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anita
ParticipantDear Omyk:
Thank you for your message. I truly appreciate that you’re taking time to reflect before responding.
I’m glad you’ve been able to spend time at your haven, and I imagine visiting your wife’s burial site must have stirred emotions in ways you didn’t expect. Grief has a way of evolving, sometimes catching us off guard, even when we think we’ve reached a steady place with it. I hope this visit brought you something meaningful, even in the intensity of it.
As for responding promptly, I make it a point to acknowledge people because I hate the idea of people’s posts being ignored on the forums. That’s why I always post a note when I intend to respond later—it’s important to me that people know their words are being heard.
Looking forward to hearing from you when the time feels right.
anita
anita
ParticipantDear Daisy Lily Rose:
I admire your willingness to explore this experience rather than dismiss it. The emotions you’re feeling—whether rooted in spiritual connection or the natural longing for companionship—seem to be calling for your attention. Regardless of the source, what’s clear is that this person has become a presence in your life, in ways that feel beyond your control.
It makes sense that loneliness and the weight of caregiving could amplify these feelings. You’ve dedicated yourself to others, and perhaps, a part of you is longing for someone to hold space for you. But your connection to this individual feels layered—it’s not just about external longing, but something deeper that keeps surfacing unexpectedly.
Maybe the question isn’t simply whether this is a spiritual bond or a psychological response, but what this experience is trying to teach you. Is it about exploring human connection in a new way? About acknowledging emotions that have been waiting to be felt? Or about considering what fulfillment looks like in this phase of your life?
You don’t need immediate answers, and overthinking might cloud what your intuition is already telling you. Allow yourself the space to experience what you feel without judgment. If possible, would it bring clarity to have a more direct interaction with this person—to understand who he truly is outside of these passing moments?
You are not alone in navigating these complex emotions, and your introspection is a gift. Whatever direction you choose, let it be one that honors your own emotional well-being.
Sending you warmth and understanding. 💙
anita
April 30, 2025 at 11:23 am in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445261anita
Participant* Correction: to not allow mistreatment.
April 30, 2025 at 11:18 am in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445260anita
ParticipantContinued: I have become aware of my own weakness, my own vulnerability, of how deeply I have been hurt and damaged by past abuses and emotional neglect.
In this newer, evolved awareness, I am determined to proceed in these two ways: (1) to do-no-harm: to not mistreat others, (2) to not be harmed by others, best I can: to not be allow mistreatment.
The two must coexist.
“Help me. Don’t Hurt me” (my above post, yesterday) and.. I will not mistreat you, and I will help you, if you are open to my help.
In regard to my mother and other people with similar claims (claims that me trying to protect myself from their abuse = me abusing them)- I am done with this gaslighting. If you mistreat me, and I respond with: “Hey, you hurt my feelings and it makes me angry with you!”- that’s not me mistreating you, that’s my valid reaction to you mistreating me.
anita
anita
ParticipantDear Omyk:
You are very welcome! You asked, “What are your thoughts on the significance of place?”- I think that the significance of place is deeply personal—it’s not just about geography, but about belonging, comfort, and emotional well-being.
It sounds like your retirement home has transformed from a space of pain to a sanctuary—a place where you feel grounded and connected to something deeper. And with your brother nearby, it offers more than just a familiar setting; it provides a link to meaningful relationships, which is rare and valuable.
Your reflections on closeness ring true. In today’s world, it’s common for people to feel deeply connected to only a handful of individuals. That doesn’t make it sad—it makes those connections all the more precious. If this place brings you peace, warmth, and a sense of home, then it seems worth exploring ways to make it your main hub when the time is right.
Would love to hear more about how you envision this transition unfolding.
anita
anita
ParticipantDear Laven:
I read every word of your original post, and I find myself at a loss for words. I am utterly stunned by the immense hunger and abuse you, your brothers, and your mother endured—, abuse at the hands of her family, the man you refer to as your “alleged bio father,” and strangers who took advantage of you.
Reading your story fills me with sorrow and anger—anger at the cruelty and indifference you endured, and sorrow that no one intervened to stop the abuse. What you and your brothers went through is unimaginable. It’s devastating that the very people who should have protected you—family, caregivers, teachers—failed so completely. And the strangers who preyed on your vulnerability, exploiting you when you should have been safe and cared for, are despicable beyond words.
