Mommy Issues Quotes

Maybe he was the kind of man to leave the cap from the toothpaste. That was a deal breaker for all women. God forbid he had mommy issues.

Johnny Cash had all of the same talents and problems as Elvis - a poor upbringing in the rural South exposure to gospel music throughout his childhood a penchant for drug abuse...they had the same sort of influencing experiences but Johnny' Cash's problematic relationship was with his father not his mother. If he had had the mommy issues that Elvis had instead of a compelling need to prove himself to his father, he wouldn't have been the badass man in black, the guy in Folsom Prison watching the train roll by. Elvis was a lot of things but even with the karate and the gunplay he was more unstable than badass.

I promise I only have the normally allotted amount of mommy issues.

I thought about how I used to watch my mother sleep sometimes, how innocent she looked with her hands tucked under the pillow. In those moments, I saw her as a little girl, and I felt that nothing was her fault—just a chain of fears and feelings passed down from generation to generation. In those moments I thought, You can show her how to love you better by being loving to her. But it was easier to be loving when the person was asleep.

the first time i met my mother. i knew she was not mine

I always thought mommy issues were more powerful than daddy issues,

My mom is a mess, she doesn't always put me first, and I hate the positions I'm put in sometimes, but...I know she loves me. Not that it always feels like enough, but I know she tries.

The destiny of daughters burdened with an impossible mother is tragic. When they manage to develop a healthy indifference, people say they are heartless, and when they are devoted, people say they are masochists.

Fear is a bastard. Fear is an attention whore. I want to ask fear if it has mommy issues, because that’s the only reason I can think why it needs attention so bad. I want fear to get Parkinson’s. Then maybe fear will know how it feels to be on the run from something it doesn’t understand.

I don't think my mum likes me very much. That doesn't matter, because I don't really like her either.

Creo que algunas mujeres no están hechas para ser madres, simplemente. Y algunas no están hechas para ser hijas

Mommy, if you could only know how far gone I am, you would find another choice.

One day my mother asked me what color my eyes were, The bank teller had just said something about a cat's green eyes, and my mother had immediately said that her eyes were green, too. A cat's eyes were green; her eyes were green; what color were my eyes? If they were green, too, then the teller might congratulate my mother on having guessed right. She had no idea that a normal person would find it insane for a mother to ask her only child what color her eyes were. But I sensed that she was also trying to see what it would be like to be that unattached to me. She was practicing, to see what it would be like to hurt me, a lot, to show how much she loved me. She had to be careful. If anyone found out that she loved me, we'd both be in trouble. For a while I'd have to suffer, out in the open, the only girl without extra sneakers for gym class, but it was only because my mother's love was so much greater than all the other loves. It was that much more dangerous, so she had to love me in secret, absolutely unobserved by anyone, especially me.

I began to cry because I couldn't understand what my mother thought she would accomplish by saying these things to me. I was the one depressed, and somehow she managed to make it sound like I was supposed to feel sorry for her.

Right around that time, I started dating a guy named Jeff. He was a classically handsome, popular guy. But there was something different about him too. He was angrier than most teenage boys, and a little misunderstood. I ignored the signs that he was probably a bit unstable. Signs like when they gave him a fish fillet at McDonald’s instead of a Big Mac, he became so furious that he cried. Truly lost it. Real tears of rage. Like the kind of tears guys are only supposed to get when they watch a movie that touches on their dad issues. (So, most movies.) Isn’t it funny that they say most girls have daddy issues, when really, every dude does? But this dude had daddy, mommy, doggy, and fish fillet issues. I just thought, Well, he can’t help it. But I understand him. I’m here for him. Even though we were both generally well liked, when we were together it was us vs. the world. I’ve only recently broken my pattern of being drawn to the “you’re the only one who gets me” guy. Which is a bad guy to be drawn to, and it’s not a coincidence if everyone—including all your friends and family and your dog—dislikes him. But

Anything that ever got stored inside your mind, because you resisted or clung to it, is trying to release. It’s an energetic reality, like Newton’s laws of motion. The energy cannot stay in there unless you continuously assert an opposing force of will to keep it in there. That’s why it keeps coming back up. Mommy yelled at you twenty-five years ago, and that hurt you. Now suddenly somebody mentions their mother yelling and all these emotional and mental issues come up inside of you. Why? That blocked energy is always trying to come up, every single millisecond. Just like in a dammed-up river, the blockage is trying to release its pent-up energy. It is not comfortable staying inside you, so you have to constantly assert your willpower to hold it down. How much energy are you wasting keeping all this garbage inside?

