Dear Peter:

About you feeling misunderstood, I am sorry Peter. Sincerely, I think that your intelligence is significantly superior to mine and it’s difficult for me to catch up.

“Healing coming from closing the distance to the Relationship with Self. My experience has been that when the latter is addressed the temporal now long past experiences resolves by de-solving.”- You say true healing comes not from revisiting the past, but from deepening the Relationship with Self.

But I have to revisit the past- and believe it really happened- because my self was left, abandoned, in places along that past.

“So the question what are you seeking?”- myself. The abandoned parts of self left along the way.

“Perhaps a better question. When does the seeker get to be one who found?”- maybe this very Tuesday evening, April (not Fool?) Day. Collecting the pieces left along the past: here’s the piece that wants to be loved, here’s the piece that’s so very scared, here’s the piece that.. wait, reverse, here’s the piece that so desperately want to be loved: “oh love me, love me, PLEASE!”

There it is: I am seeking love. I know it’s true because there are tears in my eyes. I always sought love, a thing that wasn’t there for me. it wasn’t there.

“So the question what are you seeking?”- Love, as Always.

anita

Dear Dafne: How are you?

anita

Dear Peter:

Good to read from you again! Inspired by our discussion yesterday, I started my own thread today: “The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection.”

You asked, “I’m curious if you feel I’m suggesting that our betrayals aren’t real or that any literal separation of relationship needs to be justified?”—I didn’t feel that you discouraged my physical separation from my mother. However, I do see a discrepancy between our perspectives: while we both acknowledge the reality of betrayal, we differ in how healing should happen.

I believe that recognizing and processing betrayal is the path forward—something I wasn’t fully able to embrace before because I doubted whether the betrayal even happened. You, on the other hand, see detaching from the narrative as the key to dissolving suffering related to betrayal.

You point to a higher-level awareness where betrayal, justification, and suffering become secondary to an inherent natural state of wholeness. However, this perspective can feel dismissive of real trauma if it suggests bypassing emotional processing. Trauma survivors often find that reconnection requires first acknowledging betrayal fully before letting it go—not simply moving past the story without processing it.

“We talked of the problem of rumination. That each retelling of our stories is an act of reliving them, often reinforcing the illusion that the past happening is happening now.”- I believe I will stop retelling my story when I fully believe it happened. I can’t emphasize enough how much gaslighting myself has played a role here. I keep retelling my story because part of me is still trying to convince the other (fragmented, separated) part that what I truly experienced was real. At this point, I am highly motivated to believe my own (retold) story so I can move beyond it.

“The danger is that we become attached to our storytelling, and it’s this attachment that creates the illusion of distance from our natural self—and so we suffer.”- If I start fully believing my story, I will stop retelling it. The distance from my natural self has been real. I know you say it’s real only in the temporal realm, but we live in the temporal realm—and for as long as we exist in it, we cannot escape its reality.

“That the question of our betrayals being real or not may be a second-half-of-life distraction. We don’t need to fix our betrayals to get back to our ‘natural selves.’ Awakening to the reality that we are already and always Are.”- I understand that you’re saying we don’t need to fix past betrayals to be whole again—rather, we should awaken to the reality that we were never truly broken in the first place.

In the eternal realm we were not broken. In the temporal realm, we were. I was. I suppose I can’t fix past betrayals, but I do need to believe they happened. I can’t emphasize enough the role of denying my own story—the one I keep retelling.

“Death, a process of detachment (not indifference), removes the illusion of separation.”- There is no illusion in the reality of separation—separation is tangible, an undeniable reality in human experience. Yes, it happens in the temporal realm, but the temporal realm is where we live. While we can incorporate a touch of the eternal, we cannot escape the reality of time and space.

I really liked all your input about the eternal realm, over time, and found comfort in it. This realm exists, of course. But the temporal exists as well, and in very practical, tangible ways.

