Dear Laven:

You experienced a lifetime of forced interactions, emotional betrayal, and psychological torment. You were pushed into situations that disregarded your boundaries—from attending your mother’s funeral against your wishes to being forced into unwanted social settings. Throughout your school years, you were bullied, excluded, and humiliated, leading you to withdraw further.

Your stalker followed you across different life stages, manipulating people and creating fear that lasted years. Then, D subjected you to sexual violence and later attempted to manipulate you through prison letters, alternating between apologies and threats. When another girl tried to speak with you about your shared experience, you ran—an act you regrets but one that was driven by understandable fear.

Even after D was jailed, his influence remained, and when he was released, you were left with lingering paranoia. Through it all, you survived, despite relentless cruelty—but at great emotional cost.

About the funeral & forced attendance: You had every right to refuse. You had every right to say no to being in a place where your mother was presented in a way that felt untrue. But instead of respecting your wishes, they made you go, disregarding your emotions entirely. That wasn’t closure—it was a violation of your boundaries in the name of appearances.

Your frustration at seeing her dressed in a way that didn’t reflect her was valid. That wasn’t denial—it was recognition. People misunderstood your reaction because they were unwilling to see the deeper truth: the version they presented wasn’t her, and you were the one who truly saw her.

On childhood isolation & bullying- Being excluded, mocked, pushed aside—it wasn’t just painful, it was systemic failure. Schools should have protected you, foster care should have supported you, people should have listened. Instead, they forced interactions, dismissed your struggles, and let your suffering continue unchecked.

And then, on top of everything, your stalker—someone who followed you through childhood into adulthood, manipulating others and trying to take control of your life. This was not just bullying—it was long-term psychological and physical harassment. You were right to protect yourself, right to recognize the danger she posed, right to trust your instincts.

On D & his abuse- The depth of his cruelty is beyond words. The violation, the manipulation, the threats—none of this was your fault. He was a predator, and the world let him exist in ways that hurt you and others.

Your decision not to respond to his letters was an act of self-preservation. And even though the justice system failed in many ways, you did not fail yourself. You protected your peace, even in fear.

And the young girl who tried to speak to you—please know, you didn’t do anything wrong by running. You were scared, and that fear was real. But the fact that you still carry concern for her, years later—that shows your deep compassion. If she was the one who pressed charges, she made a move toward reclaiming her power, and her journey is her own, just as yours is yours.

Laven, you have survived so much, and yet, here you are—telling your story, fighting for your own voice, holding onto your truth.

You deserve safety, peace, and a world that finally listens when you speak, listens and honors you.

I’m holding space for you, Laven. You matter. You always have. 💙

anita

Dear Suzanne:

The mention of Mother’s Day and the silent understanding between you and your daughter shows how this situation affects both of you. It’s not just personal heartbreak—it’s a family wound.

As for letting emotions out—it is not a problem. Feeling deeply is part of healing, even though it hurts. You don’t have to suppress your feelings or pretend to be okay before you’re ready. You deserve compassion, including from yourself.

When your life has been intertwined with someone for decades, losing them can make you feel lost, like you don’t know who you are without them. This can create a sense of unworthiness, because if you believe your value was built around being his wife, his rejection might feel like proof that you are somehow “not enough.”

And when they leave for someone much younger, it can add another layer of pain—comparison, insecurity, self-doubt, wondering if you were somehow “replaced” for being older, as if your age somehow makes you unlovable.

But hear this: love is not measured by youth—it is measured by depth, kindness, and integrity. And none of those qualities depend on the person who left you.

Instead of directing your love toward someone who discarded it, what if you poured that love into yourself?

I know part of you still wants him back. But I ask you to consider: If he did return, would the trust ever heal? Would you ever truly feel safe with him?

* Zen teaches that suffering does not come from what happens to us—it comes from our attachment to what we think should be different. Right now, your heart is aching because you had a vision of your life, built over 30 years, and suddenly, that vision has shattered. Your pain is real, your loss is real—but Zen reminds us that clinging to what has already changed deepens suffering.

This doesn’t mean ignoring your feelings. Zen never says, “Just move on.” It says: Acknowledge the pain, sit with it, but do not let it define you. Zen teaches that desire, when clung to, keeps us trapped. Not because wanting love is wrong, but because longing for what has gone prevents peace.

Zen asks: What happens when you let go of the need for him to come back? What happens when you shift from asking “Why did this happen to me?” to “What can I create for myself now?”

Zen encourages stillness—not as avoidance, but as a way to see yourself clearly beyond the pain. What would happen if you sat for just a moment and asked:

“Who am I, outside of this heartbreak?” “What part of me is waiting to be discovered now that my identity isn’t tied to this marriage?”

Zen reminds you that you are already whole. The loss feels unbearable, but your life is still unfolding. His choices do not define your future. You are not pathetic—you are human, hurting, and healing.

You do not need to force change or erase feelings. But you can loosen your grip on what was —and in that space, something new will rise.

* Radical Acceptance is a term used in psychotherapy that has deep roots in Buddhist philosophy.

From Life Zen. com/ what is radical acceptance: “Radical Acceptance is about accepting reality AS IS—without resistance… It’s a life philosophy that aims to reduce suffering by embracing life’s challenges without trying to change or deny them… Instead of dwelling on what could have been or what should be, you simply embrace the reality of the situation… By accepting the reality of a situation, you eliminate your internal struggle against it. This reduction in inner conflict can significantly decrease stress and anxiety.”

