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I spent much of my early years escaping my relationship with my mother, by imagining that I could fly away to safety. My mother was used to being the center of attention, as a young dancer in the Ziegfield Follies and as a Broadway actress. Her interest in child rearing seemed to be a low priority, and her skills in that area, even lower. With minimal nurturing skills, she handed over the care of my younger brother and me to a series of housekeepers, who raised me—sometimes in states other than where she and my father resided. In other cases, I found empathetic women on my own, to serve my need for maternal support and concern. I suppose that being sent away from home, to attend a French school in Switzerland during my early high school years, eventually led to my becoming a French teacher as an adult. Prior to that, I served as a caretaker for my mother, during a time that an illness, which she endured prior to her death, put me on call. But my life was never really my own until my Mother passed away. As I grew up, I dealt with panic attacks and other insecurities, which I eventually mastered. Ultimately, I found my stronger self—the one that I am comfortable with today.

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