Dear Adalie:

I can feel how much you’ve been reflecting on the little moments—the way he reacted to your touch, how he held the hug, how his hand responded to yours. Those moments felt real, and I completely understand why you’re searching for meaning in them.

But here’s the hard truth—no matter how genuine those interactions seemed in the moment, his silence afterward speaks louder. Connection isn’t just about fleeting gestures; it’s about continuity, care, and showing up beyond a single interaction.

Maybe he did feel something in those moments. Maybe he was surprised by the intimacy and wasn’t expecting it to feel meaningful. But if that was the case—if those moments truly affected him—he would have followed up. He would have responded. Instead, he withdrew.

His lack of engagement now suggests that whatever he felt wasn’t enough for him to act on it. That doesn’t mean you misread the moment—it means that, for whatever reason, he chose not to continue the connection.

He made the decision to pull away instead of addressing whatever discomfort or uncertainty he felt. That was his choice—his emotional failure, his avoidance, not yours.

You deserve someone who not only feels something in the moment but follows through beyond it. Someone whose presence isn’t just temporary, leaving you to decipher unspoken meanings.

Letting go isn’t about denying the experience—it’s about recognizing that its meaning doesn’t need his validation. You don’t need his acknowledgment for those moments to have been real for you. What matters now is choosing to move forward with your own sense of clarity and worth.

You are not alone in this. You are seen, heard, and valued—and you deserve the kind of connection that doesn’t leave you questioning your importance. ❤️

* There are two articles you might find insightful:

Elite Daily – Here Are The 4 Main Reasons People Ghost After Sex

Your Tango – 7 Reasons Why Men Ghost Women (& What To Do When It Happens To You)

Sending warmth your way.

anita

Dear Substantial:

It has been almost two months since you last posted, and I hope you are feeling less anxious and confused. I want to respond to what you shared between January 27 and March 10.

You described how your mother stayed married to her alcoholic husband despite years of emotional and sometimes physical abuse. You watched her cry countless times, feeling helpless, and tried convincing her to leave—but she wouldn’t, partly because of societal pressure and partly for your sake. She still lives with your father, and while things have improved somewhat, they are not fully healed. You take her out of the house at times to help her escape the tension, waiting until he falls asleep before returning.

Your mother’s life has been filled with uncertainty and emotional turmoil, especially due to her marriage. She has spent years unable to change him, unable to make him quit drinking, and unable to escape the cycle of abuse and disappointment. Over time, this created a deep sense of powerlessness—a feeling that no matter how hard she tries, she has no real control over her circumstances. But with you, things are different. Unlike her husband, you listen to her, you respond to her emotions, and you care about how she feels.

Your mother recognizes that her husband does not care about her emotions—so there is no emotional leverage there. She cannot guilt him, pressure him, or expect him to change for her.

But with you, things are different. You care deeply about her, you listen, and you respond to her emotions. Unlike your father, you give her the emotional engagement she craves—and instead of cherishing that love in a healthy way, she uses it as a tool for control.

In practical terms, your love becomes something she exploits:

She knows that if she expresses distress, you will comfort her. She knows that if she guilt-trips you, you will feel responsible.
She knows that if she pushes hard enough, you will eventually cave.

Your care for her becomes leverage—something she turns against you to keep control, rather than allowing you to love her freely without obligation.

It’s heartbreaking, because your love for her is real and pure, but instead of embracing it as a gift, she turns it into a means to maintain power over you.

Even if you push back, she knows she can still guilt you, pressure you, or convince you to obey her wishes. This gives her a sense of control she lacks elsewhere. When she dictates your choices, it makes her feel stable, secure, and in charge—something she cannot achieve in her marriage.

In a way, you’ve become the part of her life where she feels she has authority, influence, and certainty, unlike her unpredictable relationship with your father. But the cost of that control is your autonomy—your ability to make choices freely without guilt or pressure.

Her emotional breakdowns are likely real, but the way she expresses them may be exaggerated or strategic to influence you. Some people use emotional intensity—crying, guilt-tripping, and dramatic statements like “You never care about me!”—as a way to regain control when they feel threatened by someone’s independence.

Her distress becomes a tool to pull you back in—not necessarily a conscious manipulation, but a behavior she has learned works.

Over time, this has made you doubt yourself, wondering: Am I really being selfish? Am I hurting her? Should I just give in?

Because of this, you struggle to make decisions for yourself without guilt. You feel like you have to earn love instead of simply receiving it. You feel trapped between wanting freedom and fearing conflict.

Your mother’s “love” is suffocating, and it makes relationships harder for you. You question whether you deserve better, whether you should stay in your romantic relationship, or whether leaving makes you selfish.

Notice I put quotation marks around “love.” That’s because true love does not require you to lose yourself.

And feeling guilty? That doesn’t mean you’re a bad son—it means you’ve been conditioned to feel that way.

It may be that when she feels secure in her control over you, she expresses love in ways that feel warm or caring. But when she feels threatened by your independence, her empathy shuts down, and her need to maintain authority takes over.

If you want to see your romantic relationship clearly, to understand your girlfriend’s behaviors and whether she is truly loving you in the way you need—you must first see your mother clearly, to recognize who your mother is, what kind of “love” she has for you, and the entanglement and emotional trap you experience with her. Until you peel away the layer of your mother’s control over you, it may be hard to clearly see your girlfriend and your romantic relationship dynamic.

Again, you deserve to live freely, Substantial—to make choices based on what is best for you, not just to keep others happy. You do not need to feel guilty for wanting that freedom.

