"I spent five years of my life being treated for cancer, but since then I've spent 15 years being treated for nothing other than looking different from everyone else. It was the pain from that, from feeling ugly, that I always viewed as the great tragedy of my life. The fact that I had cancer seemed minor in comparison."
At age nine, Lucy Grealy was diagnosed with a potentially terminal cancer. When she returned to school with a third of her jaw removed, she faced the cruel taunts of classmates. In this strikingly candid memoir, Grealy tells her story of great suffering and remarkable strength without sentimentality and with considerable wit. Vividly portraying the pain of peer rejection and the guilty pleasures of wanting to be special, Grealy captures with unique insight what it is like as a child and young adult to be torn between two warring impulses: to feel that more than anything else we want to be loved for who we are, while wishing desperately and secretly to be perfect.
"This harrowing, lyrical autobiographical memoir...is a striking meditation on the distorting effects of our culture's preoccupation with physical beauty." (Publishers Weekly)
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The sight of the woman in the sun porch. And the tour of the house where the author's Birth mother labored with her.
That she spoke of so many deep issues on experiences and feelings with a tone that exuded example. Example on how to acknowledge and own feelings but not to react in negative ways. it's so easy to jump into anger but the tone stopped that before it ever happened.
I loved that this book is a real picture of real feelings throughout. It never fluffed anything up as far as what really happens in the hearts and minds of a child with no real say in the matter. I feel like it's a good story for those who have been there to hear-if only to validate the effects of all of it. I'll surely keep Lucy in my heart for a very long time as a reminder that my feelings are very real, and that I can gather strength in the most positive ways during my own upcoming reconstructive surgeries (again). Thank you, Lucy, for sharing. For all of it. Thank you.