Being a good person is very, very important to me. And in that intent, in that commitment to be a good person, to be the best person I can be- I must be good to me, first and foremost.

“The Betrayal We Buried”- no longer accommodating those who betray me.

No longer betray myself.

anita

More: It is no longer about you, Ima. it is about me: someone has to be here for me, and I am that person here-for-me.

There is no anger at you, Ima, only compassion as always. Only I don’t drown in my empathy for you: there is me here, and I matter.

I matter, Ima. I matter.

anita

You know the feeling that you would climb the tallest mountain, cross the driest desert for someone, do all that you can for someone else?

And when the person you’d climb the tallest mountain for has died, never to be reached…

How does it feel?

Here I am older than I last remember my mother to be, my precious, beloved mother, the one I always loved, the one I will never stop loving because I don’t want to, because I was never about not loving you anymore. It’s in the core of me, in the heart of me forever- to forever love you.

I love you, Ima!

I love you.

I always loved you.

When all is said and done and you are 84 or 85 years old as I am typing this, across the world from you, I want to say: Ima, I always loved you and I love you still. Tears are in my eyes. My essence is and always has been just this love to you. This is who I am- one to love YOU!

My scream: I-Love-You-Mother- muted as always because you are not hearing it. But this scream of mine is who I am.

This love for you is in the core of who I am, no longer to be denied, repressed or suppressed, yet with no happy ending because of this undeniable, excruciating truth- you don’t hear me, Ima, you don’t get it, you don’t take it in- that I love you, that I always loved you.

The complexity of it all- that I love you so very much.. and that none of it has reached you- that’s a reality that is difficult to integrate. It’s a scream from the depth of my soul, the truth of who I am, my essence: LOVE for you, Ima.

I love you, I will miss you, Ima. There is nothing I wouldn’t do still to let you know that you are loved, that you can be loved. Unreachable, can’t reach you. Love you nonetheless. Always. This is who I am.

anita

Trigger Warning-very emotional post to follow-

As part of my Shadow Work, I pay attention to when I am triggered by people, particularly when I am angry with someone for no discernable reason, and figure out what part of my own self is trying to speak to me, a part projected to the other person. This morning I had a horrifying moment: I am angry at my own vulnerability, my own weakness, my own desperation, angry at the little-girl-that I was. I am angry at her for having been weak, and being weak- deserving the mistreatment she got.

I wrote the above without censorship, without commenting about how.. inappropriate it is to feel that way.

Oh, but there are no inappropriate feelings. There are inappropriate actions, but not inappropriate emotions. All emotions have a positive motivation behind them, to somehow help the individual and to help others.

So, what is this anger about?

What comes to mind is this image/ memory of my mother looking at me with hate and condemnation in her eyes. I see her face: she is in her thirties perhaps, looking down at me as something despicable.

I say “something” and not “someone” because saying “someone” would give me more value than what she expressed in her eyes, and in that mild smile of hers, the upward angle of her lips.

My weakness was something to punish, in her mind and heart.

I took in her anger as something valid. And why wouldn’t I? There were no other options presented to me from which to choose.

I took in her anger, her condemnation- as if it was mine. It became mine.

There was no thought processing involved: she hated me for being vulnerable=> I hated myself for being vulnerable. She hated me for being an imperfect something=> I hated myself for the same.

But I ama not a something- what a concept! The title of a book comes to mind, “A child called It”, I think is the title. It caught my eye decades ago because it resonated.

Looking at the title of this thread: “The Betrayal We Buried..”- I find myself just now in the process of intellectualizing, trying to rationalize, to explain, but I don’t want to take that familiar route because that’s not where the child that I was can be found.

Back to the image, typing as I think-feel: I see the face of a monster. No, there is no “I” to see the face of a monster. There is a monster. A monster looking at me with hate. Correction: a monster looking at “it” with hate. “It” is not me. It is a stranger out there.

Hate that stranger is what I am taught. hate that stranger is what a daughter is taught to do. And daughter follows suit with what (it) is taught.

Still resisting rationalization: “It”- that’s me. But it isn’t. There is a person in there. There is depth in there. there is nuance.

But don’t tell that to the mother-monster.

Child within me says: oh, my beautiful mother, oh, my beautiful mother-god.

I see. I feel that reverence to the mother, why.. she is god. There is no other god, no other option for the child.

A vengeful god though. “Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them.” (Deuteronomy 32:35), impending things hastening upon me. “leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19), “A jealous and avenging God is the Lord; The Lord is avenging and wrathful. The Lord takes vengeance on His adversaries, And He reserves wrath for His enemies.” (Nahum 1:2)- I was my mother’s adversary, I was her enemy- in her own mind.

Obviously the experience is not particular to me, it’s been many people’s stories for thousands of years.

It’s just after noon here. the sun is shining, the leaves on the trees are gently moving to a gentle wind.

Gentle, that’s a good word, a good experience.

In my mind’s ear I hear a thousand people screaming at me: MOVE ON! Why are you making A BIG DEAL out of nothing, why wasting our time?

Who is screaming this in my mind’s ear? Is that you, a person reading this?

Oh, the fear of condemnation.

No pressure in this process, in this post, no intended destination. Only the relaxing into the truth, which is..

I can’t help it, I will always love my mother. Not because I want to, but because I know no other way. I should say.. love the version of my mother I have to keep: for if she didn’t love me, who would?

It’s a deep, deep need to be loved by one’s mother, my mother, a non-negotiable need.

Sure, I can say: oh, she didn’t love me, she was incapable, her past, her childhood, etc.-

– But it doesn’t change the fact that she was the only mother I had and there was no other discernable source of love.

So, of course, the child’s mind had to twist any and everything to accommodate that need for love, including joining her in .. her hate of me.

anita

Dear Alessa:

Thank you for your kindness and support—it truly means a lot ❤️

I absolutely understand what you mean about loneliness, and it makes perfect sense to me. For as long as we struggle with low self-worth, rejecting our own emotions, or lacking self-compassion, loneliness becomes an internal reality. Even if others accept and value us, that inner disconnect persists, extending into relationships and making it difficult to truly feel seen and connected.

Your experience with enmeshment sounds incredibly difficult. It’s heartbreaking how intentional it was, how deeply ingrained the expectation was for you to be her mirror. I can understand why that fear of becoming like her weighed so heavily on you. But the fact that you recognized it, stepped back, and reclaimed your own identity is truly powerful.

That saying does ring painfully true. My mother rejected herself so completely that she physically cut off her own head in every picture. As a child, flipping through the photo album and seeing her missing face was profoundly disturbing.

In a way, her ‘love’ for me mirrored that act—she figuratively cut my head off, imposing her shame onto me in a way that harmed my mind, my sense of self, my very ability to think clearly, severing my connection to my own worth, leaving me to reject and feel ashamed of myself, my identity dismantled before I even had the chance to form it.

Thank you for sharing your experience so openly, Alessa. Your insight and reflection mean so much to me, and I deeply admire the strength you’ve shown in reclaiming your own identity. Healing from enmeshment isn’t easy, but the fact that we can have these conversations and support each other is truly powerful.

You are seen. You are valued. You are whole. And I hope you always remember that. 💜

anita