But she wasn’t consumed by us either. I knew that she was her own person, that she had autonomy outside of her role as our mother. She would sign my birthday cards with “Mike and Marie”, a tiny rebellion, a reminder that she wasn’t just a ‘Mammy’. She had an identity that she wouldn’t relinquish.

I HAVE read that a girl’s relationship with her father will predict her love life, and that with her mother will determine her relationship with herself.

I think I would be a good mother. I just don’t want to be one. Maybe I’ll change my mind. (You don’t know. People change. You might change your mind.)