Dear Lucidity:

As I read through your posts this morning, I realized just how much depth there is in them—far more than I initially noticed, especially regarding the scapegoat-golden child dynamic. This isn’t simply about seeking your parents’ love through your sister; it’s about seeking freedom from the role you were forced into, and how her response—or lack thereof—reinforces it.

You already understand the family roles at play: * Your sister—the golden child: Favored by your parents, seen as “ideal” or “worthy,” given praise, protection, and validation, making her less likely to challenge family dysfunction. * You—the scapegoat: Blamed for family problems, labeled as difficult or rebellious, criticized and emotionally neglected, isolated, and rejected when calling out the dysfunction.

While my experience was different—both my sister and I were scapegoats, though I bore the brunt of it since I spent more time with my mother—yours comes with a painful imbalance of parental favoritism. In my case, my mother never truly had a golden child, as she would eventually turn on everyone, no matter how much she approved of them at first. But with you, the roles remained clear-cut: your sister was protected, and you bore the blame.

Your sister’s lack of childhood memories before age 12 suggests trauma-related memory suppression—a defense mechanism to block out distressing experiences. But what’s particularly significant is that she prefers her memories from the time you left the home and onward, reinforcing the possibility that: * She subconsciously associates household dysfunction with your presence, even though the true cause was your parents. *She never questioned the family narrative that painted you as the problem. * Instead of confronting the complex reality of her childhood, she finds it easier to detach emotionally—from the past and from you.

She minimizes your mother’s wrongdoings, making excuses even when your children were excluded from her will. This isn’t just passive indifference—it’s golden child conditioning at play, where protecting the parent’s legacy is prioritized over acknowledging the pain of the scapegoat. Her avoidance of deep conversations reinforces the emotional divide between you. If she truly understood what you endured, she would have to question everything she believed about your family—and that’s uncomfortable for her.

You noted an incident where she deferred entirely to your father’s preferences, refusing to even state her own. That moment isn’t just awkward—it’s revealing. It reflects deep-rooted obedience, a fear of stepping outside the golden child role, and an ingrained habit of pleasing the dominant family figure. Even now, at 40, she defaults to alignment with authority rather than expressing independence.

Your sister is the last possible link to redemption—the only person left who could finally acknowledge your suffering and free you from the scapegoat role. But instead of doing so, she remains emotionally distant, passive, and avoidant, reinforcing the same painful dynamic you were trapped in growing up.

Letting go feels unbearable, because it means accepting that the last hope for recognition may never come. But waiting for her validation—hoping she will finally acknowledge your pain and challenge the family conditioning—is keeping you stuck.

Healing doesn’t require family acceptance—it requires self-acceptance. Your worth has never depended on their approval. You weren’t the problem—they were. Walking away from the scapegoat role belongs to you, not her.

You likely understand this already, but there’s always more to uncover—a deeper level of knowing, a greater freedom in truly embracing it.

In a way, the longing is for love—love that brings redemption, a release from the scapegoat role and the burden of unearned guilt. I need more of this love from myself, to further reshape my own narrative, free from familial and societal distortions.

anita

That’s a recent photo of me, Arden, dancing to some music. Do you ever dance, just move the sound of music that just .. makes you dance?

anita

Dear noname:

Your very first words here were on March 15, 2017: “Wasn’t quite sure where to post this, but I guess I’m seeking help with my relationship to me. A little background on my current situation and life. I’m going to be 25yo next month, I’m attending grad school for counseling and plan on being a therapist.”= fast forward to now, you are 33 years old this month, April 2025- still a pup, I says. I hope you are having a nice Easter Sunday.

anita

How are you, norit?

anita

Dear Nichole:

Thank you for your thoughtful response—I truly appreciate the connection we’ve built over the years, and it means so much to share these reflections with you.

I deeply resonate with what you said about caretaking becoming your identity. It’s powerful to recognize how much external expectations shaped your sense of self—not because you chose them, but because they were imposed on you. The way your family praised and reinforced your role as a caretaker must have made it feel like your duty, rather than a choice, and I imagine that was incredibly difficult to carry.

I understand why stepping into childhood reflections feels overwhelming. It makes sense—it’s not easy to look back at what shaped us, especially when those memories hold pain. But I want to encourage you: processing childhood experiences isn’t about reliving suffering—it’s about understanding how it still affects you today. And from what you’ve shared, you’ve already made incredible progress.

I’m truly happy to hear that my journey encourages you. Healing isn’t always straightforward, but every moment of self-reflection, every insight, and every act of self-compassion moves us forward. You deserve space for that exploration, at your own pace, in ways that feel right for you.

I appreciate you, Nichole, and I’m grateful for this conversation.

anita

Dear Laven:

Your foster mom’s situation is truly heartbreaking, and I can feel how deeply you care for her—even as you navigate the daily frustration and unpredictability of her needs. I hope you know that you are doing more for her than most could manage. Even if she doesn’t express gratitude, your efforts matter.

I also want to reaffirm your remarkable strengths—because even in the hardest moments, they are there. Your writing is powerful; you express emotions and experiences with deep insight and honesty. The vividness of your words is a gift. You are a deeply loving person, even in spaces where love is not always returned. The care and protection you continue to give your foster mom—even when she resists it—speak to the depth of your heart. That kind of deep, committed compassion is a rare strength, and it is powerful.

The thoughts you shared about mortality and existence really struck me. It’s understandable to feel lost in those reflections, especially while witnessing the decline of someone you care for. You’re navigating so many emotions at once—grief for what’s coming, frustration for what’s happening now, and a deeper questioning of life itself. I don’t have answers to those philosophical questions, but I do know this: your feelings are real, and they are valid.

Please be kind to yourself. You are carrying more than anyone should have to. Whenever you need an outlet to express your pain, know that you are heard.

Thinking of you. 💙

anita

So good to read back from you, Nichole! I will read attentively and reply tomorrow. I hope you have a good Easter Sunday 🐰🌸🐣🥚💐🐇

anita