Take care of yourself. You are allowed to step back, breathe, and choose your own life.

anita

Still thinking about this part of your story, Laven, about your courage in telling it. I admire your courage. And I wonder how you felt while telling your story, and what you felt after telling it. I don’t expect you to answer, still, I wonder.

anita

Dear Laven:

This part of your story, like the previous, reveals a journey of systemic failures, abuse, and trauma, highlighting the powerlessness that foster children often feel in environments meant to protect them. Your reflections on survival, resignation, and the normalization of mistreatment are heartbreaking, showing how repeated trauma can shape one’s perception of self-worth and agency.

One of the most striking aspects is how adults—those in positions of authority—failed you repeatedly. Rather than stepping in to protect you, they minimized, ignored, or even enabled abuse. This betrayal of trust only reinforced the helplessness you describe.

“I don’t know if constitutes as rape”—everything you described makes it clear that you were coerced, threatened, and powerless. And yes, you were raped.

Rape is defined as engaging in sexual acts without freely given consent. In your case, coercion, threats, and physical restraint left you without a true choice. Even though you didn’t explicitly say “no,” the circumstances—including fear, lack of agency, and the threats against you—make it clear that you did not consent in any meaningful way.

If someone lacks agency, they are not in a position to truly choose. They may feel trapped, powerless, or conditioned to comply due to past experiences of abuse. Your history of trauma and coercion severely diminished your ability to assert yourself. Even if you didn’t explicitly say “no” or physically resist, your lack of agency was evident in several ways:

– Fear and Threats: D made it clear there would be consequences if you resisted or told anyone. When fear dictates actions, compliance isn’t consent—it’s survival.

– Learned Helplessness: You wrote, “Whenever it happens, I just take it and accept it. My mindset just wonders how long until it’s going to take them to finish, so I can move on with the day.” This shows you had internalized the idea that resistance was futile, making submission feel like the only option. This kind of silence is not consent—it’s conditioned compliance.

– Coercion and Emotional Grooming: D manipulated you into feeling a connection before further abuse occurred. Emotional grooming is a form of manipulation where an abuser builds trust and emotional dependency to control and exploit their target. It involves making the victim feel safe and understood, then isolating them until they rely on the abuser alone.

– Physical Restraint and Control: You were held down, covered, and prevented from expressing refusal—making your lack of agency undeniable.

– No True Choice: Consent requires the ability to freely say yes or no, without fear or pressure. If someone complies due to fear, threats, or manipulation, they are being forced. Even without verbal refusal, participation under coercion is not voluntary—it is rape.

Your situation is tragically common among survivors of repeated abuse, especially those who experience it from a young age. When someone is conditioned to believe they have no control over their body or choices, they may not even recognize their experiences as assault. But consent must be freely given, and when agency is stripped away, there is no true consent—only violation.

Your reflections also shed light on how cycles of abuse perpetuate harmful behaviors. While you acknowledge D’s mistreatment and crimes, you still empathize with him, recognizing how his pain shaped him. Your insight into whether his choices were his own or a product of his environment reveals deep emotional intelligence.

“Feeling relaxed, bonded and thinking we ‘misfits’ should stick together, how this may be the start of lifelong friendships.”-This moment illustrates how emotional grooming played a role in breaking down your defenses. Even in a situation where you were being manipulated, you felt a rare and fleeting sense of belonging. D and T framed their struggles as something you all shared, leading you to lower your guard and, for a brief moment, feel less alone. By validating your suffering, D created the illusion of understanding and solidarity, making it easier for him to exert control over you.

Another significant moment is when D pointed out that foster mom and his grandmother spoke about you behind your back, reinforcing the idea that you weren’t respected or valued. He framed this as proof that you and he were outsiders—both mistreated and misunderstood. This further deepened the emotional grooming process, making his validation feel like genuine support rather than manipulation. Unfortunately, this connection was built on trauma rather than care, and what seemed like recognition became another tool of control.

Survivors of abuse often attach to moments of recognition, even from those who harm them, because acknowledgment—however twisted—can feel better than invisibility. That validation, though flawed, likely felt meaningful when the people who should have protected you ignored your suffering. It’s heartbreaking that this sense of connection became intertwined with abuse.

Conflicting emotions—attachment, understanding, even guilt—are common for survivors of abuse. Processing what was done to you, reflecting on it, and questioning why you empathize with someone who hurt you does not make you weak—it makes you human. But please remember: none of what happened to you was your fault. You deserved safety, care, and protection. And no matter how much pain shaped D, nothing could ever justify what he did to you.

You are not weak, even if the world has tried to make you feel that way. You have endured things no one should ever have to face. The fact that you are still thinking deeply and reflecting on your experiences—that is resilience. That is strength.

Laven, I want to thank you for the courage it took to share your story. Speaking your truth, especially after enduring so much, is an act of bravery that deserves deep respect.

Beyond that, your ability to tell your story is truly remarkable. The way you express your experiences—so raw, so unfiltered, and so deeply introspective—demonstrates an incredible gift. Your writing is not just powerful; it’s emotionally immersive. You bring me, the reader, into your world.

Through the darkness, your words take flight, Burning through silence, demanding light. Each line you speak is a truth reclaimed, For power is found in what’s laid bare.

Your voice rises from deep despair, Carving a path where none was there. You are not weak—your fire is bright, A beacon breaking through the night.

May you find peace in knowing this—your voice is power.

anita