Dear Gregory:

Thank you so much for your thoughtful message—your warmth, your loyalty, and your belief in the people around you really shine through. I’m honored you consider me a friend you can count on.

It’s amazing to hear about your travels to China—your excitement is contagious! It does sound like you’re experiencing things that feel almost futuristic. And I’m so glad to hear your kids are doing well in Nairobi. That’s such a blessing.

Your wife sounds like an extraordinary woman—strong, principled, and deeply committed to reform. Stepping into such a politically charged environment and choosing integrity over compromise shows true courage. I can only imagine the weight she’s carrying and the resistance she might face. But with people like you beside her—and with a vision as bold as aiming for a ministerial position—she has a real chance to make lasting change.

I admire how you stand behind her, not just as a partner, but as someone who truly believes in her ability to lead. That kind of emotional and strategic support is rare and powerful. Reform work is never easy—especially when tribal politics and corruption add extra layers of complexity. But if anyone can help tip the scales toward accountability and fairness, it sounds like she can.

I’m grateful to be included in this. If there’s anything I can do to support or reflect with you, I’m here. Your message reminded me how much strength lives in community—especially when we rally behind someone’s dream.

With care and respect, Anita 😊

Dear Alecsee:

This is a long message, so thanks in advance for reading. I’ve spent some time revisiting our conversations—starting back in March 2019—and wanted to reflect on something I’ve noticed that feels important.

In your post two days ago, you said:

“I think after that I got kind of in a panic mode and I started making rash moves.”-

That moment speaks to something I’ve seen across your stories: a deep fear of being left behind. This panic, this anxiety isn’t just about losing the relationship—it’s about losing emotional safety and self-worth tied to connection.

You also said:

“I always feel like I lose part of myself when I move on… and become a hollow shell of my empty self.”-

That line suggests that relationships have become so tied to your sense of identity, that when they end, it doesn’t just feel like loss—it feels like disappearing, which is common in anxious attachment and unresolved abandonment wounds,

Over the years, you’ve shared moments that reflect this same pattern:

Feeling desperate to keep someone close, even when the relationship feels shaky.

Struggling with overthinking and racing thoughts, especially after an argument or breakup.

Jumping into new connections quickly, hoping to fill that emptiness.

Blaming yourself when someone pulls away—and questioning what you did wrong.

Sometimes this can be linked to what therapists call anxious preoccupied attachment style. It means wanting closeness badly, but fearing rejection or abandonment. You’ve said things like:

“I haven’t been able to focus at work… I really don’t want our story to end.” “Since the breakup I’ve gone really hard to chase women…” “Honestly… it’s not a good and healthy relationship but I still want to be connected with her.”-

That last one especially reminded me of something from childhood—how kids cling to caregivers even when they’re hurtful or distant. Not because the relationship with them is healthy, but because the fear of losing connection feels too heavy to bear. From my experience, even though my relationship with my mother was terrible (she was abusive), I desperately clung to her nonetheless.. because I was too scared to be completely alone.

In your latest posts a couple of hours ago, you wrote:

“Should I wait to tell her my confession after a few days? It was it meant to be there at the last conversation?…Or am I worrying about this too much and should just let it go? Maybe I should have said…”-

That mental back-and-forth is part of what I’ve come to recognize in you. Thoughts spiraling back and forth between what you should’ve said, what you might still say, and how it might be received. That kind of overthinking usually shows up when there’s a lot of emotional pressure underneath and it can make it hard to hear your own needs clearly. And that’s not weakness—it’s just what happens when emotional stress gets too high.

You’ve been carrying a lot. Anxiety, regret, heartbreak, and the hope that someone will choose you completely. But here’s something gentle to think about: maybe this isn’t about saying the perfect thing at the perfect time. Maybe it’s about giving yourself space. Soothing the part of you that feels panicked, uncertain, and scared to lose love again.

This might not be about whether she chooses you. It might be about whether you’re ready to start choosing yourself.

