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anita

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Viewing 15 posts - 451 through 465 (of 3,932 total)
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  • anita
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    Dear Emma:

    Yes, the 4th of July is a big celebration here. I spent much of the day downtown—streets were closed, thousands of people gathered, and there was a huge parade. One part of the parade really stood out to me: a group of belly dancers in beautiful costumes. One of them looked to be in her early 30s, another in her 50s, and one was likely in her late 60s.

    They’re part of the Every Body is a Belly Dance Body movement—an inclusive, body-positive belly dance community that welcomes dancers of all ages, sizes (including plus-size and older women), genders, and backgrounds. It’s not about looking a certain way—it’s about expression, joy, and reconnecting with your body.

    Do you think something like that might speak to you? Or even help you—being part of a group like that?

    What you shared today about your parents really stood out to me. It sounds like, growing up, there wasn’t much space for your emotions—especially the harder ones like anger or sadness. When you tried to express hurt to your mother, she became upset and turned it back on you, calling you “overly sensitive.” That must have been incredibly frustrating. Instead of feeling heard, it sounds like you were made to feel like your feelings were the problem.

    With your father, the message seemed more subtle but still clear: emotions—especially anger—should be quickly “restored” or changed. That likely taught you that strong feelings weren’t really welcome, and that they needed to be managed or pushed aside rather than understood.

    Given all that, it makes complete sense that now, as an adult, you feel the need to keep some distance. That’s not unfair—it’s protective. You’re trying to give yourself the freedom and emotional space you didn’t have growing up. Wanting that space doesn’t mean you don’t care about your parents. It means you’re learning to care for yourself, too.

    And your anger? It’s valid. It’s not about blaming—it’s about recognizing what you needed and didn’t get. That’s part of healing. You’re not wrong for feeling it.

    I really relate to what you shared about your mother. Mine was emotionally fragile too, and often centered on her own pain. I learned to push my emotions down to avoid upsetting her. She took up a lot of space expressing her feelings, but there wasn’t any space for mine. I felt a lot, but those feelings were often criticized or dismissed. One emotion I felt strongly was empathy—for her. I had none for myself, not that I remember. All of my emotional energy went toward her. And like you, I didn’t have much agency in my life either.

    When a daughter grows up emotionally close to a mother who’s easily overwhelmed, it can lead to something called enmeshment. That’s when the emotional boundaries between you and your mother get blurred. You might feel responsible for her feelings, or like you have to protect her from your own. Over time, it becomes hard to know where she ends and you begin.

    In that kind of relationship, it’s common to:

    * Push down your feelings to avoid upsetting her

    * Feel guilty for wanting space or independence

    * Second-guess your choices, especially if they go against what she might want

    * Struggle to say “no” or to trust your own voice

    I think this is something we have in common—a history of enmeshment with our mothers, and the impact that had on our sense of agency.

    That’s why I wonder if your feelings for Philip might not just be about him, but about what he represents. Maybe he felt like a way out—a new emotional home. When someone grows up enmeshed/ emotionally trapped, it’s common to develop a fantasy that someone else will come along and understand them completely, love them unconditionally, take them away from the emotional chaos, and give them permission to be themselves

    This kind of hope is powerful, even if it’s not always conscious. And when that person pulls away or doesn’t live up to the fantasy, the grief can feel overwhelming—not just because of the breakup, but because it feels like losing the only imagined way out.

    The hard part is that this fantasy can delay the real work of separation. Instead of building agency from the inside out, the hope gets placed on someone else to “rescue” you from the emotional bind with your parents.

    But real agency doesn’t come from being chosen. It comes from choosing yourself.

    You asked about Philip’s attachment style. I honestly don’t know. But I also want to be careful here—because analyzing him might just give you more reasons to keep thinking about him. And I wonder if that’s part of what’s keeping you from turning fully toward your own healing. The more time you spend trying to understand him, the less space there is to focus on building your own sense of strength and freedom.

    I say all of this with care, and with full respect for how painful this is. You’re doing something really hard—and really important: you’re starting to separate from old patterns, speak your truth, and take your life back.

    With warmth and care, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447355
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you so much for your message. I could feel the care and honesty in your words, and I really appreciate that you took the time to reflect so deeply on something so personal to me.

    My mother caused me a lot of harm, and I don’t excuse that. But I also know she was shaped by her own pain. She had a terrible childhood—she lost her mother, her father was an alcoholic who neglected her, and she was terribly abused by her older sister, both physically and emotionally. She spent time in an orphanage-like institution. Looking back, I can see that there were times when she was a good person. But when she wasn’t—when she turned that pain outward—she did it with full force. The shaming, the guilt-tripping, the relentless emotional pressure… that harm lives in my body every single day, every single hour, in the form of these tics.

