Dear James123:

When I read what you shared the other day about Radical Acceptance, I was genuinely struck. I had always understood the term as referring to the acceptance of external situations— situations that I cannot change. But your framing invited me to consider how it might apply to my emotions, and that felt deeply meaningful. I’d love to understand it more fully.

You wrote: “When fear comes, you don’t resist it; you let it be seen.”- Could you elaborate on this? What does “let it be seen” look like in practice?

“When anger arises, you don’t judge it; you allow it to pass like a cloud.”- As it passes, what kind of inner dialogue or awareness is present? What thinking supports that release?

“Even danger, even uncertainty, welcomed without resistance, they lose their sting.”- Is it the danger itself that’s welcomed—or the fear of danger? And again, what kind of thinking allows for that welcoming?

Thank you for sharing such a rich perspective. I’m grateful for the clarity and depth you bring to these ideas, and I look forward to hearing more.

Warmly, Anita 😊

Dear Dafne 🤍

Thank you for receiving my message with such openness and grace—it means a lot to feel that kind of resonance.

I agree so deeply: our stories are many-layered, and none of them need to be the whole truth. Just pieces we carry, sometimes heavy, sometimes light. And when someone like you reflects back kindness and understanding, it makes the weight feel a little more bearable.

I’m really glad we’re walking part of this journey in parallel. You remind me that connection doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to be real.

With warmth, Anita 🌿💖

Dear Eva:

I hope you’re feeling a bit steadier as you are reading this. I know these waves can be brutal, especially when you gave so much of yourself and still feel unseen.

I read your recent post and revisited your earlier ones, and what I see isn’t irrationality—it’s a nervous system in distress, shaped by an anxious attachment style and intensified by a painful relational pattern. What you’re experiencing isn’t weakness. It’s a response to:

* Intermittent Reinforcement: He offers crumbs of attention unpredictably, which keeps you emotionally tied to him.

* Emotional Withholding: His coldness and refusal to engage leave you chasing connection to soothe abandonment anxiety.

* Gaslighting and Reversal: Your valid needs are reframed as irrational, eroding your self-trust and amplifying self-blame.

This creates a cycle that’s not your fault—but it is exhausting: Longing → Protest → Rejection → Guilt → Longing again

You long for closeness, safety, and to feel important. (“Why doesn’t he ask how I am?”, “Why am I always last?”)->

You protest when the longing becomes unbearable—reaching out, asking for time, attention, or accountability. (“You never make time for me.”, “I feel invisible.”)->

Instead of meeting your protest with empathy, he rejects you—calling you dramatic, paranoid, or exhausting. (“You’re always fighting.”, “I can’t do this anymore.”)->

After the rejection, you spiral into guilt—wondering if you ruined everything by speaking up. (“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”, “I ruined it again.”)->

That guilt reactivates the longing. You crave resolution, want to fix it, feel the urge to reach out—even knowing it may hurt again. (“Maybe he’ll understand this time.”, “I just need to say one more thing.”)

And so the cycle begins again.

The way out isn’t to silence your protest—it’s to redirect it inward. Instead of pleading with him, speak up for yourself: “I deserve to be loved without begging.” “I will not explain my pain to someone who refuses to hear it.”

This is where healing begins—not by getting him to change, but by refusing to collapse into guilt for needing love.

If you’re ready, consider giving yourself the gift of silence, a No Contact with him—not as punishment, but as protection. Every message reopens the wound. You deserve peace. You deserve to be chosen by you.

Here’s a mantra you can use: “I do not reach out to be chosen. I choose myself by staying silent.”

And when the urge to text him rises, write it—but don’t send it. Let it be a letter to yourself. A ritual of release. A reminder that your voice is sacred, even when it’s trembling.

You are not too much. You are not the problem. You are someone who asked to be seen—and that is never a crime.

With care, Anita

💕🤗 Back to you, Dafne!

Anita

Dear Dafne:

I am- once again- moved by your words. Thank you for sharing them with such warmth and sincerity. It means so much to know that our connection has offered you comfort and encouragement—I see your light clearly, and I’m honored to witness your growth and strength.

I’m grateful for the stories we shared, the truths we named, and the space we held for each other. Please know you’re always welcome to reach out to me—whether with updates, reflections, or simply to share what’s on your heart. I’d love to continue walking alongside you in whatever way feels right.

Sending you lots of warmth and hugs 💕🤗

Anita

You are very welcome, Isabel ❤️

I wanted to add, Miss L Duchess, that it sounds like your relationship with your mother has been a big part of your experience—and some of the pain you’ve carried.

Mothers often shape so much of how we see ourselves and move through the world. I know for me, my mother’s influence ran deep for decades, and not in ways that were healthy or helpful.

If you ever feel ready, it might be worth exploring that relationship more closely—maybe in therapy, or even just through writing. Sometimes understanding those patterns can bring a lot of clarity and relief.

Anita

Hi Isabel:

I just wanted to say—I read your reply to Miss L Dutchess five days ago- and it really stayed with me. You offered such grounded empathy and clarity, especially around the grief and anger that can come with a late diagnosis. You shared your experience with so much honesty and care, and it really stuck with me.

I hope you know your message was powerful. You named things that often go unsaid, and you did it with so much care. I just wanted to appreciate that.

Warmly, Anita