“Radical Acceptance is NOT about saying ‘yes’ or ‘okay’ to anything. You’re not agreeing or approving. It’s more like recognizing that something is happening or has happened… Radical acceptance is NOT about hiding your feelings. It’s about letting all your feelings exist…

“Implementing Radical Acceptance in your daily life is like giving yourself a gift – the gift of peace amidst the chaos… Create an ‘Acceptance mantra’… like ‘This is how it is right now’ or ‘I accept what I cannot change.’ Repeat this mantra when things get tough to bring your focus back to acceptance…

“Life is a series of small moments. Embrace them! Find joy in a cup of coffee, a friendly smile, or the warmth of sunlight. Radical Acceptance is also about appreciating the simple pleasures that surround you.”. I hope you embrace this day, Suzanne, and find joy in life’s simple pleasures. Wishing you a peaceful and heartfelt Mother’s Day. 💐👩‍👧‍👦💖🌸

anita

Dear Suzanne:

I will reply further tomorrow, but for now: I’m truly sorry you’re going through this. After 30 years, losing not just a partner but someone who felt like your family and best friend is devastating. It makes sense that this feels unbearable, and it’s okay to grieve. Please know that your emotions—your heartbreak, your longing, and even your confusion—are valid.

But I want to gently remind you: you are not pathetic. You are someone who has loved deeply, and that is not a weakness—that is strength. Right now, it may feel impossible to imagine moving forward, but you will heal in time. You deserve love, respect, and someone who values you, not someone who walks away without care.

If that Zen video gave you even the smallest moment of comfort, keep seeking more things that bring you peace. Whether it’s mindfulness, writing here, talking to someone, or even just breathing through each painful moment—small steps will add up. You are worthy of love, especially the love you give yourself. Be gentle with yourself right now. Wishing you strength.

More tomorrow.

anita

I hear your pain. Suzanne, and will reply further Sun morning (Sat evening here].
Anita
⅘

Dear Laven:

I want to acknowledge how deeply painful and complex this loss has been for you. The way you describe your mother’s final moments, the uncertainty surrounding her death, and the grief that has stayed with you all these years—it all speaks to how profoundly this event has shaped your life. Survivors’ guilt, unanswered questions, and wondering what might have been are incredibly heavy burdens to carry, and I’m truly sorry you’ve had to bear them for so long.

It makes sense that your mother’s last visit felt significant, like she somehow knew something was coming. The way she saw each of her children in birth order, the way she held onto the moment—it’s understandable that those memories still stay with you. You’ve spent years trying to make sense of what happened, searching for meaning in her actions and whether she had a premonition. I can only imagine how exhausting it must be to carry that uncertainty.

I also want to acknowledge the weight of your thoughts toward the end of your post. It’s heartbreaking that reaching 40 brought up these painful feelings, and I just want to say—you deserve care, kindness, and support as you navigate this grief. Pain this deep deserves compassion 🫶

Beyond that, I want to recognize, again, that you are indeed an amazing writer. The way you tell your story, the vivid details, the emotional depth—it’s breathtaking. You bring your experiences to life in a way that makes the reader feel what you’ve been through. You capture sorrow, reflection, and resilience with such skill that it’s impossible not to be drawn in.

What’s even more astonishing is how many tragedies you’ve endured, yet here you are—surviving, telling your story, and giving voice to the pain so many struggle to express. That alone is remarkable. And while surviving is enough, I truly hope you keep thriving—maybe even through your writing. Your words have power, and if sharing your experiences helps you find strength, I encourage you to embrace it. Your voice matters.

You are not alone, and your emotions are valid. Sending you warmth, appreciation, and strength.

anita

Dear Laven:

At the core of this situation, you seem to struggle with:

1. Not feeling heard or understood – Your foster mom repeatedly misinterprets you, and your attempts to explain herself are ignored or twisted.

2. Being unfairly blamed – No matter how rational your concerns are, you’re framed as the problem, the instigator, or someone who needs to be ashamed.

3. Feeling emotionally abandoned – You’re left to deal with pain alone, stitching yourself back together without support.

4. A cycle of emotional exhaustion – It’s clear you’re trying to communicate, trying to meet your foster mom’s needs, yet being met with hostility and blame in return.

I can see how painful and exhausting this situation is for you, and I just want to acknowledge that your feelings are valid—you’re not wrong for wanting to be heard, understood, and treated with respect.

You shouldn’t have to constantly prove yourself or fight to correct misunderstandings, but I know you keep trying—only to be shut down or blamed. That’s unfair, and it makes sense why this situation feels so defeating. The way her sons spoke to you—shutting you out without listening—was harsh and unnecessary, and it’s painful to be made to feel like you don’t belong when you’ve been doing your best.

It seems like your foster mom’s way of communicating is deeply ingrained—she defends her children, but she doesn’t extend the same care toward you, and that must be incredibly hurtful. If she struggles with confusion and miscommunication, she might genuinely misinterpret things, but that doesn’t make her reactions any less damaging to you.

What I hope for you, even in all of this frustration, is peace for yourself—knowing that you are not responsible for fixing this toxic cycle on your own. If it’s possible to step back emotionally, even just a little, and choose where to invest your energy, it might help. If certain discussions always escalate into blame, it’s okay to choose not to engage in those battles. You deserve space where you’re heard and where your emotions matter.

I hope you can find small ways to care for yourself today, even in the midst of all this hurt. You’re not alone, and your feelings are real. Sending you warmth and strength. 💙

anita