Because disavowing our past selves is part of the fabric of female experience too, isn’t it? It’s not that baffling. We shoot our memories in the head, but it’s in self-defense, a preemptive strike against future denigration for loving the wrong thing, or loving it in the wrong way, or being the wrong kind of girl. We’re not like that anymore; you can’t hold that against us. We’re always staying one step ahead, holding ourselves to account, acting our age, always on the outside looking in. You can’t get hurt that way—which is good! But it’s hard to cultivate a coherent sense of who you are
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