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anita
ParticipantJournaling this (what is it).. Thursday night, July 3.. big events tomorrow, downtown, July 4.
Still July 3, 2025-
Wine gets into my brain so fast! First glass.. and BOOM!
Told I am a “light weight”- it doesn’t take much alcohol..
So, where was I, where am I going with this..?
To answer better, I need more alcohol-
(Please don’t judge me- I am not driving, not risking others on the roads.. here, home)
Hold on- getting more red wine
Got it.
I still feel the tension in my left shoulder, twitching.
It’s the Fight-Flight response to trauma, captive in my body, day-in, day out, year-in, year out, sixty years. Running.. but nowhere safe to run to.
If my mother saw me as a person (a person, not a thing), a person on her side.. we (WE) could have built a team, working together, victoriously.
But she insisted- no team work. Instead, it was she OR me. If I win, she loses; if I lose, she wins.
Stupid, STUPID mother.
STUPID!!!
* July’s 4th fireworks just started.
STUPID, STUPID mother- you COULDN’T SEE your greatest resource, ME?
Me, the person I am, is one who will do a whole lot for others, help, save.. in any, every way I can. This is who I am.
Let me know if you are in need of help, of what kind.. and I will help!
Back to Stupid Mother- what is WRONG WITH YOU? Why do you- did you- insist on DESTROYING the person who cared about you the most?
Why did you so doggedly go about destroying the one who LOVED you so very, very much?
This concrete wall you put between you and me, blocking me.
Isolating me.
I am 64. My mother is 84.. we could have been friends. Instead- by your own doing- we are strangers, never got to be anything but Strangers.
Someone suggested to me a day or two ago, that it is not too late to connect- someone who doesn’t know you, or me.
It got me thinking-feeling for just a moment- connecting with.. my mother- the woman, person who Will NOT connect-
Yet, still, an attractive concept.
She is still alive back there, on the other side of the world, continents and oceans away from me. Yet always far, just a wall in-between, less than a meter away.
A second of fantasy goes like this: me and she CONNECT, for the first- and the last time. FINALLY: Ima I love you.. and she says, unflinchingly: I love you too!
Like she says it in a way that’s believable.
And then she says: I didn’t mean to make you feel like a piece if sh**t”
So, I says. why did you.. ?
And she says, she says…
I want to hear her answer, ANSWER ME: why, WHY did you DESTROY me the best/ worst you could, WHY? TELL me.
And she says (more red wine, more fireworks in the background), she says: (I want to hear the truth, and I may, with a bit more alcohol, just a bit)..
(More red wine).. Why, mother. Why?
And she says (I know truth is coming and I don’t know what it’s going to be)-
She says (more red wine, July 4th fireworks in the background (11 PM, western us)
Why did you hurt me.. purposefully, why did you want to hurt me?
She says, she says.. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! YOU ARE A NOBODY! YOU ARE A BIG ZERO!!!
But mother, that’s what you said, but you didn’t mean it, did you?
And she says: “Yes, I meant it: you are a NOBODY, you are q NOTHING- like I told you before!”
So she says, I remember.. her legacy in my life.
Anita
anita
ParticipantDear Alessa:
Thank you for sharing so openly. Your words carry such quiet strength and honesty—I felt them.
What you said about getting lost in intense emotion really resonated with me. That feeling of being consumed, of not knowing where the emotion ends and where you begin… I know that space. And I also know how powerful it is to take that first step back—to begin building safety, even if it’s just a little at a time.
I loved what you said here: “Emotion, in itself, is not the problem. The thoughts, the feelings, the expectations attached to it.” That’s such a clear and compassionate truth. It reminds me that emotion isn’t the enemy—it’s the stories we attach to it that can make it feel unbearable.
And your reflection on expectations—how being hopeful and surprised by change can lead to self-blame—that touched me. There’s something so human in that. I think many of us carry that quiet ache of “I should have known” when really, we were just doing our best with the understanding we had.
The idea of living alongside the pain instead of trying to erase it—that feels like a kind of wisdom that only comes through experience. It’s not resignation—it’s grace.
Thank you again for your presence here. You didn’t ramble at all. You shared something real, and I’m grateful for it. ❤️
Warmly, Anita 🤍
July 3, 2025 at 8:36 pm in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447322anita
ParticipantDear Emma:
Thank you for your thoughtful message—and for being so understanding about my energy this weekend. I really appreciate your openness and the way you’re reflecting on everything with such honesty.
