Dear Dafne:

I agree with your reflections—and with your conclusion: “he chose the road of deception, and this story came to an end.”

When you write, “I think he brought that up because… My guess is… perhaps what he was really hoping for… Maybe he realised that…”—

it’s clear how much emotional labor you’ve done to make sense of his choices. But the kind of man you need in your life is one who’s transparent. Someone who’s clear and direct, so you’re not left guessing at the whys. So there aren’t perhapses and maybes—just truth, freely offered.

You are very welcome, Dafne. I too hope that sharing and empathizing with each other brings us both more peace and harmony in our lives.

💕 🤗 Anita

Dear Dafne:

“So he did not mind paying for dates with me as long as he felt appreciated.”- Oh, so by “Now he expects reciprocation with everything he does.” (Dec 29)—he didn’t mean financial reciprocation, but just appreciation, is what you’re saying.

“But maybe over time, he began to feel that this wasn’t enough for him. Could it be?”- Could be.

“They failed us Anita, they failed us big time. Whether it was conscious or unconscious, it caused the same kind of pain and had lifelong consequences for us. They may be sorry now, or not. But it’s too late. Even if we forgive them, even if we forget, nothing will change, and nothing will ever fill that void inside us. Every time we see happy families, every time we rejoice for them, something deep down will never be made whole. A piece of us was taken, and no matter how much love we find, that missing piece will never return. It is an absence we carry, a silence that echoes through our lives, reminding us of what should have been, but never was.

“Let’s find the strength to hold onto that and take up our space. Let’s not let our emotions take control anymore, failing us every time a new person comes to take another piece away.”

I copied the above simply because it’s beautifully expressed. It doesn’t require analysis or dissection. This is Dafne expressing herself, taking up space—well done, Dafne.

And thank you, Dafne- for your words and for being here.

Warmth and gratitude back to you.

☀️🤍 Anita

I will read and reply tonight, Clara (it’s early afternoon here). Take care!

Anita

Dear Clara:

Your reflection carries a lot of grace—both toward her and toward yourself. I can feel the tenderness in how you describe her energy, and also the quiet ache of realizing that what you hoped for may not align with what she’s seeking. That kind of emotional recalibration is no small thing.

You’re already doing something powerful: naming the dissonance without vilifying her, and acknowledging your own emotional impact without collapsing into self-blame. That’s the kind of clarity that boundary work is built on.

When I talk about “crafting boundary phrases,” here are some boundary phrases you might explore or adapt:

* “I care about you, and I also need to be honest about what I can sustainably offer in a relationship.”

* “It’s okay that we want different things. I’m not here to convince or compete—I’m here to honor what’s true for me.”

* “I’m learning to trust that someone wanting more than I can give doesn’t mean I’m not enough.”

* “I’m stepping back not because I don’t care, but because I do—and I need space to recalibrate.”

These aren’t scripts, just starting points. The most powerful boundary phrases come from your own voice, shaped by your values and emotional clarity.

If you’d like, maybe I can help you shape one that feels more personal—something you could use in conversation, writing, or even just as a grounding mantra when doubt creeps in.

You’re already navigating this with a lot of emotional intelligence. The boundary work is just the next layer of self-loyalty.

Warmly, Anita

Bondi, what you’ve shared is not just heartbreaking—it’s a masterclass in how families protect dysfunction by punishing the one who names it. You told the truth, and instead of being met with care, you were met with condemnation. That’s not just neglect. That’s reversal.

You said: “A few years ago what that relative did resurfaced. All because I referred to him for what he was; an abuser.”- That moment—naming the truth—is where the punishment began. Not for the abuser, but for you.

You were met with: “Everyone rallied around them because they were upset. No one asked my side. No one asked how I was.”, “Told how I should be over it by now. Told I should’ve brought it up at the time. Told I was making it up and I was crazy.”, “Even told by another family member that it couldn’t have happened because they never felt in danger around the abuser.”-

This is textbook emotional reversal. You became the threat—not because you harmed anyone, but because you disrupted the comfort of denial. Your family rewarded silence, compliance, and emotional decorum. And when you refused to perform those things, they punished you with isolation, gaslighting, and contempt.

