This felt a little academic to me, but I did enjoy the stories and scenarios she shared, as I could relate to some of them very well. It's helpful to know that I'm not the only one who has ever felt the way I did. Normalizing the feelings and actions of unrequited love decreases the alienation. And also hearing the other "crazy" things people do because of love. It is so clear that when you love yourself, you stop grasping for it from others--at least not in a way that causes deep suffering. It's still nice to have love and attention from others, to feel chosen and connected. But you won't resort to self injury or other such actions if love is unreturned or "taken away" by someone else. I think there is always someone even more aligned for us out there if one thing doesn't end up working out. So it's an opportunity to find that.
“Revenge may be a dish best eaten cold, but the best revenge of all is living wisely and well—learning from the past and applying those lessons in the future.
Is there such a thing as healthy revenge?” pg. 60
“The motives and psychodynamics of Amy Fisher and Jean Harris are similar to those of their mythic predecessor [Medea]: none of the three could endure her own helplessness or tolerate that her rejection and shame should go unpunished. How and why does love get converted to hate and the compulsion to destroy, and why are some people more susceptible to this transformation than others?” pg. 67
“What are the tasks that anyone who has been betrayed must accomplish? Grieving for one’s losses—for bad choices, for lost time and destroyed hope and misplaced devotion, for the shame and self-laceration (conscious or unconscious) that all these things evoke—this is fruitful sorrow. Learning to live with doomed longing for an unrequited beloved (one who is unwilling or unable to reciprocate devotion) until it diminishes as life goes on. Recovering the ability to trust oneself and other people instead of retreating into terminal self-doubt and paranoia. Neutralizing the inevitable rage and hatred directed against oneself and the other. Restoring self-respect and a sense of control over one’s own destiny.” pg. 82-83
“Michael’s declaration of intent, which seemed like openness and candor, was actually his way to manage his guilt preemptively. It put me off balance from that moment on, intensifying my insecurity, confirming all my dread. Despite this, I plunged ahead. I stayed overnight with him, barely chaste, a week later. It was the first time I spent an entire night with a man. ‘A glad night,’ I reported in my diary, ‘but something says that I will never have his love, never at the level I want.’ All the warning signs were there—I enumerated them in my diary, railed against them, and proceeded to ignore them. Acting consciously and wisely on what you know to be true, overriding inner compulsion on your own behalf, requires far more self-possession than I had at that point in my life.” pg. 95
“When you are in thrall to an obsessive love, a reciprocated one seems less alluring. You prize what you cannot have more than what you can.” pg. 108
“The problematic beloved frustrates you not only by withholding himself but also by intermittently giving himself; this fosters the illusion that he could be consistently available if only the conditions were right. As [Martha] Stark says, ‘[He] initially tantalize[s] by offering the seductive promise of . . . relatedness, but . . . later devastate[s] by rescinding that enticement.’
The beloved’s ambivalence is a prerequisite for his being chosen. We have uncanny radar for people who meet our unconscious needs; it is part of the universal human compulsion to relive and remake the past through intimate relationships in the present.” pg. 116-117
“. . . you must force yourself to acknowledge that changing another person is both your secret desire and a doomed enterprise.” pg. 118
“Despite his athleticism—he was an expert fencer—his shyness and awkwardness of manner combined with the monotone in which he spoke made him seem like an alien who had applied himself to the study of human ways with only partial success. He was such a peculiar combination of physical grace and mental regimentation that he seemed to be two people incompletely melded together.” pg. 132
“Any relationship whatsoever seemed to him a potential prison of unrelenting demands. Like his parents, he never imagined he could set any limits on anybody.” pg. 133
“I was overjoyed to find by sheer luck someone who spoke my language and even added to my vocabulary when I had felt so alienated. At a critical time in the formation of my character, I heard my own voice more clearly because she was listening. Never had I opened myself so deeply or felt so intuitively understood and prized by a peer; my own mother once had this role in my life, but bitter adolescent struggles for independence had interfered with our communion.” pg. 190
“Michael Balint, a founder of the British object relations school of psychoanalysis and an innovative and profound clinician with a quirky mind, invented two cumbersome—even comical—words to describe the opposite temperaments exemplified by Rachel and Miriam: ‘ocnophil’ and ‘philobat.’ These terms never caught on—they do not trip off the tongue like other Latin-based neologisms like id, ego, and superego—but they perfectly describe basic attitudes toward intimacy central to the way people experience friendship and its discontents. Philobats are loners who retreat when anxious. They consider relationships more dangerous than comforting. The close-binding ocnophils cling when they are anxious and seek human contact to assuage their fears. Relationships are comforting and safe for the ocnophil, but the lonely space between them and others is fraught with danger; the self-sufficient philobat prefers to cope with danger and uncertainty alone.” pg. 208
“One prerequisite to finding a mate in midlife and beyond is admitting to yourself that you want one, that you need lasting intimacy to feel fulfilled. Many people are too afraid to say so because they cannot bear their own longing or have shut themselves off from it altogether. When you are shut off, you are blind to possibilities, no matter how numerous or fetching they may be.” pg. 215
“She had learned early on to fend for herself and to neither ask for nor expect help from anyone, hoping in vain that her hard work and professional success would someday earn appreciation, but nothing she did was ever enough. She never could acknowledge that being intimate with a man and wanting him to prize her made her feel more threatened than being alone made her feel bereft.” pg. 216
“Since Dan’s wife had demanded and required constant caretaking, Anna’s self-containment and competence must have felt refreshing; looking after someone who, as an equal, looks after herself, feels like a choice—even a privilege—not a demand.” pg. 223
“Being chosen and seriously pursued meant everything to her. It made her feel worthwhile, as being loved does when you have not had enough of true devotion.” pg. 224
“‘What if he dies?’