What you said about feeling anxious and not being able to accept that Philip didn’t want contact anymore… I think many of us have been there in some way. It’s painful, especially when there’s still longing or confusion. But the fact that you can look at it now with clarity and care—that’s growth, Emma. Truly.
And yes, that story he told you about the man, the woman, and the baby… it is cold. It says a lot about how he views relationships and responsibility. I’m glad you noticed that and trusted your reaction. Sometimes we sense something is off long before we can explain why.
Thank you also for your kind words about my parents. No, there wasn’t a clear reason—they just weren’t emotionally available. They didn’t have a heart for me. Or for themselves 😔
And you’re right, Emma: a child can’t make sense of that. It leaves a kind of a loud-kind of silence that takes a long time to understand.
Wishing you a peaceful weekend too, Emma. I’m looking forward to continuing our conversation next week.
With care, Anita 🤍
July 3, 2025 at 12:04 pm in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447316anita
ParticipantDear Emma:
I’m not very focused at the moment and didn’t get to read everything in your most recent post—so I’ll just respond to a few parts, quoting them and offering some thoughts:
“Thank you for being here, Anita, it means a lot.”- And thank you, Emma, for being here. It means a lot to me too 🙂
“But what do you think has made him feel most unsafe? Would it have been the hot-cold, or me calling him ‘disrespectful’ and ‘very judgmental’ in that discussion?”- It might have been those things—but I wonder if what felt most unsafe was the moment you contacted him after he blocked you, and when you showed up at his building uninvited. That could have crossed a boundary he wasn’t prepared to navigate.
“So…you think it may not automatically be he does not like me at all, anymore?”- I truly can’t imagine anyone not liking you, Emma. You’re thoughtful, sensitive, and always trying to understand—qualities that I admire!
“That sounds tough as well, your mother constantly doubting your words—it sounds like she was afraid you would criticize her while you were not at all!”- That’s very perceptive—and honestly, I hadn’t thought of it that way until you said it. She really was afraid of being criticized, even when I wasn’t criticizing her. Thank you for helping me see that.
“Oh, if I may ask, was your self-hate based on anything that had happened before, or something your parents said or so?”- Yes, mostly things my mother said—over and over, in ways that settled deep inside. I only have one memory of my father before he left, when I was about five or six. Neither of them seemed to think or feel much about me emotionally. I wasn’t even an afterthought.
“He also seemed afraid women would take advantage of him—it was a theme in many stories he told me.”- That recurring fear of being taken advantage of—especially by women—makes me worry even more about the chance of him reconnecting with you. 😔 It’s not your fault, and not something you can fix, but it does shape how he sees closeness.
This weekend will be busy for me, and I may not have much time or energy to write until Monday. It’s possible I’ll check in sooner, but I’m not sure yet.
You’re welcome to reply to what I’ve written here—maybe just a short note so I can respond a little. I’m looking forward to talking more next week. Please take good care of yourself until then.
Warmly, Anita 🤍
anita
ParticipantDear Peter:
Thank you for naming this pause. It feels right—like breathing room around something sacred. There’s been so much shared, and I agree: it’s important not to grab onto it or try to turn it into something fixed. What came through feels meaningful just as it is.
I’m glad we’ve had this space to reflect, and I’m grateful for what you offered—it was real, deep, and full of life.
I’ll let the echo settle for now. No need to finish anything, no need to hold on. Just a quiet appreciation for what unfolded.
Wishing you a peaceful weekend.
Warmly, Anita 🤍
anita
ParticipantDear Gerald:
Thank you for sharing the lyrics to The Whistling Gypsy Rover—the first song you remember hearing. I don’t think I’ve come across it before, so you’ve introduced me to something new, and I truly appreciate that.
I can imagine how vivid that musical memory must have been, especially with its romantic, wandering spirit. Songs often become emotional bookmarks—snapshots of who we were and what we were feeling in that moment of life, don’t they?
I also want to thank you for your compassionate response to what I shared about my mother. Your words—“why a parent would devalue their child and damage them for life with cruel comments is baffling”—were deeply comforting. When someone sees that kind of harm for what it truly is, without trying to explain it away or soften the reality, it offers a kind of validation that means more than I can say.