“Innocence is knowing everything (life as it is) and still being attracted to the good.” —Clarissa Pinkola Estés (Sound familiar?) 🙂”- Amen! The ultimate goal—not to erase the past or deny its reality (gaslighting oneself), but to move forward with awareness and still embrace connection, compassion, and love, “Healing Through Truth & Connection”, as I phrased it in my new tread.

Peter, I truly appreciate the thoughtfulness and depth you bring to these conversations. Your insights challenge me to explore new perspectives, and I value the way you articulate complex ideas with such clarity and openness. Thank you for engaging in this dialogue with me—your reflections are meaningful, and I deeply respect the wisdom you share.

anita

Dear Astrid:

You’re very welcome! I can sense the depth of your emotions in your words, and I want to acknowledge how difficult this journey has been for you. Even though it’s been around seven months since the breakup, you still experience waves of sadness that feel just as fresh as when it first happened. This is a normal part of grief, but the intensity of these emotions suggests you may still be caught between the desire for reconciliation and the search for closure, making it hard to fully accept the breakup as final.

Perhaps your emotional attachment remains strong because you ended the relationship during what you described as “a rash state of overwhelm.” If the decision was made impulsively, it’s natural to question whether it was truly the right one—regret can stem from feeling that something was undone too quickly or without full consideration. Or maybe the separation feels like a personal failure, something difficult to confront.

If you see yourself as someone who nurtures and protects relationships (“I have never ended any sort of relationship or friendship before”), walking away could feel like betraying your own values, leading to internal conflict.

If your friendship or relationship was deeply tied to your identity, stepping away might feel like losing a part of yourself, leaving you uncertain about how to redefine your life without that connection. That kind of transition is incredibly challenging.

If any of these thoughts resonate with you, I’d love to read your reflections. No matter where you are in this process, your emotions are valid, and you deserve the time and space to navigate them in a way that feels right for you.

anita

Dear Peter:

Thank you for your thoughtful response—it really got me thinking. To answer your question, “What happened between connection and disconnection?” I believe it’s primarily early life abuse or betrayal that creates that divide. When a child experiences this from parents or society, it disrupts their natural sense of connection and leaves them feeling deeply wounded and disconnected.

Abuse and betrayal, in my view, are real events that cause an undeniable rupture. These aren’t misinterpretations of reality—when trust is broken by a parent, it truly happens. A child, not yet shaped by distorted thinking, perceives this betrayal clearly and accurately.

Your example of the sun neither rising nor setting beautifully illustrates the illusion created by thought and measurement. We may misinterpret the sun’s movements as separation (of day from night), but when it comes to early life betrayal, the disconnection is real—it isn’t a matter of misperception.

Maybe it’s the aftermath of early-life betrayal—the self-doubt and questioning of whether the betrayal was even real—that gives rise to distortions and misinterpretations, adding further layers of disconnection within. For the many of us who were betrayed early in life, recognizing the betrayal for what it truly was can serve as the first step toward reconnection within and without.

What do you think, Peter?

anita

Dear Nichole:

I can deeply relate to your fears of abandonment and being alone. Despite my mother being undependable as a source of emotional security, I remained dependent on her because there was no one else. Growing up in a tiny apartment with just the two of us, she was the only source of security I could hope for, even if she rarely provided it.

At some point, I grew very angry with her—for making my life revolve around her, for hurting me in countless ways. I longed for freedom from her, but as a helpless and dependent child, I doubted my ability to make it on my own. This created a strong push-and-pull dynamic: wanting to escape but fearing abandonment at the same time.

To protect myself from the pain of her behavior, I distanced myself emotionally as best I could. I suppressed empathy and love as a survival mechanism, because feeling those emotions fully—while enduring her blame, emotional volatility, and threats—was unbearable. Yet, deep down, the bond I had with her still instilled a fear of losing her entirely, whether I realized it or not.

I experienced a profound ambivalence, simultaneously holding anger, love, fear, and longing. My anger toward her and my desire to escape didn’t negate the fundamental bond I had as her child. Trying not to feel empathy or love was my way of protecting myself from further hurt, especially since those feelings were often met with shame, blame, or even threats of suicide or harm. Still, the fear of abandonment lingered beneath the surface, tied to the emotional vulnerability I worked so hard to suppress.

