdom in all its glory, I can finally have empathy for the person I’d fought so hard not to be—and appreciate her, deeply. I used to worry so much about how I had “missed the memo” or wasn’t doing things at the same time as everyone else, but now I see that it was only because I had had those experiences that I’m able to be happy and fulfilled. It

I was scared of interrogating a world in which an accomplished, brilliant, hilarious woman felt that her entire life had been a waste because she had never gotten married.

Why did anyone allow themselves to even try to build a life with someone, if it was just going to end with a Man With A Van, boxes of discarded books left in the lobby, and the feeling that you’d just wasted almost four years of your life?

I knew an idea of him that I had built up that was based partly on reality, but also on his emails, and also on what my fantasy of him looked like. I was able to project anything I wanted to onto him because he was so unavailable.

It’s a pattern that you’re familiar with. And the disappointment is part of that pattern.

A year ago, I’d been impressed by the depths of the rage of the beautiful woman I’d encountered in a barre class, the grimness with which she was “working on herself” in front of the mirror, but I hadn’t fully identified with her anger. Now, I realized, women are conditioned to believe that their anger not only isn’t valid but also is something that needs to be contained or channeled into something productive. I was rejecting that notion. I just wanted to acknowledge that what I was going through sucked, and I was allowed to be really fucking angry about it, and I wanted everyone else to know how angry I was, too.

I started to wonder what it meant to be ambitious if the career path you assumed you’d be taking—and you assumed you would want—turned out to not be so appealing after all. I had never really articulated, to myself or anyone else, that I was “ambitious,” but I felt like it was just implied. Everyone I knew wanted a promotion, to make more money, to get hired by the more prestigious website or magazine, and I had just gone along with that. But eventually, you had to stop, right?

I guess you could call me a late bloomer, but that implies that we're all on some predetermined blooming schedule, that there's a right or wrong way to be sixteen and in love with a boy.

How long does it take to make scholar?" "Varies" said Wendell. "But only one in ten make it." "One in ten?" "Well yeah, but you'll make it. I can tell you're smart. Most of my roommates have been smart. In fact all of my roommates have gotten through." Wendell smiled like he didn't mind this, and there was an orange puff of hurt that said he minded it very much. "All your roommates? How long have you been here?" Said Jinx. "Four years

The binding reminded me of what I thought a marriage could be--joining yourself to a new family, and with their support, growing and blooming.

Sometimes the most creative thinking comes out of need.

It's funny how that is--how you think you know a place, but there are still so many hidden surprises.' 'Just like people.

Here was a woman who was more Elliot's speed. I could see them together at some elegant, candlelit restaurant, or at the theater, or at a dinner party on the Vineyard. She probably had panties to match all of her bras.

There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.

How would you like to go through life with everyone thinking you’d had something to do with a friend’s death? That has to lie pretty heavy on a young person’s shoulders. She has to be able to get past it. Otherwise, how can she move on with her life?

Every piece of you is beautiful,

But, ladies, show me someone who gets as far as your panties and then decides to call it a night, and I will show you someone who is either unconscious or not attracted to people of your gender.

It’s better to be a late bloomer than an early one; so many young successes flame out and spend the rest of their lives lamenting what they used to have.

I’m a quintessential late bloomer. For someone who grew up trying to please men at any cost, becoming a feminist was a slow process. I was in my 60s before I learned that I didn’t need a man to validate

In some non-Western cultures this facial hair does not have a stigma, and may even be seen as a sign of feminine beauty, as in Russia or in Iran, where connected eyebrows are a sign of virginity and a large dowry of goats.*

But the best thing about living with the guys was the “Stairway” Clean. The deceptively simple goal of the “Stairway” Clean was to clean the entire apartment in the eight minutes it took to listen to “Stairway to Heaven” at a ridiculously loud volume on Bajir’s record player. In situations of extreme filth (i.e., always), playing the song multiple times was allowed, although a two- or three-“Stairway” Clean was considered a failure.

Her take is that I'm just a late bloomer - that I'm taking forever to ruin my life, she's running out of patience.

Let’s take a break from setting up Facebook to discuss the very important issues of sharing information and protecting your privacy. I’ve sat in on daylong workshops detailing how to tweak Facebook in such a way as to be as private as possible. I’ve read a multitude of magazine and newspaper articles listing countless tips on how to prevent overexposure while enjoying online social networking.