I wholeheartedly agree with your thoughts on fatherhood and the lack of strong male role models. I’ve often thought about how boys grow up longing to know what tenderness and integrity look like in a male figure—and how many never get to see that modeled at home. If a father offers only control, criticism, or emotional distance, vulnerability begins to feel unsafe. And when boys learn early on that emotions are something to hide, they often grow into men who don’t know how to process grief, confusion, or fear—only how to bury those feelings and keep going.
Men are expected to be brave, silent, and uncomplaining. But underneath, there can be grief and loneliness that never find a name, simply because they were never shown how. That kind of invisible burden still shapes lives in powerful ways.
As for your question—should parenting be taught in high school? I couldn’t agree more. Not just biology or civics, but empathy, emotional regulation, and how to care for and guide another life. Teaching not only what parenting is, but also what it isn’t—exploring the difference between care and control, support and abuse—could make a meaningful impact. Even a short curriculum could begin to shift legacies.
Warm regards back to you—and thank you again for showing up with such insight and thoughtfulness.
Anita 🤍
anita
ParticipantDear Lucidity:
It’s so lovely to hear from you—I was genuinely touched that you thought of me. It’s wonderful to see you stepping into that creative space, sharing your reflections on YouTube in your own voice.
I just watched “Healing and grit: bouncing back with authenticity.” What a beautiful offering! It was a joy to see you, your home, your dogs—and to hear your voice, which carries such softness and calm. The audio was a little difficult for me to follow, so I’m looking forward to returning to it when I have a quieter moment next week. I have a full Thursday to Sunday ahead, but I’ll be back.
Thank you for sharing your work with me. It’s inspiring to see you explore healing in this way.
And I wanted to mention—I’m afraid I won’t be able to comment directly on your videos. I’m so technologically challenged that I wouldn’t even know how to sign myself into a Google account! But I’ll be watching, quietly cheering you on from here.
Warm wishes, Anita 🤍
July 3, 2025 at 9:00 am in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447310anita
ParticipantDear Emma:
I want to begin by saying how much strength I see in you. The fact that you’re still reflecting, still feeling, still reaching for understanding—that’s not weakness. That’s courage. And even though this part of the journey hurts, the way you’re walking through it tells me you’re already growing. You’re not broken—you’re becoming.
You wrote: “I don’t want to lose these thoughts, cause they are all I have of him.”-
In ROCD—and in heartbreak generally—the mind often becomes the keeper of memory when the heart is still reaching. Your thoughts are acting like quiet memorials, helping you stay close to something that mattered. That makes sense. You’re not obsessing because you’re irrational—you’re doing what humans do when they’re hurting and don’t want to say goodbye.
Later, you asked: “What do you think he will be thinking of me? I guess I’m asking to think of what chances I still have left… none I guess.”-
Sometimes couples do find each other again after a breakup, when something shifts and reconnection becomes possible. But in Philip’s case, the way he responded—the words he used, the emotion behind them—suggests he’s protecting a very strong boundary right now. As hard as it is to hear, reactions like that often mean someone doesn’t feel safe re-engaging, even if their feelings are mixed.
That doesn’t mean you didn’t matter. You did. The connection, the long calls, the closeness—they were real. But not all real things are meant to last. Sometimes love teaches us through departure.
His thoughts are not the only mirror of your worth, Emma. You are not defined by his silence or his rejection. You are still becoming—still discovering who you are when you’re not wrapped around someone else.
You asked if I’ve ever felt similar regret. What comes to mind is something from high school. I used to fantasize endlessly about a boy in my class named Robert. I’d never had a boyfriend, never kissed anyone, never dated. One night after a youth group meeting, he offered to walk me home so I wouldn’t be alone in the dark. It was my first chance to be alone with him—and I said “no.” Not because I didn’t want to, but because fear took over. And afterwards, the part of me that had dreamed of that moment deeply regretted saying no.
You asked about my mother—whether she doubted me to help me improve. The truth is, I don’t remember her wanting me to improve. What I remember is her punishing me for thinking “wrong,” feeling “wrong,” doing “wrong.” If I said nothing, she’d accuse me of thinking something she disapproved of, just from my facial expression. If I spoke, she’d dissect my words—pointing out contradictions with things I’d said days, months, even years earlier. The voice in my head still echoes her sometimes: You thought this wrong. You weren’t exact. Make it exact. Make it uncriticizable. But like I said—it’s getting softer.