Come on,” I hooked my arm through Aphrodite’s and started to pull her to the Street Cats tent. “You haven’t been good enough to watch.” Before Aphrodite could argue, we were at the Street Cats booth, facing a beaming Sister Mary Angela. “Oh, good, Zoey and Aphrodite. I need the both of you.” The nun made a gracious gesture to the young family standing beside one of the kitten cages. “This is the Cronley family. They have decided to adopt both of the calico kittens. It’s so lovely that the two of them have found their forever homes together—they are unusually close, even for littermates.” “That’s great,” I said. “I’ll start on their paperwork.” “I’ll help you. Two cats—two sets of paperwork,” Aphrodite said. “We came with a note from our veterinarian,” the mom said. “I just knew we’d find our kitten tonight.” “Even though we didn’t expect to find two of them,” her husband added. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder and smiled down at her with obvious affection. “Well, we didn’t expect the twins, either,” his wife said, glancing over at the two girls who were still looking in the kitten cage and giggling at the fluffy calicos that would be joining their family. “That surprise turned out great, which is why I think the two kittens will be perfect as well,” said the dad. Like seeing Lenobia and Travis together—this family made my heart feel good. I had started to move to the makeshift desk with Aphrodite when one of the little girls asked, “Hey mommy, what are those black things?” Something in the child’s voice had me pausing, changing direction, and heading to the kitten cage. When I got there I instantly knew why. Within the cage the two calico kittens were hissing and batting at several large, black spiders. “Oh, yuck!” the mom said. “Looks like your school might have a spider problem.” “I know a good exterminator if you need a recommendation,” the dad said. “We’re gonna need a shit ton more than a good exterminator,” Aphrodite whispered as we stared into the kitten cage. “Yeah, uh, well, we don’t usually have bug issues here,” I babbled as disgust shivered up my back. “Eesh, Daddy! There are lots more of them.” The little blond girl was pointing at the back of the cage. It was so completely covered with spiders that it seemed to be alive with their seething movements. “Oh, my goodness!” Sister Mary Angela looked pale as she stared at the spiders that appeared to be multiplying. “Those things weren’t there moments ago.” “Sister, why don’t you take this nice family into the tent and get their paperwork started,” I said quickly, meeting the nun’s sharp gaze with my own steady one. “And send Damien out here to me. I can use his help to take care of this silly spider problem.” “Yes, yes, of course.” The nun didn’t hesitate. “Get Shaunee, Shaylin, and Stevie Rae,” I told Aphrodite, keeping my voice low. “You’re going to cast a circle in front of all of these

That's too bad, Anneliese, the house is really spectacular. Anneke is a true talent." "It will be a new standard-bearer for the neighborhood," Caroline says. "I have no doubt," my mother says in a way that implies the opposite. And I? Snap. "You have every doubt, although I can't imagine why. Exactly what did you want from me, except for me not to exist? I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment, but for the love of god, why on earth did you even come here? Surely with all your experience over these many years and many husbands, you have figured out how to avoid me, why did you come this time? Why did you not just tell Alan I wasn't going to be in town and save us all the fucking painful charade?" Hedy reaches out and holds my hand, giving it a squeeze in a way that clearly says, "You go, girl." And not, "You might want to shut up now." "This is why I avoided coming here, to face your accusations. You never wanted me, Anneke, not from the moment you were born. You wouldn't take the breast; I had to bottle-feed you from day one. You never wanted to be near me, always running off, playing by yourself, going into other rooms when I came near. When I would travel, never a card or a letter. Never once did you ever tell me you missed me when I called or when I returned. I did the best I could, Anneke, but it was never good enough." And then I start to laugh. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous. "I didn't take the BREAST? You're mad at me because I didn't SUCKLE? You didn't travel, Anneliese, you LEFT. For months and years on end. You left me with your bitter, judgmental mother to go off with an endless string of men, and always made clear how uncomfortable you were on your rare visits home. Even when you married Joe and we were together for those three years, you weren't really there, were you? Not like a real mother. Do you know why I may never have kids of my own? Not because I can't or don't want to, but because I'm so afraid of being like you. Of being another in a long line of self-absorbed, cold, aloof bitches who are incapable of providing a loving home. And I will never forgive you for that. For making me think I shouldn't be a mother. But you know what? I'm beyond it. I'm beyond needing your approval or validation. So let me be clear about something, Mommy. Take whatever you need from this evening, because it is the last time you are welcome in my life. Fuck you." "Hear, hear," Hedy says under her breath.

