There is an overwhelming amount of mental illness in our world—it’s everywhere, both can be seen in real life and in these forums. So many people are suffering, countless lives weighed down by struggles that often go unseen. Can anyone truly refute or deny this reality?

It takes a lot to not give in and give up.. once again.

I’ve seen the suffering in my mother half a century ago, and I see it this very evening, in another person’s face right this moment.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I didn’t cause it- didn’t do it- can’t undo it.

Just.. So.. Much… Pain.

What would be the point in me crumbling.. once again, collapsing, helpless, underneath the pain around me..?

Somebody HAS TO BE STRONG in the midst of all this crazy suffering.

Why Not Me?

Who is reading these words of mine.. Peter? Alessa? Maybe, just maybe Jana (still on my mind)?

Jana is probably not reading this, yet, she is still on my mind.

I miss Jana. I wish she’d be back. I wish she knew that.. well, I wish she knew that she got through to me.

I don’t want more of her criticism. No, no more criticism!

It’s the other part I miss: her genuine, honest desire to CONNECT, and my regret that I wasn’t able.

* No need to pass on this message to Jana, Alessa. It’s just silly me, missing Jana.

anita

You are welcome, Alessa. ❤️

Dear Alessa:

Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts and for asking me for advice. I feel truly honored. ❤️

As I read your words, I see a central thread running through your life—the roles of Survivor and Caregiver. From an unimaginably cruel childhood, you found ways to endure. You took on the role of protector for your brother, doing everything you could to shield him, feed him, and keep him safe in a world that made that nearly impossible.

Even now, as an adult, that instinct to care remains strong—it’s woven into who you are. You continue to give to others, finding meaning in nurturing, whether through motherhood or supporting those around you, including people in these forums.

You lived in constant fear, yet you kept going—not just for yourself, but for your brother. In many ways, caring for him became the reason you didn’t give up entirely. That role was powerful, but it also carried a heavy burden—because when survival depends on protecting someone else, it can be devastating when that protection isn’t enough.

The guilt you carry isn’t because you failed—it’s because no child should have been placed in that position to begin with. You did everything in your power, but the circumstances were beyond your control.

Now, you ask about a sense of self—because for so long, your existence has been tied to surviving and caring for others. It’s completely understandable that looking inward, beyond those roles, feels unfamiliar. Who are you outside of survival? Outside of caregiving? This isn’t a question that needs an immediate answer—just gentle exploration.

A place to start could be small moments of self-reflection:

What makes you feel at peace, even briefly?

When are you happiest?

What do you enjoy purely for yourself, without an obligation to help someone else?

If survival and caregiving weren’t the defining themes, what would you want your life to be about?

Self-care doesn’t have to be grand gestures—it can be as simple as taking time each day to focus on what you need, separate from anyone else. Even allowing yourself to consider these questions is an act of reclaiming yourself.

You are more than what was done to you. More than the roles you’ve taken on out of necessity.

You have already survived the impossible—with incredible strength. Now, you deserve the space to exist for yourself, not just for others.

I’m grateful that you shared this with me, and I’m here whenever you want to continue exploring this journey.

Warmly, Anita

I will be back to you in the morning, precious Alessa!

anita

Dear Tommy:

I will reply further tomorrow, but for now, I just wanted to say that as I read your post, just now, I felt genuine affection for you, as in: I (anita) likes Tommy 💛

I hope it doesn’t feel weird for you to read this. I suppose it’s a positive human emotion and I feel it for you this Sat evening.

anita

Dear Alessa:

Your words carry such depth, honesty, and emotional weight. Thank you for sharing your experience—it’s raw, painful, and deeply important.

First, I want to acknowledge the incredible strength it took to survive this. No child should ever have to bear the weight of an entire household, nor navigate the reality of abuse, neglect, and emotional entanglement while still trying to figure out who they are. You didn’t just endure—you protected, nurtured, and took on responsibilities far beyond what was fair. That speaks volumes about your resilience.

The way you describe your mother’s role—her illness, her dependence, her inability to care for you—highlights a devastating reversal. You were forced to be the adult in a situation where you should have been protected. The parentification, the emotional burden, and the manipulation left scars, but the deepest wound seems to be the loss of your own childhood.

The grief for what could have been—the innocence you deserved, the safety you needed—that’s something no child should have to mourn. And yet, you do. And that loss is valid.

Your shift from sympathy to resentment is completely understandable. At first, you tried to hold compassion for your mother’s suffering. Over time, you saw the cost of that compassion—how her self-destruction wasn’t just harming her, but was actively consuming you. That moment—the realization that you mattered too—was heartbreaking but necessary.

And I want to tell you this: feeling relief at the thought of escape does not make you cruel. It makes you human. You were trapped in a situation no child should ever experience, and wanting freedom—whether through distance, detachment, or even the unthinkable—was a survival instinct.

Healing from this is not just about processing the pain but also reclaiming the parts of yourself that were stolen—the childhood, the sense of self, the ability to be cared for instead of always caring for others. That takes time. It takes patience. It takes learning that you don’t have to carry everyone else’s burdens anymore.

You are not defined by what happened to you. You are someone who survived. Someone who is still here. Someone who deserves softness, safety, and peace.

Thank you for sharing. You are heard, and you are not alone. 💙

anita