Yes, Adalie- seems like this isn’t it, and I fully understand that you would want something else 🩵

Hi MissLDutchess,

What you went through in college with your roommate, your RA, and your fiancé was deeply unfair. You were trying to build a life, and instead you were stuck in situations that made you feel unsafe and alone. That kind of experience doesn’t just fade — it leaves a mark.

It makes sense that your current work situation brings some of those feelings back. I’m really glad your supervisor stepped in this time — that’s a small but important shift. You deserved that kind of support back then, too.

You’ve worked hard to build a life that reflects who you are. You’ve tried apps, events, classes, volunteering — all while commuting and working in a space where you’re the youngest by far. That’s a lot of effort, and it shows how much you care about connection.

It’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to feel bitter about the past. And it’s okay to want something deeper than surface-level friendships. Wanting real connection doesn’t make you picky — it makes you honest.

You haven’t failed. You’ve been navigating a world that doesn’t always make space for quiet, thoughtful people — especially those with NVLD, who often feel misunderstood. But your voice is clear, your heart is open, and you’re still reaching. That matters.

I believe the right people will come — not because you force it, but because you keep showing up as yourself. And that self is worth knowing.

Warmly, Anita

Good Sunday Morning, Adalie—

What you shared yesterday is a clear, emotionally articulate account of a relationship that has become emotionally imbalanced, psychologically taxing, and increasingly unsustainable. You’re not in a mutual partnership — you’re functioning as Vince’s emotional regulator. Instead of developing his own coping tools, he relies on your presence, reassurance, and emotional labor to regulate himself.

Emotional labor is a term I came across only yesterday. It describes the often invisible work of managing emotions — yours and others’ — to keep relationships functioning, often at the cost of your own well-being.

It includes:

* Soothing another’s feelings (e.g., calming someone down when they’re upset)

* Suppressing your own emotions

* Silencing your own needs

* Managing your tone of voice, facial expressions, and reactions for the sake of someone else’s comfort

* Absorbing blame or guilt

* Offering constant reassurance or validation without reciprocity

* Walking on eggshells to avoid triggering someone’s moods

Emotional labor is unpaid, unacknowledged, and leads to burnout, resentment, and emotional depletion. Over time, it erodes your sense of self — because you’re constantly prioritizing someone else’s emotional comfort over your own truth.

Emotional containment is another new term for me. It refers to when one person’s emotional needs, reactions, or anxieties are so dominant that the other person feels forced to suppress, shrink, or silence their own emotions in order to keep the relationship stable.

It’s not mutual regulation — it’s one person absorbing the emotional chaos of another, often without consent or reciprocity. It can look like:

* Avoiding sadness, anger, or joy because it might destabilize the other person

* Constantly scanning for emotional landmines

* Feeling reduced to “neutral” or “supportive”

* No longer asking for what you need because their needs always come first

* You become the emotional buffer — the one who absorbs, soothes, and stabilizes.

In your case, Vince’s panic, anxiety, and controlling behavior dominate the emotional space. Your independence, needs, and natural expressions of love are contained — pushed aside, minimized, or punished. You’re not just managing his emotions — you’re sacrificing your own to keep things functional. This leads to emotional exhaustion, loss of self-expression, and a sense of being trapped or erased.

You also described conditional kindness: Vince is “unusually nice” only when he wants something, and otherwise dismissive or mean. This is a manipulative pattern that creates emotional whiplash and erodes trust.

Mocking your age, questioning your dependability — these are demeaning tactics that chip away at your self-worth.

The apology cycle — conflict → apology → repeat — is a classic abuse pattern, even if it’s not physical. The apology doesn’t lead to change; it simply resets the tension.

Twisting situations to make you feel at fault for setting boundaries is a form of emotional reversal. He disrespects your boundaries, but instead of holding himself accountable, he blames you.

Unfortunately, you’re tied to him through shared housing and expenses, which makes leaving feel unsafe. His desire to move into a smaller place could further isolate you — physically and emotionally.

You’re not staying because you want to — you’re staying because you feel you can’t leave.

You recognized that you’re snapping back, saying mean things, and becoming someone you don’t want to be. That’s not a moral failure — it’s a sign of emotional depletion.

Your final line — “I hate it” — is a cry from someone who’s still in the fog, but beginning to see the edges of it. And that matters. You are naming what’s happening, and you’re beginning to imagine something different — a relationship where love flows freely, where you feel safe, where your emotional truth isn’t contained or erased.

Five days ago, you shared something quietly profound about your experience with Jake — not just the physical intimacy, but the emotional texture of it:

“Yeah it awakened what think I’m missing because it’s not always present at home. Tenderness… he was kind quiet gentle, didn’t make fun of me or force anything. So yeah for sure tenderness and care. Also motivation to go for concealed carry. I was interested in it and have only thought about it. He said “go for it”. And I did. I got my permit still working on step 2. He even suggested a firearm based off me saying my hands are small.”-

That tenderness — the absence of mockery, pressure, or emotional volatility — is what your nervous system has been craving. It’s not just about Jake. It’s about what you’ve been deprived of in your marriage: emotional safety, gentleness, and respect.