I told her that loss is built into love. When someone becomes precious and you let yourself need him and tell him you want him, there is no way to avoid this eventuality. You are putting yourself in his hands, and he becomes irreplaceable. When you give yourself that way, the real way—neither embodying another’s fantasy nor disconnected from your authentic self—an essential part of yourself is forever bound up with the other’s fragile life. You merge your destinies. Only the whole person she had now become could join her beloved so completely. When you have someone, you have someone to lose.
Since risk hangs over shared lives, ardor and anxiety are inextricable. You never know how the loss will come—whether he will lose you or you him, but it is a certainty that there will be a shattering involuntary separation. Death is the abandonment caused not by betrayal but by fidelity. Even so, a relationship this deep lives on as part of you. It becomes inextricable from your identity; it cannot be wrested from you utterly.” pg. 248-249
“Psychoanalytic theory, from Freud’s day to the present, has not had nearly as much to say about healthy passion as about the more grotesque pathological kind. What would it make of hers? Self psychology, the modern theoretical approach founded by Heinz Kohut, would recognize Emil as Lilly’s ‘self-object,’ her internal touchstone of sustenance, solace, and self-esteem. Making use of another in this way is a sign of mental health and a source of stability. But Otto Kernberg, who has written extensively about the prerequisites for long-term erotic fulfillment, might be wary of an all-consuming romance after death like hers and question her unassailable fidelity. According to him, an earmark of mature love is the ability to grieve fully for the dead beloved, to retain the relationship within oneself, and then to accept (and to seek) a new partner ‘without guilt or insecurity.’” pg. 252-253
“In Lilly’s case, giving herself to another would have been sacrilegious, because she felt that she had the ultimate experience of marriage, and it sufficed for her. Their relationship was so unique and precious and so vividly present that it could never be superseded. Emil’s love for her, and hers for him, continued to fulfill her. To seek another love would be an unthinkable act of infidelity not only to him but to herself and to the woman she had become, the life she had had, because of him. It was choice, not fear or limitation in her ability to relate, that bound her eternally to him.” pg. 253
“Both my patient and my friend clearly idealized their husbands; they found fathers and mothers and saviors in them. This was realistic on their parts; the personalities and actions of both men made them highly idealizable. But the way these women looked up to and needed their husbands did not make them dependent or infantile; they functioned as professionals in their own right and as friends and soul mates to the men they admired, and they were admired in turn by their husbands. Their attitude was an essential part of their fully adult appreciation of how remarkable their mates and their marriages genuinely were.” pg. 254-255
“Only grieving—reengaging with every feeling and looking away from none of them—allows you to begin the process of recovering love. Mourning a loss acknowledges there was something to lose. It ultimately restores to you what was valuable (if anything was), burns off some of the devastation without entirely erasing it. You find that you are left with more than ashes in your mouth.” pg. 267-268
“If anything in your love was real—imperfect, ambivalent, obsessive, or selfish in part but tender and true at the core—it is yours forever, even though the one you loved loves you no longer or never fully returned your devotion. The authentic core of love is eternal, even if the person who inspired it will never return to you. But you have to hold fast to it and fight through your despair, your disappointment, and your bitterness to find it, to resurrect it, to claim it. With work and with will, the consoling promise of Dylan Thomas’s words comes true: ‘Though lovers be lost love shall not.’” pg. 270
Book: borrowed from NB Branch.