Dear Laven:

This part of your story, like the previous, reveals a journey of systemic failures, abuse, and trauma, highlighting the powerlessness that foster children often feel in environments meant to protect them. Your reflections on survival, resignation, and the normalization of mistreatment are heartbreaking, showing how repeated trauma can shape one’s perception of self-worth and agency.

One of the most striking aspects is how adults—those in positions of authority—failed you repeatedly. Rather than stepping in to protect you, they minimized, ignored, or even enabled abuse. This betrayal of trust only reinforced the helplessness you describe.

“I don’t know if constitutes as rape”—everything you described makes it clear that you were coerced, threatened, and powerless. And yes, you were raped.

Rape is defined as engaging in sexual acts without freely given consent. In your case, coercion, threats, and physical restraint left you without a true choice. Even though you didn’t explicitly say “no,” the circumstances—including fear, lack of agency, and the threats against you—make it clear that you did not consent in any meaningful way.

If someone lacks agency, they are not in a position to truly choose. They may feel trapped, powerless, or conditioned to comply due to past experiences of abuse. Your history of trauma and coercion severely diminished your ability to assert yourself. Even if you didn’t explicitly say “no” or physically resist, your lack of agency was evident in several ways:

– Fear and Threats: D made it clear there would be consequences if you resisted or told anyone. When fear dictates actions, compliance isn’t consent—it’s survival.

– Learned Helplessness: You wrote, “Whenever it happens, I just take it and accept it. My mindset just wonders how long until it’s going to take them to finish, so I can move on with the day.” This shows you had internalized the idea that resistance was futile, making submission feel like the only option. This kind of silence is not consent—it’s conditioned compliance.

– Coercion and Emotional Grooming: D manipulated you into feeling a connection before further abuse occurred. Emotional grooming is a form of manipulation where an abuser builds trust and emotional dependency to control and exploit their target. It involves making the victim feel safe and understood, then isolating them until they rely on the abuser alone.

– Physical Restraint and Control: You were held down, covered, and prevented from expressing refusal—making your lack of agency undeniable.

– No True Choice: Consent requires the ability to freely say yes or no, without fear or pressure. If someone complies due to fear, threats, or manipulation, they are being forced. Even without verbal refusal, participation under coercion is not voluntary—it is rape.

Your situation is tragically common among survivors of repeated abuse, especially those who experience it from a young age. When someone is conditioned to believe they have no control over their body or choices, they may not even recognize their experiences as assault. But consent must be freely given, and when agency is stripped away, there is no true consent—only violation.

Your reflections also shed light on how cycles of abuse perpetuate harmful behaviors. While you acknowledge D’s mistreatment and crimes, you still empathize with him, recognizing how his pain shaped him. Your insight into whether his choices were his own or a product of his environment reveals deep emotional intelligence.

“Feeling relaxed, bonded and thinking we ‘misfits’ should stick together, how this may be the start of lifelong friendships.”-This moment illustrates how emotional grooming played a role in breaking down your defenses. Even in a situation where you were being manipulated, you felt a rare and fleeting sense of belonging. D and T framed their struggles as something you all shared, leading you to lower your guard and, for a brief moment, feel less alone. By validating your suffering, D created the illusion of understanding and solidarity, making it easier for him to exert control over you.

Another significant moment is when D pointed out that foster mom and his grandmother spoke about you behind your back, reinforcing the idea that you weren’t respected or valued. He framed this as proof that you and he were outsiders—both mistreated and misunderstood. This further deepened the emotional grooming process, making his validation feel like genuine support rather than manipulation. Unfortunately, this connection was built on trauma rather than care, and what seemed like recognition became another tool of control.

Survivors of abuse often attach to moments of recognition, even from those who harm them, because acknowledgment—however twisted—can feel better than invisibility. That validation, though flawed, likely felt meaningful when the people who should have protected you ignored your suffering. It’s heartbreaking that this sense of connection became intertwined with abuse.

Conflicting emotions—attachment, understanding, even guilt—are common for survivors of abuse. Processing what was done to you, reflecting on it, and questioning why you empathize with someone who hurt you does not make you weak—it makes you human. But please remember: none of what happened to you was your fault. You deserved safety, care, and protection. And no matter how much pain shaped D, nothing could ever justify what he did to you.

You are not weak, even if the world has tried to make you feel that way. You have endured things no one should ever have to face. The fact that you are still thinking deeply and reflecting on your experiences—that is resilience. That is strength.

Laven, I want to thank you for the courage it took to share your story. Speaking your truth, especially after enduring so much, is an act of bravery that deserves deep respect.

Beyond that, your ability to tell your story is truly remarkable. The way you express your experiences—so raw, so unfiltered, and so deeply introspective—demonstrates an incredible gift. Your writing is not just powerful; it’s emotionally immersive. You bring me, the reader, into your world.