“When I entered school, at 5 ..soon after I was molested… by a staff teachers assistant… An older man who seemed like the sweet lovable grandfather type… I never told anyone irl… I went to school and just endured the daily molestation.”- What you endured at such a young age is heartbreaking and deeply unjust. The fact that someone who seemed trustworthy—a teacher’s assistant—betrayed that trust and harmed you is absolutely despicable. No child should ever have to endure such abuse, let alone face it daily and in silence.
It’s devastating that you felt unable to tell anyone, and that no one noticed or intervened to protect you. You deserved safety, care, and support, but instead, you were left to endure unimaginable pain alone.
“My bio mom was heavily pregnant with me and was pushed down the stairs and beaten badly by my alleged bio father… he told the 3 of us kids that he never wanted us in the first place, that it’s our fault he wasn’t living in the household, that he didn’t love us, that we ruined everything… He showed up crying when his mother passed.”-
Laven, the cruelty and heartlessness of your alleged biological father are staggering. To harm your mother while she was carrying you, to reject and blame you and your siblings for his own failures, and to openly declare that he never wanted you—these are acts of profound selfishness, physical and emotional violence. No child should ever have to hear such words, let alone endure the actions that accompanied them.
What stands out as painfully ironic is how this man, who showed no compassion for his own children or their mother, could weep for the loss of his own mother. It’s as if the only love he was capable of was reserved for her, while he denied that same love and care to the family he created.
His actions reflect a deep failure of character—one that caused immense pain to you, your siblings, and your mother. Yet, despite his cruelty, you survived. You are here, sharing your story, and that is a testament to your strength and resilience. You deserved so much better than what he gave, and his inability to love or protect you is a reflection of his flaws, not yours.
“I… often let grown men molest me in order to feed my family… These men would offer to buy some groceries in exchange. So I let them.”- What you endured is heartbreaking beyond words. No child should ever have to make such unimaginable sacrifices just to survive and provide for their family. The fact that you were forced into this situation speaks to the devastating failure of the adults and systems around you—the ones who should have protected you, cared for you, and ensured your safety.
It’s enraging that these men exploited your vulnerability instead of helping you. Their actions were cruel and unforgivable, and the burden they placed on you is something no child should ever have to carry.
Your strength in surviving this is extraordinary, even though you should never have had to endure such pain. You deserved love, care, and protection—not the suffering you faced.
“At 6 I was kidnapped and held in a cage.”- You deserved safety, love, and protection, but instead, you were caught in a relentless cycle of harm. It’s deeply unjust, and yet, through it all, you survived. That speaks to your incredible strength, even in the face of unimaginable hardship.
“One time my youngest brother, took one of the 5lb weights off the dumbbell and struck out mom in the head with it, calling her all kinds of horrible names.”-
It’s heartbreaking to see how the cycle of abuse continued within your family, with your youngest brother lashing out in such a violent way. Abuse often begets abuse—it creates a ripple effect, where the pain and trauma inflicted on one person spill over onto others. Your brother’s actions, while inexcusable, reflect the immense emotional damage he endured, growing up in an environment filled with neglect, violence, and instability.
“When our grandmother saw that we were eating, she yelled at us and threw the food that we were eating in the garbage…”- What your grandmother did was cruel beyond words. She denied hungry, malnourished children the basic dignity of eating. Her actions reflect a complete lack of compassion and humanity, and it’s devastating that she treated you and your siblings with such disdain.
The rest of her behavior—the favoritism, the mocking, the rejection—only adds to the pain. It’s clear she valued materialism and appearances over genuine love and care, and her cruelty toward your mother and all of you is indefensible.
Laven, you carried so much—your own pain, your family’s pain, the weight of silence and survival. Depression, suicidal thoughts, and selective mutism were not signs of weakness, but reflections of how overwhelming it all was. The moments in mental health facilities, where you felt safe and properly nourished, highlight how much your life lacked basic care and stability outside of those walls. But those places could only offer temporary relief—they couldn’t undo the years of neglect, loss, and suffering that shaped your world.
You endured abuse, rejection, and deep loneliness. The people who should have cared for you—family, teachers, caregivers—failed you, leaving you to carry burdens no child should ever bear. You survived starvation, abandonment, and betrayal, holding your pain inside and learning early that your suffering was overlooked.
Yet, despite everything, you never stopped trying to protect the ones you loved, even when they couldn’t protect you in return. You witnessed your mother’s struggles, her regret, and her battle with mental illness. You saw her trying her best in impossible circumstances, and you carried her pain as your own.
Through it all, Laven, you survived. You are more than your trauma—you are resilience, endurance, and the possibility of healing. You are seen. You are heard. You are valued.