And back to you again, Emma. You wrote: “I hate myself for breaking up with him.”-
Please don’t meet your pain with hate. Meet it with compassion. You were afraid, overwhelmed, trying to protect something inside you. You didn’t fail. You responded with the tools you had at the time. Hate will deepen the wound. Compassion makes room for healing. It truly changes everything.
I’ve carried self-hate and rejection for years. But the shift toward self-compassion—still relatively recent—is making all the difference in my life. If I could go back to that night with Robert, things might have unfolded differently. Back then, I didn’t like myself. I thought, If he walks me home, he’ll find out how unacceptable I am. So I said no.
But if I had thought well of myself—if I’d liked myself—I might’ve thought, Maybe Robert will like me too. And I would have said yes.
It’s never too late to say yes to ourselves, Emma. Start there. Gently.
I’m here with you.
Warmly, Anita 🤍
anita
Participant“A hope that if I understood I would no longer fear and no longer feel lost or alone. I would instead be in control and safe… That has proven to be a fool’s game and one I played badly.”-
Yes, ditto!
You’ve been talking here, peter, in these forums, since May 27, 2016, and yet- it’s like I am hearing you for the first time this very night, July 2, 2025, 11:30 pm.
How can we not-be-seen, not-be-heard, even though we’ve been showing, expressing.. how..
No-lysis.
In the core of it is Peter-the-boy, Anita-the-girl.. making a human, spiritual (the beyond-kind) connection.
I hope this is not too much.. Too Much for you, Peter?
Anita (last post of the night, 11:35 pm)
anita
Participant“No analysis. No conclusion. Just the afterglow of being fully present, of having held paradox without collapsing into certainty.”-
Relaxing into Uncertainty.
No longer trying to (like you say, Peter)- measure, label, name.. fix.
There’s freedom in it, a lightening of the weight.
I take air in, relax. Nothing to do. No one to convince. No one to impress.
Nothing to fix, nothing to figure out, nothing to do.
Nothing but to be.
From analysis to no-lysis.
Just be. Sh.. time to rest. Let go of the tension…
Nothing to run after, nothing to run away from.
Surrender- not to any one person, not to any ideology, any one politics- but to the timeless reality of something out there, something within, independent of all that mattered so much before.
A transcending.
Anita
anita
ParticipantYour post, Peter, is so meaningful to me, so special, it’s difficult for me to put it to rest till the morrow.
You wrote, “I see I have named a fear – to be misunderstood… I have named other fears, to be lost and alone… the tension of feeling separate from the world I know I’m not separate from.”-
A lost and alone boy, misunderstood (your shyness misunderstood as being conceited, I remember from what you shared July 3, 2018). I get a glimpse of how it was for you, way back then.
And I feel honored that you shared this with me.
Anita
anita
ParticipantAnd the way you ended your post: “So, scream. If it comes, let it come. Not as a symptom but as a signal that you are alive, unhidden, and unwilling to mute what is most vital. Even the soul needs a sound sometimes. Let it be wild. Let it be true. Let it be yours. The sound and mirror of AUM.”-
I never read anything more meaningful, more personal, more… These are your words, spoken to me, for me…(This is making me emotional).
No, NO, out of the parenthesis- A scream: thank you for being here with me!
Anita
anita
ParticipantDear Peter:
“I may still scream… just not in desperation… a holy scream. Not a scream of ‘save me!’, but the scream ‘I am here!’ Not desperation, but declaration. Not collapse, but liberation. Not trying to flee the fire but becoming the flame.”-
I’m in awe of these words—they’re so powerful. My scream has long been “save me!” Oh, how much trouble that cry has brought me.
I was desperate. For a long, long… long time.
But now—not fleeing the fire but becoming the flame—this is what’s beginning to take place within me. I’m open to more of it. More of becoming the flame.
I’ll be back in the morning to continue the conversation. Looking forward to it.
And thank you, Peter.
Warmly, Anita 🤍
anita
Participant… Be back tomorrow (Wed night here)
July 2, 2025 at 9:05 pm in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447284anita
ParticipantDear Emma, Thank you for your empathy and support—it means so much. It’s nighttime here, and I’ll need the focus I hope to have in the morning to reply to you with the care your message deserves.
Wishing you all the best, Anita
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