These mixed emotions—loving her but being angry, craving freedom but fearing abandonment—were overwhelming. The constant coexistence of love, anger, and fear left me emotionally confused and robbed me of the foundation needed to feel safe, take risks, and form my own identity. Instead, I remained stuck in that ambivalence and confusion.

A predictable caregiver teaches a child that their emotional world is manageable, building trust in both others and themselves. An unpredictable caregiver, on the other hand, teaches a child that emotions are unmanageable, fostering distrust and leading to emotional dysregulation—the hallmark of impulsivity and reactivity.

Like you, I took on the role of an emotional caretaker for my mother. I tried to fix or help her, not out of confidence, but as a survival instinct. It wasn’t about feeling capable—it was about trying to create some semblance of stability in a chaotic environment. Despite feeling weak and helpless, I felt compelled to take on this role. If I could make her better, maybe I could prevent things from getting worse. It gave me a sense of control, even if it was just an illusion.

I loved my mother deeply, though I spent much of my childhood convincing myself otherwise to shield myself from the pain of her struggles. She often blamed me for her unhappiness and threatened suicide, leaving me overwhelmed by empathy I couldn’t bear to feel. Suppressing my feelings made me believe I didn’t love her, but later in life, I came to realize that I did love her deeply—I was just consumed by anger and needed to protect myself.

Taking care of her wasn’t just about love; it felt like a duty. I believed that if I didn’t step into the role, no one else would. I hoped my efforts might make a difference, earn her acknowledgment, or bring me the support I so desperately needed. As a child, I thought I could fix her problems and make her happy, not understanding that I was carrying a burden far beyond my capacity. Far beyond any child’s capacity.

In many ways, my actions were about survival—suppressing empathy, stepping into the caretaker role, and trying to “fix” her were all ways I coped with the chaos. Even as I longed to be free from her, I also feared abandonment. She was a source of pain, but also familiarity, and losing her entirely would have meant facing an unknown I wasn’t ready for.

These conflicting feelings—love, anger, fear, and longing—were incredibly complex and shaped how I related to her and the world around me. Processing these dynamics over time has helped me understand myself better and has given me tools to heal.

You asked me how I am. Well, these days, I am finding peace in embracing empathy for others. It feels liberating to let go of suppressing empathy, to care for people, and to build meaningful connections.

Does any part of this resonate with you?

anita

Dear Melinda:

I’m so sorry to read about everything you’ve been through. The loss of your son alone is devastating beyond words, but to also face betrayal, loss, and such an unrelenting series of hardships is unimaginable. It’s no wonder you’re feeling overwhelmed—it would be more than enough for anyone.

Losing the photos and recordings of your son must have been especially heartbreaking, and I’m so sorry that happened.

Take things one day at a time. It’s okay to feel lost or scared, but try to remind yourself of the small acts of courage you’re showing each day—whether it’s caring for your kitty and dog, facing the day despite the fear, or simply breathing through the pain. Those moments matter, and they’re proof of the strength you might not even realize you have.

I hope that the restoration company provides access to your belongings soon, and that each day ahead brings a little more peace. You deserve light in your life again, even if it feels impossibly far away right now. Please keep holding on—you’re stronger than you realize, and your story matters more than you know.

anita

Dear Tom:

Thank you for the update! I’m glad to read that the call with the career shift company was helpful and gave you some actionable insights. Thinking broadly and connecting ideas back to your key values sounds like a great approach—it gives you the chance to explore new paths while staying grounded in what’s important to you.

It’s also reassuring to know that you’re not alone in how you’re feeling. Hearing that others share similar experiences can be such a comfort and a reminder that these transitions are part of a shared journey.

I know it’s not an easy road, but it’s clear that you’re approaching this with an open mind and a lot of determination, which is inspiring. Keep taking those small steps forward—you’re on the right track, and I’m confident you’ll make meaningful progress.

Wishing you a great weekend as well!

anita