Your ability to share your story is proof of your strength. You endured unimaginable hardship and still found the courage to keep going. You deserved far more than what was given to you, and the failures of others say more about them than they ever will about you.
I am looking forward to your continued story and sending you compassion and solidarity as you continue to heal. 💙
anita
anita
ParticipantDear S:
really appreciate your thoughts! I’m glad to hear that the ideas resonated with you, and taking time to fully absorb them sounds like a thoughtful approach. Writing down your thoughts more often could help with that too—it makes things clearer and easier to reflect on.
Regarding your question about “other aspects to work on that I may not be fully aware of outside of what has been looked into?”—one concept that might be helpful to consider is cognitive overload. Cognitive overload happens when your brain is processing too much information at once, making it hard to focus, think clearly, or make decisions. It’s like trying to carry too many grocery bags in one trip—something is bound to fall or get tangled. Or like having a plate overflowing with food—there’s too much on it, and things start spilling over because there’s no space to hold everything neatly.
Here are some signs of cognitive overload:
* Scattered thoughts: Ideas feel tangled, making them hard to organize.
* Mental fog: Difficulty concentrating or remembering things.
* Struggling with decision-making: Feeling stuck or overwhelmed when choosing between options.
* Exhaustion after thinking: Feeling drained after conversations or tasks that require a lot of focus.
* Difficulty expressing thoughts: Sentences become long, unclear, or jump between ideas too quickly.
When cognitive overload happens, your brain isn’t processing information efficiently. A helpful strategy is to break things down—writing short, clear thoughts instead of long, complex ones, or focusing on one idea at a time instead of several.
To show you the difference, here’s part of a slightly cognitively overloaded sentence you wrote in your recent post: “In the rare moments when I say anything to others, things usually just feel kind of vapid, thinking what I was looking for would jump right out in front of me and awaken my mind from fog.”
A clearer, simplified version (without cognitive overload) of that sentence: I rarely talk to other people. When I do, the conversations feel empty. I hope that the answers I need will suddenly appear and clear my mind, but that doesn’t happen.
Let’s take a look at a cognitively overloaded one sentence from your original post: “Never done anything like this before but here’s more from me: Initially had some optimism when younger like anyone would only to be met with constant disappointment as mentioned leaving me jaded the protection mainly stems from poor experiences in expressing myself though communication with people and places I had been around not understanding and rejection when I was open and vulnerable.”
Now, here’s a clearer, simplified version (six sentences) with smoother structure: “I’ve never shared like this before, but here’s more from me. When I was younger, I felt optimistic, like most people do. But over time, I faced constant disappointment, which made me jaded. I struggle with expressing myself because of past bad experiences. When I tried to communicate openly, people didn’t understand me. Sometimes, I was rejected when I was vulnerable, which made me more protective of my feelings.”
Simplifying ideas helps clear mental clutter and makes reflection easier. Breaking thoughts into smaller, clearer parts improves processing, and with practice, it’s a skill you can get better at.
Would love to hear your thoughts on this!
anita
April 29, 2025 at 7:58 pm in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445240anita
ParticipantHelp me, Don’t Hurt me
April 29, 2025 at 7:48 pm in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445239anita
ParticipantI am crying and I don’t know why. Who is it doing the crying? Lost little girl crying. Six-year-old crying. She is not thinking clearly, she is just crying, upping the volume of her cries so that someone will hear, so that someone will help.
anita
April 29, 2025 at 7:19 pm in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445238anita
ParticipantTuesday evening and I am alone at home, no socializing tonight. Did 3 hours work today weeding in a partly grey, partly sunny day. Here, at home, still light outside and lots of trees outside the very large windows, I am listening to nostalgic music. I choose to be here, in my thread, doing my favorite thing when alone: deepening my awareness of my suppressed and repressed emotions.
More than half a century of repression makes for LOTS and LOTS to express.
The other day, a member who didn’t have to visit my thread, a member who didn’t have to read my writings (in my own thread), chose to give me her rude and crude, judgmental and accusatory five cents. I didn’t appreciate it, not at all. I figure: if you choose to visit MY thread and you have nothing nice to say- don’t say anything at all.
I am a six year-old girl awakening in a sixty something year-old body.
I keep my body slender, slightly underweight (108.6 lbs. at 5’5′)- it makes me feel like the girl I never got to be when I was young. I wear my size 0 jeans and looking down at my legs in jeans, I look like a teenager, Yes!!!
When I was a teenager I was a very old woman.
And I didn’t have the option of sitting in front of a computer on a public forum expressing myself. I was closed-in, repressed, suppressed and depressed, terribly lonely and alone.