    I suppose I hold a nuanced view of her—as someone complex, and someone who was once an innocent child herself, harmed so badly that she may not have been able to help herself. That thought fills me with sadness—for the girl she was, long before I ever came into her life.

    Thank you again for your kindness, and for holding space for my grief. It means more than I can say.

    With care, Anita

    in reply to: Developing Compassion and Self-Compassion #447354
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    I’m really glad to hear you felt better yesterday, and I hope that feeling is still with you today. It takes a lot of strength to open up the way you did, and I’m so glad it helped to get some of it off your chest. You’re doing your best, and it truly shows.

    That last thing you said really stayed with me: “Children don’t want perfection, they just want to be loved.”- It’s such a powerful reminder. I imagine it’s easy for a mother to feel pressure to get everything right—but what really matters is being there with love and care. That’s what children remember. That’s what makes the difference.

    You’re showing up for him with love—and that’s more than enough. I hope you can offer some of that same kindness to yourself, too.

    With care, Anita 🌼

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447350
    anita
    Participant

    I don’t disagree, Alessa, and I very much appreciate your thoughts and sentiment.. You do understand, and I appreciate you ❤️. I will write more tomorrow, or on Monday.

    Anita

    in reply to: Struggling to settle in new role #447342
    anita
    Participant

    How are you, Tom?

    Gregory, I was so delighted to see your post—it’s been almost a year since you last shared, and I’ve genuinely been thinking about you. How have you been? (If you feel like it, maybe you could reply in your own thread?) 😊

    Anita 🤍

    anita
    Participant

    Dear Emma:

    I’ve been a bit busier than usual lately, though not quite as much as I expected with the Fourth of July weekend—so I’ve had a little more time in front of the computer, and you’ve been on my mind.

    There’s something I wanted to share with you, in case it resonates. It’s a concept called shadow work. It’s about becoming aware of the parts of ourselves we’ve learned to hide—things like anger, shame, jealousy, or even the belief that we’re “too much” or “not enough.” These parts often form in childhood or past relationships, where we were made to feel that certain emotions or needs weren’t acceptable.

    Shadow work is about gently noticing those parts, understanding where they came from, and learning to accept them instead of pushing them away.

    You once mentioned being surprised that Philip liked you, and wondering if someone more secure or less emotional would have been a better match. That really stayed with me. Shadow work, in this case, might mean turning toward the part of you that feels unworthy—not to fix it, but to understand it and care for it. It can begin with something very simple.

    Here’s one way to start:

    Notice when the feeling shows up. Maybe it’s when you think, “I was too much,” or “He wouldn’t have left if I were better.” Just pause and gently say to yourself, “Ah, this is the part of me that feels unworthy.”

    Ask where it came from. You might wonder, “When did I first feel this way?” or “Whose voice does this sound like?” Often, these feelings come from early experiences—times when we were made to feel like our emotions or needs were too much, or not welcome.

    Speak to that part with kindness. Imagine it as a younger version of yourself—maybe a little girl who just wanted to be loved and accepted. You might say, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were never too much. You were just trying to be seen.”

    Let the feeling be there without judgment. You don’t have to make it go away. Just letting it exist, without pushing it down or trying to explain it away, is already healing.

    Remind yourself of your worth. Not because of what you do or how well you handle things—but simply because you exist. You are worthy of love, care, and gentleness, even when you feel unsure or afraid.

    This kind of work takes time, and it’s okay to move slowly. You’ve already shown so much courage by naming your feelings and sharing your story. That’s not weakness—it’s strength.

    You don’t have to be perfect to be lovable. You already are.

    Have you ever tried something like this before?

    With warmth and care, Anita 🤍

    in reply to: Sister takes long to respond to messages #447339
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Lucidity:

    I’ve watched several of your videos, and what really stands out to me is the unique and professional quality of the production. The person behind the camera did an excellent job—there’s a clear sense of care, skill, and intention in the way everything is filmed. It’s genuinely fascinating to watch you bake a carrot cake, sew clothes, or move through simple, everyday tasks. The high-quality visuals, paired with your quiet, soft voice, give these ordinary moments a sense of beauty and calm—something quietly extraordinary.

    Your presence is also striking: unassuming, modest, and grounded. Your gentle voice and calm delivery create such a peaceful atmosphere—it’s easy to feel at ease while watching.

    The messages you share are powerful and deeply meaningful. A few that stayed with me:

    You are worthy of your dreams at any age.

    The power to create the future you want lies within you.

    One step at a time is the only way to work toward anything.

    True ethical living requires practicing self-compassion and prioritizing our mental and emotional health as the foundation for genuine outward compassion.

