Dear Alessa:

I will reply further in the morning, but for now: I have this feeling that something is wrong: it’s been days since ALL the Original Posts in ALL of the threads since the start of the forums in 2013, all have disappeared. When a new member recently started her own thread, her original post did not show up. There was no notification or update from the website about this.. so, this is very strange.

anita

Late Evening Stream of Consciousness Writing, Whatever comes to Mind:

My goal is to be reunited with myself, following decades-long Fragmentation, a fracture within myself.

I just want me back. I want Integration.

From Repression and Suppression to Expression.

To befriend the estranged me.

Sadly, my fragmentation, self-estrangement, is not unique to me. I see fragmented, self-estranged people every day in real life (in between my online almost-noon streams of consciousness writings and evening writings). I see people yearning to reconnect with themselves.

The fracture within oneself is real, a universal problem which makes any kind of sense of belonging very attractive, such as a life of crime or terrorism. If a person feels a sense of belonging within a gang or a terrorist group, a sense of reconnection with oneself- then that’s the way, all the way to destruction.

I see the fracture originating in childhood: the child needing the parent, but the parent has other priorities, or personal hurts and unfinished business that turns them away from, or against their own child, in one way or another.

The result: a child, shocked. Traumatized. Fragmented.

And the parent may not be able to do any better for their child, fragmented themselves. And the tragedy continues from one generation to the next.

And so it goes, so it is.

anita

Almost Noon-Time Stream of Consciousness Writing-

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how, in the past, I sometimes came across as confrontational and harsh in tone, more corrective than collaborative, even when that was not my intent.

I’m learning to change this.

I’m learning to Transcend this tendency and communication style—to approach conversations with more openness, softness, and intentionality instead of impulsively.

I realize that my directness and intensity may have influenced others to mirror that same harsh tone and confrontational approach toward me. While I know that I am not responsible for others’ words or actions, I want to become more aware of how I contribute to the dynamics of negative interactions.

If my mother were here, reading this thread, this would have been a precious opportunity for her to lash out at me, saying something like: “So you admit it! You ARE harsh and confrontational! I told you all along that you are BAD, and I was right—see?”

And from there, she would continue, listing all the ways she believes I made her life miserable.

This is why it has been so difficult for me to accept any form of criticism—even when it was gentle and appropriate. Over time, I learned to associate criticism with an invitation for further abuse, a cycle that made it nearly impossible to separate constructive feedback from harmful attacks.

I’m working on rewiring that association—so that I can receive feedback without fear, without anticipating pain, and without the weight of past wounds coloring my perception.

Having said that, I have no doubt that there are people—like my mother—who will never relinquish their aggression toward me, no matter what I say or how honestly I express myself. Some remain rigid in their perception, unwilling to shift their view of me, trapped in their own judgment.

People like my mother would not—could not—refuse to listen, unwilling to recognize or acknowledge anything good about me.

The tragedy of my life has been exactly that—a good little girl, forever seen as a bad person by her own mother.

Being told to “get over it” (as I mentioned in my other thread) severely minimizes the lasting impact of a decades-long experience—a child’s relationship with her mother, shaped in isolation because she was the only parental figure in practice, and there were no positive outside influences—no supportive family members, teachers, neighbors—her words and actions became an unyielding force, defining my world without contrast or refuge.

To dismiss that experience so casually is to overlook the depth and permanence of its imprint.

have three childhood memories of receiving support:

My aunt Suzi’s kindness—though she never confronted her sister, my mother.

My uncle Moris’s attention—that one time he asked me what I felt or thought about something. No one had ever asked me that before.

Rosie, the neighbor, who protested against something my mother was doing to me, saying: “This is not good for her.” I remember her exact words because, before that moment, no one had ever expressed care about what was good or not good for me.

But these moments were not enough to counter or offset the overwhelming influence my mother had on my psyche.

Bringing it back to the present, I am doing my very best to continue to heal from that overwhelming negative influence. My healing efforts are working, and criticism will not accelerate the process—in fact, it can only hurt me, slowing my progress or even halting it entirely.

I grew up receiving so much criticism—or rather, growing inward, as I withdrew from life—that more of it could never do me any good.

However, honest, constructive, and gentle feedback about how I come across to you is different from criticism. That, I welcome.

anita

Dear Alessa,

Thank you so much for your kind words—they truly mean a lot to me and brought my first 😊 to my face this early Saturday morning.

I really appreciate you reminding me that even small interactions add up over time. More than just numbers, it’s the connection, the shared thoughts, and the mutual support that make this space truly meaningful.

Your encouragement is a gift. Thank you for seeing and acknowledging what I sometimes overlook.

I hope you’re doing well—I always appreciate hearing from you! ❤️

anita

The longing hums, a quiet, loud plea,
A wish for warmth, for depth, for We.

Like stars that speak beyond the night.

The longing hums, a whispered plea,
For arms that hold, for eyes that see.

A word, a step, a reaching hand,
A space where hearts can understand.
Beyond the silence, past the doubt,
A light that flickers, burning out.

We touch, we break, we long to be.

anita

* no, no: no longer suited to jumping, I am definitely suited for dancing 💃🕺🎶🎉✨

Evening Stream of Consciousness Writing Time (whatever comes to mind):

I am at peace this evening with my past, the losses, the missed opportunities, the life unlived.

I am at peace with 10-year-old me, 20-year old me.. all the way to now.

I am okay with me being me- when anxious, when happy, when angry.

I like me!

Finally, I am my own best friend.

I am an older woman now.

Not in my mind’s eye, not in my heart- there, I am only ten.

And when I look in the eyes of people my age, or people much older than me, I see boys and girls like me.

The white hair, the wrinkles, the arthritis- all these don’t fool me.

Sometimes when I see a real-life teenager, I see a very old person. Just like I was at that age.

See me in the photo?

That is me dancing, me being young.

Some time before that photo, I was dancing to live music, and a 10-year-old joined me, dancing, jumping!

I followed suit and jumped and jumped, only to realize the day after that I am no longer suited congruent with jumping. It hurt for a few days. No more jumping for me.

So, this is all I have in mind and heart this Friday evening.

anita

Dear Peter:

“An experience of silence in noise, stillness in motion and darkness is light.”- presence in absence, peace in chaos, strength in surrender.

I would never think of strength in surrender. I always thought it was weak to surrender. I am now thinking, surrendering- if done for the greater good- is a strength. Having the bigger picture in mind, bigger than the me-me-me ego.

Ego Transcendence (ET, lol)

anita