I’d save my mommy issues for my mid-life crisis.

Take care of this idiot, okay? He's your responsibility now, like a baby bird with acid reflux and mommy issues. And don't let him drink Fireball, he'll puke all over your sofa.

Dear Women, Men who say you are complicated are Jerks who project on you and who have made up their minds to not make an effort to understand you. They just don't possess the acumen, the capacity to do that. After all, they'd rather do 'easy.' Easy and Plastic. If you catch my drift. And that is why it's easy to box you under the "complicated" label. It's a classic move for passive-aggressive, 'my way or the highway' controlling narcissistic men to do that. It's so obvious that they are the complicated ones with mommy issues, stemming from a place of lack and possibly denied affection from a young age. In the end, you should feel sorry for them and not take it personally and if anything, salute yourself for not falling for that kind of walking twisted Nightmare.

I’m a broken mess with mommy issues and nightmares that still live rent-free in my head.” “And I’m a sick fuck who gets off on hurting people.

Right… and do you always date women seven years older than you are?” Dan asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Theo coughs a little and spins to look at me in shock. I can practically see him trying to do the simple math in his head as his mouth opens and closes a couple of times.You're twenty-six?” At my nod, Theo curses and shakes his head. “How the hell are you still alive?” he murmurs so low only I can hear him. I choose to ignore that comment, not sure how to respond, while I look at Dan. “Uh… yeah? I've got mommy issues,

But this guy? He looked like a piñata full of crazy ex-girlfriends, rich-boy fetishes, and mommy issues.

And she keeps saying, How can you do this to me? And I want to scream, What do you mean, how can I do this to you? Aren't we confusing our pronouns here? The question, really, is How could I do this to myself?

She has disappeared in the universe, as I've always feared I might do, and it seems like I'm the only person who might be able to find her.

The farmer could have a mean streak or mommy issues. A pet boa constrictor roaming freely about his house. Perhaps he chats about agriculture with a mannequin propped up in his kitchen.

Looking ahead at continuing transition needs The lives of adoptive parents and children are always in transition. Helping adopted children connect their beginnings to their present lives with us doesn’t end with the transition at placement. Parents need to deal with adoption related issues over and over again as their children reach new levels of cognitive and language development. Sometime between the ages of 24 and 36 months, many children will begin correcting Mom or Dad if they make a mistake or forget part of their Lifestory. Shortly thereafter children begin to fill in factual names, places, and events when invited to share in the story telling. Preschoolers’ reasoning is very limited and most do not sense anything unusual about being adopted. My three-and-a-half-year-old adopted nephew announced proudly, “I’m adopted.” He then added, “And there’s a kitty growing in my tummy.” Children spontaneously announce to the store clerk such things as, “My mommy came to get me in a big airplane” or “I’m from Peru!” At this age, parents should continue to build the factual foundation that will help full comprehension later on and instill a sense of pride and positive feelings about adoption.

It starts with my mother….Boys get fucked up by their fathers, right? That’s why so many tales are really Daddy Issue stories at their core, because men run the world, and men get to tell their stories first. If women told most of the stories, though, then all the best stories would be about Mommy Problems.

Malik’s ass got major Mommy issues and I don’t think he even realizes it.

I have tried to date in the past, but I could never get it to work. Trust is a big issue for me. Basically, I don’t trust anyone with a vagina. I think that, essentially, all women are untrustworthy cold bitches. My therapist is still working on that one. Apparently, that comes from mommy issues as well as my ex-wife issues. As you can see, I’m not a good candidate for a relationship

He might be immortal, but not even an eternity would be enough time to work through his mommy issues. It

It’s not that simple, Win.” “It is that simple, my friend. The fact that you insipidly choose to confuse the issue does not change the fact. I’ll demonstrate, if you’d like.” “I’m listening.” “You love your father, correct?” “You know the answer to that.” “I do,” Win said. “But what makes him your father? The fact that he once grunted on top of Mommy after a few drinks—or the way he has cared for you and loved you for the past thirty-five years?” Myron looked down at the can of Yoo-Hoo. “You owe this boy nothing,” Win continued, “and equally important, he owes you nothing. We will try to save his life, if that is what you wish, but that should be where it ends.” Myron thought about it. The only thing scarier than Win irrational was when Win made sense. “Maybe you’re right.” “But you still don’t think it’s that simple.” “I don’t know.” On the television, Archie approached the pulpit, a yarmulke on his head. “It’s a start,” Win said.

