Mary Steenburgen Quotes

I sort of locked into the idea that if I could be the perfect son to both of my parents, well maybe that would be enough to keep them together. And ultimately, obviously, it wasn't. Regardless of what I tried to do. That was a lesson about limitations.

I'm somebody who, if I went to the grocery store, and one of them wasn't with me, I would feel guilty. I would be like, 'I shouldn't be doing anything without them, anytime, ever.' A very codependent way of thinking. Also, motherhood is hugely about guilt.

The first jolt I received in my life was when I lost my father in a motorcycle accident when I was eight. I would have been with him if he hadn't turned down my request to go out with him that afternoon.

Even before my parents died, I felt all the responsibility to my family. I don't know why. In any business, any relationship, if something goes wrong, I feel I am to blame. It's something inside me.

I always thought of myself as inadequate. Kids of divorced parents always feel that way - that, on some subconscious level, they're responsible.

Despite everything my mom and doctor and dad have said to me about blame, I can't stop thinking what I know. And I know that my aunt Helen would still be alive today if she just bought me one present like everybody else. She would be alive if I were born on a day that didn't snow.

What I have in common with the character in 'Truman' is this incredible need to please people. I feel like I want to take care of everyone and I also feel this terrible guilt if I am unable to. And I have felt this way ever since all this success started.

I feel like I want to take care of everyone and I also feel this terrible guilt if I am unable to. And I have felt this way ever since all this success started.

Besides that, I felt guilty. I thought for some reason... I was alive, and Buddy and those boys were dead, and I didn't know how, but somehow I'd caused it.

There's a definition of narcissism that when a parent is narcissistic, instead of the child seeing himself reflected in the mother's face and the mother's joy, the child of the narcissistic parent feels like, 'What can I do to make her okay, to make her happy?'

What upset me the most was not that I would die, but that I was letting down my parents. I felt very guilty for chasing this dream career of mine, at the expense of my parents.

There's Catholic guilt about things, then there's the guilt of being the youngest of 10, so when nice things happen to you, you're not really allowed to enjoy them.

When you have parents who are a little out of their minds, somebody has to take responsibility.

The idea of your younger sibling being in pain and realizing you are the cause of that pain is unbearable.

A baby comes with such responsibility. Once you become a mother, you always have a guilt trip. You always try to do the best, but you feel you can always be better.

I tend to be overly responsible for other people's feelings.

I found myself trying to be all things to all people. I felt a tremendous sense of responsibility and the pressure of expectation.

Growing up without my parents by my side is a weight I still carry today.

I've always wanted to be what my father never was to me.

I love my son, but I was never there for him, so I understand why he hates me.

My mother, Carole Hedges, was my world until she walked out of our house when I was 7. Actually, she didn't walk out. Alcohol walked her out.

It doesn't matter whether I'm judged criminal. I have a great feeling of guilt - I have a feeling that I ran after Hitler like a wildfire without reason. If I can sacrifice my life to make something good, I'd gladly do it.

I just...feel like I need to save everyone. To redeem myself.

Clearly something had gone wrong, badly, only I wasn't quite sure what—apart from knowing that I was responsible somehow, in the generalized miasma of shame and unworthiness and being-a-burden that never quite left me.

I wanted to be seen as a good person, and never wanted to let people down, but I found it hard to handle the fame or adulation. I didn't feel worthy of it. I was ashamed by who I thought I was because I felt partly responsible [for the abuse] and I was never able to enjoy the stuff I should have been able to enjoy. My first thought when I won the Tour was: 'My God, I'm going to be famous', and then I thought, 'He's going to call'. I was always waiting for that phone call. I lived in fear that anyone would ever find out.