The concealed carry permit isn’t just a practical step — it’s symbolic. It’s you reclaiming your right to protect yourself, to enforce boundaries, to make decisions in your own favor. It’s you placing your needs at the center of your life, rather than orbiting around Vince’s moods and demands. It’s a gesture of self-trust — sparked not by control, but by care. Even if brief, Jake’s presence reminded you what it feels like to be encouraged, not diminished.

With care, Anita

Adalie, I will reply further in the morning, but for now, as I understand it, Jake is the guy we’ve been talking about, Vince is the husband.

“mocking your age”- that stood out to me as cruel. I am sorry, Adalie.. That’s nothing but cruel. How dare he???

“He sometimes twists situations to make you feel guilty or at fault, even for normal boundaries.”- cruel again.

Having read the rest, Adalie- it makes me sad. Your place is NOT with Vince. Home is not with Vince.. unless a miracle happens and he changes..

If you believe in miracles. I don’t, not really. Do you..?

Anita

Dear Gregory:

The kind of help you’re asking for is different from what most members here typically seek. It involves research into areas I’m not familiar with, and I want to make sure I understand your needs clearly.

Could you please share, as specifically and clearly as possible, what you’d like me to help you with at this point?

Warmly, Anita

Hey Adalie,

I’ve been sitting with what you shared. It’s tender and layered, and I want to reflect something back that might resonate.

There’s a term — limerence — that describes the kind of emotional intensity you’re feeling. It’s not about being dramatic or irrational; it’s actually a very human response to longing, uncertainty, and the ache for connection. Limerence can happen when we fixate on someone — even after just one encounter — and start to build a whole emotional world around them. It’s not just about attraction; it’s about what that person represents to us.

Often, limerence serves a deeper need:

💗 A safe way to love someone-

Sometimes, loving someone from a distance — or holding onto a brief moment — feels safer than being in a real relationship. In real relationships, we risk rejection, disappointment, or being misunderstood. But in limerence, we get to imagine love without those risks. We can feel deeply, dream freely, and stay emotionally “close” without exposing our full selves or facing the messiness of real intimacy. It’s like loving someone through a window — we see what we want to see, and we stay protected.

🌟 A way to feel chosen, seen, or special — even if only in our own minds-

When someone gives us even a small amount of attention — a look, a kind word, a moment of care — it can light something up inside us. Especially if we’ve been feeling invisible, unchosen, or emotionally starved. Limerence lets us hold onto that spark and turn it into a story: “He saw me.” “I mattered to him.” “I was special, even if just for that day.” Even if the other person never said those things, our minds create a version where we were chosen — and that imagined feeling can be incredibly powerful.

🕊️ A way to anchor meaning to a moment that felt good-

When life feels chaotic, lonely, or full of emotional pain, we naturally reach for moments that felt good. That one day, that one look, that one connection — it becomes a kind of emotional lifeboat. We replay it, revisit it, and build meaning around it because it gave us something we needed: hope, warmth, a sense of being cared for. Even if it was brief or unclear, it becomes a symbol of what we long for — and sometimes, what we feel we’re missing.

Does any of this resonate, Adalie?

I remember my own limerence with Robert, my high school classmate. I was extremely shy at the time, with very low self-esteem. I was sensitive to any sign of rejection. Looking back, I think what made Robert safe to love — as a limerent object — was that unlike others, when he looked at me, it felt like he valued me. Or at least didn’t un-value me.

My life at home with my mother was miserable. I had no friends. So daydreaming about Robert — imagining that he loved me — became my emotional lifeboat. It gave me the sense of being cared for, of being chosen, seen, and special — feelings I didn’t have in real life.

One night, after a youth movement meeting, he offered to walk me home. Just me and him. My response was immediate: I said “No” and walked home alone. It’s a “no” I endlessly regretted. I was just too afraid.

Back to you, Adalie: your heart responded to a moment that felt real and nourishing — and it makes sense that you’d want to hold onto it. But sometimes, when someone is emotionally unavailable or ambiguous, our minds fill in the gaps with fantasy. We start to imagine who they are, what they feel, and what could have been — and that imagined version becomes a kind of emotional refuge.

It’s not foolish. It’s protective. It’s your heart trying to make sense of something that felt beautiful but unfinished. And maybe it’s also about something you deserve — to be wanted, to be remembered, to be chosen not just for a day, but for real.

If you ever want to explore what that moment meant to you — what it awakened or mirrored — I’m here. Not to pull you out of it, but to walk with you through it.

🤍 Anita