He definitely has mommy issues.

Mom always teased him that he just liked the scary, in-your-face psychopaths with mommy issues. Michael Myers was one of his faves.

My father was also a horror movie buff. Old school horror movies. He said he didn’t have the time or patience for pretty boy douchebags who had mommy issues.

You’d think he was here for a ritual disemboweling, not to be paid my annual salary for a few weeks of part-time work. All he has to do is stand there and tell people they’re failing to live up to their potential. My mum’s been doing it my whole life for free.

Okay, champ. Off to the hospital we go.” Willa slides her hand around my back. “I got him from here, boys. The girls have Luke. I think he’s in heaven with two blondes paying attention to him.” “Talk about mommy issues,” Rhett jokes to a chorus of groans. Leave it to him to say something inappropriate right now.

Okay, this is the part where I warn you — I had daddy issues. I guess in a way, mommy issues, too.

Whenever life pulled brutal pranks on him, Gon would think that life was like having your mom hold your hands one moment, warm and safe, then suddenly drop them with no explanation. No matter how hard he tried to grab hold, he was always abandoned in the end.

Therapists bank second homes and yachts just on mommy issues.

If you haven’t guessed it yet, I have all kinds of daddy and mommy issues. As if all of those weren’t enough to fuck up my life, I have grandma issues to top it all off. Blah blah blah…

Readers generally find nothing as enthralling as conflict. Most popular novels, for example, are basically the record of a prolonged struggle. But as we mentioned in chapter 2, a story of any length must have some sort of movement or progress; you can’t expect a reader to be patient very long with a story that drags out a single, unchanging conflict over many, many pages. You know the kind of static, unchanging conflict I mean; you see it when small children argue: Mary: “Mommy, make him stop! He hit me!” Billy: “I did not!” “Did so!” “Did not!” “Did so!” “Did not!” “Did so!” “Did not!” Maybe the story question at the start of this little plot was: “Will Mary get mommy to make Billy stop?” And this question very quickly became: “Will Mary convince mommy in light of Billy’s denial?” But that’s as far as it got; Mary and Billy kept fighting about exactly the same issue, over and over and over again, ad infinitum. Fusses like this drive mommies nuts.

He’d touched every inch of my body but there. I nodded, and he set his warm palm over my belly button, and it was the most intimate moment of my life. He leaned over and kissed me, holding our baby under his hand. And then the terror took over. I jerked back, suddenly frightened. “Josh, what if I miscarry? My mom lost my brother. What if it comes too early? What if it’s a girl and she has the same issues I do? What if I’m a shitty mom like my mom and I don’t know how to raise her or tell her how much I love her or…or…” Hysterics bubbled out of me. I was now a woman who got hysterical. “Hey, hey. You’re not going to be a shitty mom,” he said, holding my face in his hands. “You’re nothing like Evelyn. Don’t think about the what-ifs, because there’s nothing you can do to stop any of it. Let’s just enjoy this. And if things don’t go the way we planned, we’ll deal with it. Always and no matter what. Together.” I nodded, the shaking in my hands slowing the tighter he held me. I closed my eyes and calmed my breathing, focusing on my husband’s hands on my face and his familiar presence. My rock. The calm in my storm. The whisper to my scream. Then I looked up at him, the final reality coming into focus. “Josh. You’re going to be a daddy.” He gave me a sideways grin, tears and joy twinkling in his eyes. “Kristen…you are going to be a mommy.

You're a hot mom. A beautiful mom. And I got fucking mommy issues.

don’t know if it was my daddy issues or mommy issues, but I was always chasing the feeling of being needed. I became quite the little trollop, an awful girlfriend to almost everyone I dated. I sought attention and validation desperately, going wherever I felt needed and ignoring the wreckage I had left behind.

He’s a bald CEO robot guy with both mommy and anger issues from another planet. It’s not like he’s going to know I’m lifting material, Carl.

A partir de cierto momento, Hanna se sintió asfixiada de vivir tras la larga sobra de su madre y ese ''es por tu bien'' que ella solía decirle empezó a sentirse como una forma de opresión.

shadow-squid nightmare demon with mommy issues. Once