I had love in me but I was afraid of it, afraid of getting hurt by it and afraid of hurting others.
As you know, there are people who have hurt you and who will hurt you- they are just around the corner. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to hurt anyone. This is my intent and my commitment.
On the other hand, I will not submit and go belly-up to aggressive people. This is my intent and commitment.
I went belly up for my mother. My submission was her pleasure, her Power-over-me.
It didn’t work out for me, it didn’t work out for her- not beyond her short-lived moments of power and pleasure.
I didn’t make the rules. I accommodated. Now I make the rules: I don’t accommodate aggressors. And I commit to never, never be the aggressor.
Of course, in my mother’s mind, any assertiveness on my part (like saying: “no, Ima, please don’t!”) was aggression -in her mind. If I didn’t let her do with me whatever it was she wanted, if I objected- in her mind, that was aggression to be silenced immediately and harshly.
What kind of repressed emotions can I access and express tonight?.. I feel it right now, a rush of emotion, too fast, I can’t find the words, it’s like a roller coaster of emotions.
Here are the beginnings of tears. But only beginnings. I don’t cry. anita Doesn’t Cry.
A pitiful, weak person, like my mother, can be a very vengeful, very powerful person, for a moment, enough to scare, enough to devastate. A weak person does not mean a safe person. A vengeful weak person creates the most havoc.
I was fully under the power of a very, very weak and vengeful person, my own mother, the one I was born to.
Do Not Underestimate the Vengefulness of the Weak.
The key is to not submit to the vengeful weak, no matter how much empathy they evoke. No belly-up. No surrender.
anita
anita
ParticipantDear Laven:
I read only parts of what you shared in this thread, you shared more than you ever did, and my heart is breaking, breaking for you. Oh, poor Laven, I didn’t know how bad it has been for you, tears in my eyes. I am so very sorry, Laven, so very sorry. You are in my heart. I will read thoroughly what you shared here Wed morning (it’s Tues evening here).
anita
anita
ParticipantYou are very welcome, Nils (nice photo, by the way!)
anita
anita
ParticipantDear Omyk:
I will read and reply to you in the next 20 hours 😊
anita
anita
ParticipantHey Nis-
I can only imagine how frustrating and upsetting this must be. Losing years of personal memories, connections, and content—without warning or recourse—is beyond disheartening. The fact that your account was disabled due to an Instagram account you had never heard of makes this situation even more baffling.
I don’t have a Facebook account, but I hear that reaching out through Meta’s support forums or social media (Twitter/X, Reddit, etc.), where other users have shared similar experiences increases visibility and may prompt further review. Additionally, checking if any close contacts still have access to your albums or shared photos might help you recover at least some of what was lost.
I sincerely hope you find a solution or at least a way to rebuild your connections outside of Facebook. This is an incredibly frustrating situation, and you have every right to be upset.
anita
April 29, 2025 at 10:21 am in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445222anita
ParticipantIn the past, I suppressed my love for my mother because loving her meant pain. She weaponized my empathy—her woe-is-me histrionics and relentless guilt trips left me depleted. After going no-contact, I continued to suppress that love, fearing it might pull me back toward her and into suffering once more. It was an act of self-preservation.
But now, I feel strong enough to resist reaching out. I allow myself to feel this love, and in doing so, I integrate a fragmented, long-suppressed part of myself. Accepting the love rather than rejecting or fearing it is a crucial step in reclaiming my power. I no longer cling to the belief that one day she would love me. The realization that this hope kept me trapped in waiting is the key to my freedom.
I used to confuse my love for her with her loving me. That was the enmeshment, the deep codependence of old speaking. But I see clearly now: my love for her does not mean she loved me back. Understanding this is an essential emotional boundary—it allows my love to exist independently of her. My love for my mother is wholly my own, separate from her words, actions ad inactions.
I am no longer rejecting my emotions but integrating them. I am strong enough to feel deeply without letting these feelings control me. I have shifted from seeking love externally to recognizing it within myself.
This realization allows me to hold love without losing myself to it—to honor my feelings without letting them dictate my actions or lead me into suffering. Loving does not mean reaching. Feeling does not mean surrendering.
By embracing this long-suppressed part of myself—the loving part—I reclaim the love that was always mine to hold, without needing it to be reciprocated, validated, or defined by anyone else. And in doing so, I dissolve the enmeshment, the old dependence, the illusion that her love must exist simply because mine does.
This is self-liberation. This is healing. And this is proof that I am fully capable of giving myself the love I once believed had to come from her.
anita
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