    And of course, Hippocrates’s timeless wisdom: “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

    One difficulty I had, particularly with the videos on healing and grit, was understanding the spoken words. The pronunciation wasn’t always clear to me, and I found myself struggling to follow along. Eventually, I lost patience trying to decipher the message, which was frustrating—because I truly wanted to hear what you had to say.

    Still, I deeply appreciate the heart and thought you put into your work. It’s clear that what you’re offering is meaningful, sincere, and created with care.

    Anita 🤍

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447338
    anita
    Participant

    Continued journaling (motivated by my post to Alessa, a short while ago): I have more empathy for my mother than I have for any other person in the whole wide world. I understand her why-s and her how-s.

    She has been so terribly wounded, so very terribly traumatized. No judgment. I’d do anything to go back- back- back- in time and SAVE her.

    .. Thing is- there’s nothing I can do for her.

    And if I try once again-again-again-again to help, to connect- the only thing I will achieve is.. my own destruction.

    It’s like a deer trying to help a mountain lion.. the deer is likely to get eaten.

    Not that my 84-year-old mother is a predator. It’s just that, if you try to get close, she becomes a predator. She can’t help it.

    She was so deeply-in-shame that any and every effort on my part to connect with her means more shame for her.

    She was not/ is not a bad person (in regard to her intents), she’s just.. Sick with Shame.

    And so, she imagined- when I was a child- that I was trying to shame her. She then lashed out, attacking, shaming the person she believed was shaming her (the child-me.. NOT)

    She was too deeply entrenched in her own devastating shame.

    Looking back, it’s about her severe mental illness. There was nothing I could have done to help her.. while she was- in effect- if not by intent- destroying me.

    Fast forward, what can I possibly do with this 84-year-old woman who may be suffering from dementia (sounds like it, from the little I was told), stooped over, rheumatoid arthritis. What could I possibly say/ do that can make a difference?

    Nothing.

    It’s amazing how the mother I knew my whole life (I never lived in a world where she was not a part of)- the mother I had for so long, will be no more.

    And when she’s gone.. I will truly be alone.

    Tears in my eyes.

    Strange, what I typed right above-

    “I will truly be alone”- But I was so very alone while she was alive, all those years..!

    “I will truly be alone”- this means that her image, in my mind, still carries a “togetherness” sense..?

    It must be that little girl’s sense (me, in the first few months or years of life) of her as the SOURCE OF LIFE.

    So, at 64, thinking of my 84-year-old mother- continents and oceans apart- still feels like she’s my source of life.

    Amazing, isn’t it..? Mother is Everything.?

    It’s an instinctual thing, not a rational thing.

    (Loud fireworks, July-4-7:35 pm, Western U.S.)

    So.. processing all this.. I am not demonizing my mother.. nothing but empathy for her, and yet, at the same time, there’s this knowing that there never was a way for me to bridge the distance.

    Still.. I have this image of her in my mind: she is 40-years-old (40 years ago), looking at me (20-years-old), and..

    The disconnect is COMPLETE back then, unbridgeable. An unbridgeable disconnect.

    If there is anything I am sure about, it is this one thing: there has been no way for me to connect with my mother. Not a failure on my part, but a failure she has brought with her.

    Something to grieve: this Impossibility of Connection (IoC).

    Anita

    in reply to: Developing Compassion and Self-Compassion #447337
    anita
    Participant

    I wanted to add, Alessa: your very, very unfortunate experience with your bio mother feels so similar to my own experience with my mother: things you shared about today, and things you shared about in deleted threads.

    You and I have so much in common in this regard, I feel.

    The drowning trauma- I have this everyday tic, multiple times a day, where I am gasping for air, as if drowning.

    It could be because she used to force feed me by blocking my nose with her fingers, so I had to open my mouth, and then.. she forced food into that opening (my mouth).

    And her threat, “I will murder you!”- we have this in common as well.

    Anything I can do, Alessa, to help or to just be present with you as you go through these struggles.. Please let me know.

    Anita

    in reply to: Developing Compassion and Self-Compassion #447336
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you for sharing something so deeply personal and painful. I can only imagine how much strength it took to put those memories into words. What you went through as a child is heartbreaking—no child should ever have to live in fear like that. The fact that you survived it, and that you’re now raising your son with love and awareness, speaks volumes about your courage and your heart.

    You are not your mother. The very fact that you worry about becoming like her—that you hold back your pain to protect your child, that you reflect so deeply on your feelings—proves that. You’re breaking the cycle, even when it hurts. Even when it’s exhausting. Even when her shadow still lingers.

    It’s okay to miss the past, to feel overwhelmed, to want space to breathe. Those are human feelings, not signs of failure. And expressing them—safely, like you’re doing here—is not weakness. It’s healing.

