Repressed Quotes

“Without realizing that the past is constantly determining their present actions, they avoid learning anything about their history. They continue to live in their repressed childhood situation, ignoring the fact that is no longer exists, continuing to fear and avoid dangers that, although once real, have not been real for a long time.”
― Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self

“In general, the more dysfunctional the family the more inappropriate their response to disclosure. Never expect a sane response from an insane system.”
― Renee Fredrickson, Repressed Memories: A Journey to Recovery from Sexual Abuse

“Nothing is as irritating to a shy man as a confident girl.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“People that don't know what they are worth will always see their capture's wings, but never their tail.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“Alcohol is one of the quickest vehicles with which we escape shyness, our problems, and self-consciousness, for a few hours.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Treating Abuse Today (Tat), 3(4), pp. 26-33
Freyd: I see what you're saying but people in psychology don't have a uniform agreement on this issue of the depth of -- I guess the term that was used at the conference was -- "robust repression."

TAT: Well, Pamela, there's a whole lot of evidence that people dissociate traumatic things. What's interesting to me is how the concept of "dissociation" is side-stepped in favor of "repression." I don't think it's as much about repression as it is about traumatic amnesia and dissociation. That has been documented in a variety of trauma survivors. Army psychiatrists in the Second World War, for instance, documented that following battles, many soldiers had amnesia for the battles. Often, the memories wouldn't break through until much later when they were in psychotherapy.

Freyd: But I think I mentioned Dr. Loren Pankratz. He is a psychologist who was studying veterans for post-traumatic stress in a Veterans Administration Hospital in Portland. They found some people who were admitted to Veteran's hospitals for postrraumatic stress in Vietnam who didn't serve in Vietnam. They found at least one patient who was being treated who wasn't even a veteran. Without external validation, we just can't know --

TAT: -- Well, we have external validation in some of our cases.

Freyd: In this field you're going to find people who have all levels of belief, understanding, experience with the area of repression. As I said before it's not an area in which there's any kind of uniform agreement in the field. The full notion of repression has a meaning within a psychoanalytic framework and it's got a meaning to people in everyday use and everyday language. What there is evidence for is that any kind of memory is reconstructed and reinterpreted. It has not been shown to be anything else. Memories are reconstructed and reinterpreted from fragments. Some memories are true and some memories are confabulated and some are downright false.

TAT: It is certainly possible for in offender to dissociate a memory. It's possible that some of the people who call you could have done or witnessed some of the things they've been accused of -- maybe in an alcoholic black-out or in a dissociative state -- and truly not remember. I think that's very possible.

Freyd: I would say that virtually anything is possible. But when the stories include murdering babies and breeding babies and some of the rather bizarre things that come up, it's mighty puzzling.

TAT: I've treated adults with dissociative disorders who were both victimized and victimizers. I've seen previously repressed memories of my clients' earlier sexual offenses coming back to them in therapy. You guys seem to be saying, be skeptical if the person claims to have forgotten previously, especially if it is about something horrible. Should we be equally skeptical if someone says "I'm remembering that I perpetrated and I didn't remember before. It's been repressed for years and now it's surfacing because of therapy." I ask you, should we have the same degree of skepticism for this type of delayed-memory that you have for the other kind?

Freyd: Does that happen?

TAT: Oh, yes. A lot.”
― David L. Calof

“I find it increasingly difficult to speak of my feelings at will.”
― Alexandra Kleeman, Intimations: Stories

“How soon we cover up the horror of death and loss, if we can, with almost any sort of explanation, as if we had to justify the very fate which had maimed us.”
― iris murdoch, The Sea, the Sea

“And other times—too often, maybe—I don't dare have an opinion in case it upsets anyone.”
― Helen Oyeyemi, Mr. Fox