Through the darkness, your words take flight, Burning through silence, demanding light. Each line you speak is a truth reclaimed, For power is found in what’s laid bare.

Your voice rises from deep despair, Carving a path where none was there. You are not weak—your fire is bright, A beacon breaking through the night.

May you find peace in knowing this—your voice is power.

anita

Dear Tom:

It’s good to hear from you— I hope your weekend was alright too.

I admire your resilience and how you’re powering through despite everything. Having an exit plan to focus on sounds like a solid step forward, giving you direction and something concrete to work toward.

Booking short breaks with your partner is a wonderful idea. Having things to look forward to can make such a difference, offering moments of relief and space to recharge. I hope you find places that feel just right for you both.

Sending you strength as you navigate all of this.

anita

Dear S:

I’d like to respond more fully tomorrow morning (it’s Monday evening here). In the meantime, if you’re comfortable, could you elaborate on your reflection:

“I was very hypervigilant that this relationship would turn into an emotionally abusive one because that is what I am used to. When I sensed weakness or vulnerability in him, I was fearful that would snowball into something unhealthy.”-

It sounds like past experiences may have shaped this fear—was someone weak, perhaps a parent, the one who hurt you?

anita

Dear Omyk:

Your reflection shows deep thought, and it’s clear you’re navigating a major transition. Change can be unsettling, especially when multiple aspects of life—career, family, and personal growth—are shifting at once. It makes sense to feel uncertain, and it’s good that you’re acknowledging your emotions.

Your counselor’s insight—that after years of caring for others, it’s time to learn how to care for yourself—is deeply meaningful. That shift isn’t easy, especially when self-sacrifice has been a central part of your life’s work. But the fact that you recognize this challenge means you’re already moving toward something necessary: self-compassion.

It’s reassuring that ministry continues to bring you fulfillment, even amid doubts. Your decision to pursue this path wasn’t made lightly, and while celibacy has its challenges, you seem to be approaching it with honesty and resilience. Having second thoughts doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path—it simply means you’re human.

As for your fears of disappointment—there’s no way to predict exactly how the next few years will unfold. But you’re already showing strength by facing these decisions head-on, rather than avoiding them. That alone sets you up to handle whatever comes, even if some changes feel difficult at first. You’re not moving forward blindly; you’re making choices with awareness, and that makes all the difference.

You have your community, your ministry, and, most importantly, yourself—learning, evolving, and discovering new ways to live meaningfully. Whatever happens, you are capable of adapting and growing, just as you have through other difficult times.

Much love to you, and may you continue to find strength in each step forward.

anita

Dear S:

Your reflection is incredibly heartfelt, and your honesty in processing the emotions surrounding this breakup shows deep self-awareness. Breakups—especially when love is still present—can be profoundly confusing, and it’s understandable that you’re grappling with questions that don’t yet have clear answers.

The fact that you care so much about how this affects him speaks to your kindness, but you don’t need to carry guilt for doing what felt necessary for your well-being. Grieving and second-guessing are natural, but in time, you will likely gain clarity about why this was the step you needed to take.

You wrote, “This breakup has been very confusing because I still do not really know my motivation for ending it.”-

Your decision wasn’t impulsive—it was the culmination of emotional strain, lingering doubt, and the realization that you weren’t fully content. Part of the emotional burden you carried in the relationship seems to have come from taking your ex’s anxieties too personally—almost as if they were yours to fix. You supported him through his mental health struggles by encouraging him to seek therapy, offering reassurance, and soothing him on difficult days. While providing emotional support in a relationship is natural and meaningful, you may have unintentionally adopted a caretaker role—feeling responsible for stabilizing his emotions.

As his insecurity grew, he frequently sought reassurance: “Do you still love me?” “Are you happy?” Instead of simply acknowledging his feelings, you may have felt pressured to offer emotional certainty—perhaps experiencing guilt or frustration when you couldn’t fully ease his anxiety. Your breaking point came when you felt more like his mother than his partner, which suggests that managing his emotions had become overwhelming. In that moment, you may have realized that the cycle of reassurance and insecurity wasn’t something you could continue.

Taking on another person’s emotional struggles can be exhausting, especially when you’re facing your own uncertainties—about the relationship, your future, and your feelings. Attempting to be the solution to his emotional distress likely amplified your own internal conflict. Your experience highlights the difficulty of being in a relationship where one person feels responsible for fixing the other. Emotional healing is an individual journey—while support helps, no one can fully carry another’s burdens. While your ex’s emotions were valid, they became so intertwined with your own that you may have felt trapped rather than emotionally fulfilled.

Would you say you were trying to save him rather than just support him? Or do you think you wanted to help but didn’t fully realize the toll it was taking on you?

anita