    You are not alone in this. And your son is lucky to have a mother who loves him enough to face the hardest parts of her past so he doesn’t have to carry them.

    With care and deep respect, Anita 🤍

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447334
    anita
    Participant

    Pre Independent-Day-Parade Journaling. Because I can.

    Giving emotions this space to Express.
    Allowing them to shake off the dust of a lifetime of suppression.
    Inviting them to be seen, heard, felt.

    It’s been mostly a life unlived.
    A life so full of disquiet within.
    Shame and Guilt.
    Depression.

    And now there is a new youth within my aging body.
    Gone is the depression, and the shame and guilt- almost gone.
    I am standing tall, with a smile.
    Each new day no longer disappears into the day before.

    I FEEL alive.
    Life no longer stolen,
    No longer sealed behind lock and key.

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447332
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Gerald:

    Thank you for your kind message. I really appreciated what you shared about your journaling—it’s clear how much thought and care you put into it. I especially liked the part about remembering people who’ve passed and being able to say something kind to their loved ones. That’s such a thoughtful way to stay connected.

    Like you, I’ve been journaling for a long time. I started writing in notebooks as a teenager—pages and pages of thoughts, feelings, and questions. Later, I moved to typing into Word documents and printing them out. I still have thick folders filled with those pages. And now, I journal here, in this public space on tiny buddha. There’s something meaningful for me about having others read what I write—it helps me feel less alone with it.

    Thank you again for sharing your practice with me. It’s clear that your journaling isn’t just a habit—it’s a way of living with presence and care. I admire that.

    Warmly, Anita 🤍

    anita
    Participant

    Dear Emma:

    Reading your message, I was struck by how deeply you’re feeling and reflecting—and also by how often you seem to question whether your emotions are valid. That reminded me of something important: emotional invalidation in childhood, and how it quietly shapes our lives long after we’ve grown.

    When a child’s emotions are dismissed, criticized, or ignored—whether through silence, mockery, or overreaction—they learn that their feelings are not safe or trustworthy. Over time, this can lead to chronic self-doubt, difficulty setting boundaries, and a constant need for others to confirm what we feel.

    I saw this so clearly in your words:

    “I constantly doubt myself… if getting angry about something is justified – which causes me to ask any of my friends/family if they would be angry in that moment, so I know if I am allowed to be.”- This is such a clear example of emotional invalidation’s legacy—needing others to confirm your right to feel.

    “I guess I felt like I may have had control over myself if I would have thought more clearly…”- That belief—that emotions are a failure of logic—is something many of us carry when our feelings were treated as problems rather than signals.

    When we grow up without emotional validation, it’s like being a ship out at sea with no way to steer. Our emotions are supposed to help guide us—they tell us what feels right or wrong, what we need, and when we’ve been hurt. But if we’re taught to ignore our emotions, or think they’re wrong, we lose that guidance. We end up letting other people’s opinions, moods, or expectations decide things for us. We feel lost—not because we’re weak, but because no one ever showed us how to trust what we feel.

    Emma, your feelings have always made sense. You didn’t do anything wrong by feeling deeply—you were just trying to survive in a world that didn’t know how to support you. And now, you’re doing something really strong: you’re learning to listen to yourself again, to trust your feelings, and to find your own way.

    You don’t need permission to feel. You already have the right.

    With care, Anita 🤍

    in reply to: The Mirror of the Moment #447329
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you for your thoughtful message. So much of what you said really spoke to me—especially the part about how the brain treats emotional pain like physical pain. That explains a lot about why it can feel so overwhelming.

    I also really connected with what you said about blaming yourself when there’s no clear cause. I’ve done that too—thinking, “It must be me.” But like you said, it’s not true.

    Your words about accepting reality, even when it’s hard, felt calming. And the idea of shifting from fixing to simply coping and enduring—that’s something I want to hold onto.

    Thank you again for sharing. It helped me feel less alone. ❤️

    With warmth, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447328
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you so much for your kind message. It really touched me. ❤️

    You’re right—some people don’t mean harm, they just don’t understand the depth of what we’ve been through. That suggestion about reconnecting wasn’t cruel, but it did stir something in me. I think I needed to let those feelings out, even if they came out raw.

    What you said about her being stuck in the prison of her own mind—that really hit me. It’s painful, but it helps me remember that her inability to love me wasn’t because of who I was. It was about her.

    Thank you for reminding me that it’s okay to dream, even if the dream can’t come true. And thank you—truly—for saying I’m appreciated. That means more than I can say.

    With warmth and gratitude, Anita 🤍

Viewing 15 posts - 451 through 465 (of 3,932 total)