That was the standard she set. Her love was never warm, never soft. It was efficient and strategic.
I was grateful when she put me in the best schools, enrolled me in piano lessons, and made me practice eye contact, perfect posture, and perfect thank-you notes.
She didn’t raise me to be happy. She raised me to be bulletproof.
My mother didn’t cry when my father left.
By the time I turned 27, I’d stopped trying to impress my mother. In reality, there was no way to impress her. Every time you did something right, she’d just expect you to do better.
But I still told her I was seeing someone.
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