Dear Omyk:

You are welcome, and thank you for your thoughtful message. I truly appreciate your openness and willingness to reflect. Not feeling equipped to answer that question right now is completely okay—some emotions take time to unfold, and clarity arrives when we’re ready for it.

There’s no rush to uncover meaning or force an answer. Sometimes, just acknowledging the presence of fear—without needing to dissect it—can be enough. Trust that when the time is right, the answers will come naturally. Until then, I hope you allow yourself space to simply be, without pressure or expectation.

anita

Dear Peter:

I find your use of the words “emotions” vs “feelings” useful for me. Emotions are the raw experience, Feelings are a mix of emotion and cognition.

I hold emotion in my hands, examining the weight, the form, the span.
Does it fit within a measured space? Can logic grant it rightful place?
But feelings slip through grids and lines, scatter past the walls of mind.
They bend and warp, defy the scale, and leave the analyst trailing pale.

The Unreliable Narrator whispers in echoes, a voice in the mist, twisting the past into stories half-missed.
A historian of shadows, a keeper of doubt, turning certainty inside-out.
It measures wounds in length and weight, tallies each sorrow, each twist of fate.
It speaks of logic, of reason, of truth— but never of healing, never of proof.

It means well—this mind of mine, shielding me from sorrow’s tide.
It builds its walls, it draws its lines, convinced that pain is best confined.
It tells me, Wait—don’t dive too deep, Stay on the shore, let silence keep.
It swears that distance keeps me whole, yet fractures linger in control.

A misguided guard, it watches still, yet whispers fear, yet bends my will.
It means to help, to dull the ache, but binds the wounds it cannot break.
What if the mind stepped back in grace, let feeling bloom, let sorrow trace?
Not to protect, not to erase— but simply trust, to give me space.

.. Trust is the essential bridge that transforms the unreliable narrator—a misguided friend—into a reliable guide. When the mind learns to trust and embrace the emotions it once repressed or suppressed, it no longer distorts their meaning but allows them to exist freely. And that—the ability to feel without resistance—is the essence of true, core freedom.

I am just beginning to experience emotional freedom. I suddenly remembered—when I was about 20, I attended an art class and painted a picture of my head with a hand reaching out of it, signaling “help me.” At the time, it felt like a deeply cathartic experience—pouring emotion into the canvas, then proudly hanging it on the wall as if to claim my truth. Now, looking back, I see it clearly: that was me, my emotions imprisoned by the unreliable narrator, crying out for release, for freedom.

anita

Dear Laven:

Your words hold incredible depth, and I want to acknowledge the strength it takes to speak about your past so openly. I hear the weight of everything you’ve carried, and I want you to know that your story matters—not because it has to “qualify” as tragic enough, but simply because your experiences are real, painful, and valid.

The helplessness in your words is clear—this sense that pain is inevitable, that suffering is preordained, that control over your own fate is out of reach. When someone endures deep trauma, learned helplessness can take hold, making it feel like there is no way out, no room for change, no choice but to accept pain as the default experience.

You speak of allowing others to “stab and throw [you] on the thorns of rosebuds,” of handing back the spear and inviting more harm. It sounds as though powerlessness has become familiar, that being wounded feels like something to endure rather than resist—as if suffering is the role life has assigned to you. But I want to tell you, Laven: you were never meant to endure this kind of suffering.

Abuse, neglect, abandonment—none of it was ever something you deserved. You deserved safety, care, and love. If the world failed to provide that, that is the world’s failing, not yours. Your survival is proof of strength, not proof that suffering is all you are destined for.

I also see something in your words—a questioning, a wondering, a search for meaning beyond survival. The fact that you reflect, examine, and try to make sense of it all is powerful. It means that somewhere within you, there is still a voice that questions whether this is all life should be. And that voice deserves to be heard.

If there is any small way to step toward something beyond survival—toward even one moment of peace, of autonomy, of kindness toward yourself—I hope you know that it is possible. That you deserve it.

I am grateful for your voice, for your willingness to share your truth. You are seen, Laven, and you are not alone. 🫂💙

anita

Dear Omyk:

I wanted to reach out again today with a new perspective on fear—one that may help in navigating its presence. Instead of resisting fear, what if you befriended it? Fear, at its core, is trying to protect you from some perceived danger, whether physical or emotional. Even when it feels overwhelming, it is rooted in a deep instinct to keep you safe.

Emotional pain itself can feel like danger, and often, we fear the weight of emotions more than the reality of the situation. But if you take a moment to gently explore what danger your fear is perceiving, you might find a way to acknowledge fear without letting it control you. Fear is not the enemy—it is a signal. What might it be telling you?

I also wanted to share The Serenity Prayer, which has helped many face uncertainty: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.”

Fear often arises from what we cannot control, but this prayer offers a way to shift our energy—toward acceptance, toward courage, and toward clarity. Sending you thoughts of courage and understanding. 🔥💙

anita

Wishing you Courage in the face of fear, Omyk. This is what I wish for myself whenever I am afraid 🔥

anita

Dear Peter: I will reply tomorrow, have a 💙 😊 weekend.

anita

Thinking of you, Laven, and reflecting on how truly exceptional you are. I hope that even a little of my admiration for you reaches you, so you can feel it too.

anita