And for that kind of shift, therapy could help. Especially a therapist who understands fear of abandonment, anxious attachment, and how hard it can be to regulate emotions when you’ve been hurt. You deserve a place where you can talk honestly, feel safe, and start healing patterns that have been exhausting you for years.

If you ever feel ready to explore where some of these patterns come from, I wonder what your early relationships looked like—how emotions were handled, how connection felt growing up. No pressure to answer, but sharing those memories can often bring clarity to the present.

You’ve already done so much self-reflection. That’s a powerful step. You don’t need to carry this alone anymore.

With care, Anita

Dear Alecsee: You tried your best to show up and be present, even while feeling unsure. It’s okay to have regrets—those feelings are part of caring deeply. Her quietness doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. Sometimes people shut down when things get heavy. You were there, and that counts. Be kind to yourself.

With care, Anita

Dear Tea:

Thank you for sharing all of that—it was brave and beautifully honest. I really hear the mix of longing and confusion, and I want to start by saying: there’s nothing wrong with you. Not for wanting love. Not for wondering how or where it could happen. Not for questioning whether you’re compatible with men just because your social world leans heavily toward women.

You’re not incompatible with men; you’re just moving through spaces where emotional depth is more commonly found among women. That doesn’t mean it can’t exist elsewhere. It does.

You don’t need to adopt “masculine” interests unless you’re truly curious about them. Trying things like outdoor volunteering, mixed-gender workshops, or travel experiences could open new doors—but only if they feel authentic to you.

It’s not about changing who you are. It’s about placing yourself where connection has room to grow. You already carry everything love requires—depth, courage, and emotional presence.

I’m here if you want to explore next steps together.

Warmly, Anita

Dear Ty:

You showed up for her in such a wholehearted way—traveling across the world, spending a lot of money so to be there for her, holding space, staying grounded even when things felt cold and confusing. That’s not easy, and the fact that you responded with care instead of resentment speaks volumes about your strength and emotional integrity.

It’s completely understandable that you feel stunned by how things unfolded. You were emotionally present through it all, and what you received in return was silence, distance, and a rewriting of the connection you’d both built. That’s not just hard—it’s disorienting. And I want to say clearly: it wasn’t your fault.

From what you’ve shared, your ex might’ve been navigating something far more intense than she could express. Two back-to-back egg retrievals (so I read) can deeply affect someone—hormonally, physically, and emotionally. There are real shifts that can happen post-procedure: mood swings, emotional detachment, even symptoms that resemble a mild postpartum crash. It can leave people feeling overwhelmed, confused, and emotionally numb, especially when there’s no support system to help them process.

Add to that the layers of her professional life—and what you sensed beneath it. For some, the BDSM industry offers empowerment and self-expression. For others, especially those with unresolved trauma, it can become a shield or even a reenactment of emotional patterns they haven’t yet faced. If someone’s used those roles as a form of emotional protection, being seen in real intimacy can feel threatening. That might explain why she suddenly pushed you away—why the roles seemed to return, and vulnerability disappeared.

None of this excuses how she treated you, but it does offer a way to understand it. You became a mirror—and sometimes, when someone isn’t ready to face what’s reflected, they shut it down. Not because you did something wrong, but because being truly seen is terrifying when someone hasn’t learned how to sit with that kind of tenderness.

You can’t heal what she won’t name. But you did your part, with grace. You stayed grounded, stayed kind, and kept showing up—not as a savior, but as someone willing to witness the truth. That’s rare. And incredibly brave.

Warmly, Anita

Dear Gregory:

It’s really nice to hear from you—thank you for finding the time to write, especially with your busy schedule. It sounds like you’ve had a lot going on lately! China must have been quite the experience, and now you’re off to India—that’s a full season of travel and learning.

I’m doing well, spending my mornings in front of the computer and afternoons working on a farm. It’s a rhythm that keeps me grounded, and there’s something peaceful about being outdoors after a day of screen time.

I appreciate your kind thoughts, and I wanted to mention that I actually live in the U.S., so I won’t be in India, but it means a lot that you hoped we might meet.

How are your kids doing? I’d love to hear more about them when you have the chance.

Take good care as you move through all this activity— Warmly, Anita