Dear Ada:

First, I want to acknowledge a part of my last reply that may have felt off. I speculated about a possible sexual attraction to his sister growing up—and looking back, I realize there was no evidence of that in anything you shared. I truly didn’t intend to introduce discomfort. I let an idea run ahead of the facts, and I’m sorry.

I reread your posts this morning. One line that stood out:

“For the past few years, I’ve grown more and more spiteful of their relationship… over time the emotional intimacy of it is really eating away at me.”-

That hit me—because it shows how long you’ve been carrying this. You’re not reacting to a passing frustration. This has been a long-term emotional strain, and it hasn’t gotten better—it’s gotten heavier. That alone tells me this isn’t something that can be quietly tolerated or rationalized away. It needs resolution.

Another line that carried unexpected weight was:

“I can’t help but get annoyed at my boyfriend’s tone of voice when comforting her.”-

Tone often says more than words—it carries emotional truth, those subtle signals of warmth, tenderness, or protection that we don’t always name out loud. You might be picking up on an intimacy that contradicts what he says: “She’s like a sister to me… you’re the most important person in my life.” But when the tone feels too soft, too intimate, too partner-like—it can be deeply unsettling. And hard to forget.

Another line:

“She’s flirtatious, promiscuous, open with her feelings. I’m quiet, reserved, and selective with my emotional intimacy.”-

This contrast may lie at the heart of his attachment to her (I’ll refer to her as “B”). You, Ada, represent steadiness, reflection, and a deeper emotional connection—someone he can build a future with. B, on the other hand, brings emotional energy, spontaneity, and a sense of lightness. So he’s receiving two very different emotional experiences:

With you: commitment, depth, emotional accountability.

With B: freedom, play, and low-stakes emotional ease.

In his friendship with B, he seems to take the role of protector or emotional anchor—especially when she’s in distress. Because she leans on him more than he leans on her, it may reinforce a sense of control or even superiority. Not maliciously, but it can feel good to be needed without having to be vulnerable in return.

B validates him—makes him feel seen, admired, maybe even emotionally useful—without asking him to change, confront difficult truths, or engage in real emotional compromise. That makes the dynamic low-maintenance, emotionally one-sided, and—most of all—safe.

No discomfort. No negotiations. Just affirmation.

But in your relationship, there’s real depth. You bring emotional clarity, needs, boundaries. Without realizing it, he might be leaning on B for “easy” emotional connection while relying on you for structure and long-term grounding. And that imbalance takes a toll—on you.

Another thing that stood out to me this morning is how strange it is that you’ve never met his best friend. After four years, that may be intentional. If it were truly platonic and healthy, meeting her should feel natural. The fact that it hasn’t happened suggests that something may not hold up in daylight.

It seems to me that he’s prioritizing his own comfort over your emotional safety. That’s where the selfishness lives—not in the friendship itself, but in his unwillingness to confront the effect it’s had on you. From everything you’ve shared, this borders on emotional infidelity—where someone gives significant emotional energy to someone outside the relationship in a way that feels intimate, romantic-adjacent, and boundary-blurring.

Ada, I’d really welcome your thoughts on what I wrote—what resonates, what doesn’t, or what feels like it’s still missing. Your reflections are so thoughtful and honest, and I’d love to hear how this lands with you. Truly. 🤍

With care, Anita

Dear Ada:

Thank you for continuing to share so openly. What you’re working through isn’t just relational—it’s emotional architecture shaped over time, and I can feel how deeply you’re trying to understand not only Sam, but yourself in the midst of it all. That kind of reflection takes real courage.

You wrote: “Over several years and several arguments, Sam has been less and less involved in Sarah’s life to the point where they only exchange a few greetings here and there now.”-

And while that shift in behavior matters, without him fully acknowledging your emotional experience—your confusion, pain, and sense of displacement—his distancing from Sarah can feel superficial, more like avoidance than growth.

If he hasn’t taken the time to redefine what friendship means within a committed romantic relationship—or created space for you to feel safe and emotionally grounded—then even minimal contact with Sarah might still feel like too much. That’s because the emotional framework is missing.

By emotional framework, I mean the shared understanding that helps both of you feel secure and aligned in your relationship. Some questions that might help you explore this together include: – What does emotional closeness mean to each of you? – When does friendship become emotionally intimate, and how is that different from romantic intimacy? – Is it okay to share personal details with a friend, or does that feel exclusive to the relationship? – What does emotional safety look like for each of you? – What kinds of interactions trigger insecurity, and why? – Do you understand and express emotions in similar ways, or do your experiences of the same moments differ based on how you interpret them?

Earlier you shared:

“I’m quiet, reserved.” And today you said: “I’ve expressed all of these perceived boundary violations to my boyfriend… though always through anger and outrage, and not as level-headed as I have here… I need resolution here. I want mental and emotional clarity before I talk to Sam about it again.”-

You’ve absolutely been level-headed here, and I was so very impressed by how level-headed you have been from your very first post, holding both sides of this very complicated relationship.

But I wonder—what if you gave your outrage space to breathe? Not with Sam, at least not yet, but here—with me, or someone else you trust. What if you let it come out in a stream of consciousness, loud and raw, without needing to shape it for calmness or fairness? What if you flipped quiet and reserved on its head and gave your fire some voice?

This outrage didn’t arrive out of nowhere. It’s lived inside you for a long time, bubbling up through arguments, emotional mismatches, and moments where your truth wasn’t fully heard. And because it hasn’t had a safe outlet outside conflict, it’s stayed unresolved. That doesn’t make it irrational—it makes it important.

Sometimes resolution doesn’t begin with soft words. Sometimes it starts with truth, spoken boldly and without apology.

If you want to do that here, I’m right beside you. Just you, your words, your voice—and someone ready to hold all of it with care.

🤍 Anita