“And all that time, Franca contained in her breast a storm of anguish and violence so terrible that she had at times, when she was alone and longing to 'break down', to clutch her breast with a fierce answering force to keep the black horror from spurting forth. Her face was calm and benign, always in company, and usually alone too, for she was aware that to play such a part properly allowed of no rest periods, no weak moments of unmasking. She must continue, in her deceit, whole, like the spy who, in order to go on, has to become what he seems. She was, daily, amazed at herself, at her self-control; and at the terrible demons which fed upon her, and in doing so, she realised, fed her. She had begun to need her rage and her hate, even of late her fierce cruel fantasies. She could not, and did not try to, riddle out, rationally order, explain, least of all banish, these horrible consolations, As it seemed, if she were not to die of her love she had to poison it; and even, over its death agonies, to exult. As the days went by, Franca cherished and nourished and developed her suffering, unable to envisage any change or any plan — any machine into which so much relentless force might be fed. Indeed she was afraid to plan or picture a different future of any kind. So long as she stayed silent she had a secret weapon. If she spoke, if once there were the least word, the least crack or fissure, upon which tears and screams could follow, she would have lost her one advantage, her source of ordinary viable life, and would be utterly undone and destroyed.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

“Better keep such things decently buried.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

“The Wilcoxes were not lacking in affection; they had it royally, but they did not know how to use it. It was the talent in the napkin, and, for a warm-hearted man, Charles had conveyed very little joy. As he watched his father shuffling up the road, he had a vague regret—a wish that something had been different somewhere—a wish (though he did not express it thus) that he had been taught to say 'I' in his youth.”
― E.M. Forster, Howards End

“. . . banishing his desires to the realm of the imagination, where they couldn't do any harm.”
― Kristen Roupenian, You Know You Want This

“She had inhibited her sympathy, one genuine sympathetic impulse would have ruined her.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

“Her love for men had always been somehow neurotic and unfulfilled.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Nice and the Good

“There was absolutely nothing that she could do with this huge emotion which she had so suddenly discovered in herself.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Nice and the Good

“Behind the sternness of his voice there was a shackled anger, and beneath that shackled anger there was a buried pain.”
― Dean F. Wilson, Hopebreaker

“With any other woman, he would have touched her cheek at that point and slowly backed her into her room, but she was not any other woman. She was allegedly impossible to flirt with, Sir Lyndon had said.
Martin was quite sure he had already proven that claim grossly inaccurate. And after speaking with her on the ship tonight, he was beginning to see the inaccuracy of many other things as well- his own previous impressions of her included. She was not a cold fish. She was simply repressed, with her lid on too tight, and in great danger of boiling over.
He wondered why. Did she not want joy? Did she think it wrong?”
― Julianne MacLean, Surrender to a Scoundrel

“Our leader was dead. My eyes too filled with tears, and I wept like the thousand others. I heard heartrending screeches and earthshaking howls, people gasped for breath and choked in anguish - and then my mind began to wander. Grief no longer held me in its sway; my thoughts started moving in another direction entirely. If it had been just a few people weeping, I would certainly have felt sad, but a thousand people weeping at the same time simply struck me as funny. I had never in my life heard such cacophony. Even if every living variety of beast were to send a delegate to our auditorium and they were all to below in unison, I thought to myself, they surely could not make a stranger chorus than the din of a thousand people crying their heads off.

This untimely fancy might have been the death of me. I couldn't help but smile, and then I had to fight back the laugh that was pushing its way out. If anybody were to see me laughing, I would be labeled a counterrevolutionary on the spot and life would not be worth living. Hard as I tried to bottle up my laughter, it insisted on spilling forth, and knowing I couldn't stifle it any longer, I desperately threw myself forward, hugging the back of the chair in front of me and buried my head in my folded arms. Amid weeping of a thousand people I was in the throes of uncontainable mirth, my shoulders heaving, and the more I tried to stop myself from laughing, the more laughs kept coming.

My classmates, through a curtain of tears, saw me sprawled over a chair, racked by agonizing spasms of grief. They were deeply moved by my devotion to our fallen leader, and later they would say, 'Yu Hua was more upset than anyone - you should have seen the way he was crying”
― Yu Hua

“In quel momento non credevo, comunque, di essere una persona fortunata, perché la mia è troppo la classica saga di un certo tipo di persona: oscurità incerta, meditazioni scomode e desideri repressi.”
― Davide Bregola, Tre allegri malfattori

“They beamed at each other: for a moment, Robin thought she saw the idea of hugging her cross Strike's mind, but instead he held out his hand and shook hers.”
― Robert Galbraith, Troubled Blood