Open doors for people who are underrated and overlooked. Create systems that invest in and create opportunities for all—not just gifted students and high-potential employees. A good system gives underdogs and late bloomers the chance to show how far they’ve come.

or trepidation, like they wanted to run away as fast as they could once the photo was taken. But Manfred Lange appeared happy to be photographed. His occupation was listed as art historian, and his date of birth as 29 June 1871. All consistent with what Anna knew about him. She flipped the little cardboard folder of his work permit over. Underneath was a membership card to the NSDAP, the Nazi Party. Again, his unapologetic face stared out at her. Member number 149578. So he had been a party member. Anna twinged a little. Had he told her he had been a party member? People with important jobs usually had to be, and it didn’t necessarily mean they were true believers, or even sympathizers. Still, it bothered her. She scanned the room trying not to appear furtive but failing. She quickly flipped pages to see if she could find his Fragebogen, the questionnaire the Americans would have made him complete. But it wasn’t there, of course, because these were the Germans’ files, not the Americans’. Deeply uncomfortable, she flipped back to the party membership card. The date of issue was 20 April 1933. Hitler’s birthday. Manfred Lange had been what the Germans called a March Violet—a late bloomer. March Violets were those who joined the party right after Hitler had seized full authority in March of 1933. Many with elite jobs and who considered themselves to have standing in society, rushed to join the party in order to be on the right side of the power grab. Probably that’s what Manfred Lange had done, too, like millions of others. She closed the folder indicating she was ready to go. She wanted to be out of the building and far away. “Find anything we should know about?” Bender asked, as he held the door for her. “No,” she lied. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. The air had turned colder and the sky was socked in with dense clouds. “Looks like we’re in the clear for now. At least with the folks working for us.” He shot her a look. “Should you have let me see Herr Lange’s information?” Anna retaliated to deflect any further line of questioning. He smiled as he started the engine. “Probably not,” he said, “but I can’t help it. I’m so nosy.” Six “Where were you? I couldn’t find you at all yesterday.” Cooper was flustered and irritated but a smile appeared when Anna looked up at him from her desk. Things had piled up while she was out with Bender, so she had come in early to catch up. Anna honestly couldn’t remember if Manfred Lange had mentioned being a party member; she could only recall that he was very against the Nazis’ attitude toward art and free speech to the point where the memories had upset him. She hated that these misgivings lived on and probably would forever. One day, Amalia would ask her what she had done in the war. “I went with Bender to Darmstadt. I thought you knew about that,” she said. “He told me he had checked with you.” “That’s right. Of course. Was it a successful trip?” He sat down in the chair next to her table, intent on something. “I think so. He asked me to help him translate some paperwork. He was checking on some personnel? I didn’t find anything.” “Sounds like good news. For us, anyway. We already had to fire some people when their past caught up with them.” “Because they were party members?” “Or worse. Makes sense, but we had to let some very qualified people go. And with all these government types breathing down our necks, we can’t afford a single screw up. Washington is just waiting for something to go wrong so they can scrap this whole operation.” His face sank back into the shadows it had carried for the past weeks. He leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands. Anna felt sorry for him. “That won’t happen,” she said. “You will make sure of it.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. Without looking at her, Cooper took her hand in his and held it in place, his

The world stops spinning. I'm the one orbiting the sun.

We have seen several times that stopping is the biggest barrier to success. There are various explanations why people stop working so hard – they have families, they get tenure, they have changing interests, they have made their money, their accumulated expertise stops them from experimenting, maybe even laziness – but anyone ambitious enough to want to change their lives or work on big problems can advantage themselves simply by not quitting.

Listen to me,” She whispers, breath ghosting across my mouth. “You were dealt a shitty hand, Pepper. There’s no denying that, and I’ll never be able to wipe away that pain. I’ll never want to. It’s yours to feel as you need. But you’ve made due for way too long with the person that was supposed to love you hurting you instead. But that stops now. Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people who show you all the time that you are valued and worthy. You deserve it all.

Her temper sparking, nostrils flaring. The look hooks a chain into the center of my chest and jerks me back, whipping me into the past. Every harsh word, every broken promise, every moment of aching loneliness whether she was next to me or not. She tries to play it cool but that always makes the explosion worse. “Pepper,” she says through clenched teeth, “I’d like you to shut your silly little mouth and listen to what I’m trying to tell you.” “I know what you are trying to tell me. I’m terrible at reading people but I can read you, Mom. You make it so obvious.” That fake smile falls. A deep red rushing up her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “You better knock it off young lady. You are being extremely unlikeable right now. If you’d –“ “I don’t want you to like me, Mom.” I yell, throwing my arms up and gaining more than a few looks. “I don’t give a fuck if anyone finds me likeable. I just want you to care. I want you to care enough about your only child that you have even the tiniest bit of hesitation before hitting me up for money after abandoning me on a random doorstep.” She grips my arm, ripping me into the nearest corner – eyes scanning the room as I garner more attention. “Shut your damn mouth, now, Pepper Ann. I didn’t abandon you.” She spits, face getting close to mine as I shrink under her glare. “You know I’ve always done my best. Have I made mistakes, sure, of course. I’m only human. But I’m not allowed any grace? Any room for error? What about the mistakes you’ve made. I never throw your greed in your face. The way you were always putting on airs. I’d never make you feel bad for that.” “All you’ve ever done in my life is make me feel bad.” I say, with a choked laugh, tears pricking at my eyes, a few falling down my cheeks.

You make me want to hope, and that’s terrifying, because hope let’s you down. Hope hurts you.” “Hope doesn’t hurt you, Pepper,” she whispers, “People do. Hope lightens you and lifts you and expands more room in your heart than you know what to do with. And sharing that hope with someone that will care for it and tend to it like it deserves, only lets it grow more and more.