You said: “My family have ostracised me. They look at me with so much hatred. Like they would rather I didn’t exist.”- That’s not about who you are. That’s about what you represent: truth in a system built on denial.

Even the so-called “support” from your parents is conditional: “They say they support me and they believe me but it’s the elephant in the room. If I ever bring it up I get shut down like it’s a forbidden topic.”- That’s not support. That’s performance. And it reinforces the same message: “We’ll tolerate your pain as long as you don’t speak it.”

You are not the problem, Bondi. You are the proof that the problem exists. And that’s why they treat you like a threat.

Your ability to name harm, even when it costs you everything, is not a flaw. It’s a strength. It’s the reason you’re still here. And it’s the reason you’re not alone.

I would truly welcome hearing more of your truth. Your voice and your emotions will not be punished in communication with me— they will be honored.

With care, Anita

Dear Dafne:

“When we met by chance, I asked him why he had not contacted me sooner, and he said that it was because he felt that he could not give me what I deserved.”- When you got lost driving and called him for help, you deserved help. So—he couldn’t give you what you deserved? Or wouldn’t?

Action (or lack of it) speaks louder than words.

“His friends said that he is a good man and cares about me.”- His friends uttered words. How much effort does it take to say something supportive?

And what do they mean by “a good man”? Definitions vary. Every bad man is good in some context—Hitler, for example, was reportedly good to his dog.

“Is it possible that all three friends are wrong about him? Or were they just in it together?”- I doubt they were deeply contemplating his character. More likely, they said what was convenient—what aligned with loyalty to their friend.

“Maybe his pride did not let him be entirely honest?”- What if you shift focus from his motives to the impact of his behavior on you? Did his dishonesty hurt you?

“But all of this covered my judgment and made me give him another chance.”- I understand. It took me time and work to trust my own evaluations of people.

“The occasion on the motorway revealed his true colors.”- Yes—and the fact that he didn’t check on you afterward shows he didn’t regret failing you when you needed help. He didn’t call to sincerely apologize or make amends.

“He pretended to be offended and made me feel guilty instead.”- Your tendency to feel guilty can be weaponized by others. That’s not your fault—but it’s something to protect.

“But how do we protect ourselves from men like him in the future? And what are the early signs that he will be the one using the emotional reverse tactic? He was kind, progressive, always on time, and quite caring at the beginning.”- Words are easy. Watch what he does—and what he doesn’t do. In dating or business, people often wear a social mask. The early kindness may be part of the performance.

“How is it possible to change that much?”- He didn’t change. He removed the mask.

“But what if they are not so expressive verbally?”- Then pay attention to their actions.

“It is still hard to believe that one unpredictable moment in life like this can change everything and cast a shadow on a promising story.”- I wasn’t sure what “promising story” you meant here—could you clarify?

About your neighbor: you described someone dangerous, who intentionally harms others and even breaks the law. Yet she “can’t be evicted,” and the police “can’t do much.”

“Now it feels like I’m taking on another emotional labor just to keep my neighbor quiet, trying not to provoke her, staying completely quiet, and it feels like walking on nails, where I live in extreme discomfort and walk on eggshells, avoiding stirring things up. Can you see that pattern, Anita? Or maybe society has changed so badly in those modern times, and it has not that much to do with our confidence, self-worth, or childhood trauma?”- Even with high confidence and no trauma, your neighbor’s behavior would still be disturbing. Without legal support or eviction, moving out may be the only real solution.

The emotional labor you described—staying quiet, walking on eggshells that feel like nails, self-monitoring to avoid her attacks—reminds me of living with my mother. It felt like a prison cell. Not free to be or become. Always afraid. Always censoring myself.

You’re not imagining the harm, Dafne. You’re seeing it clearly. And your clarity is a strength—not a burden. You don’t need to decode his motives or her cruelty. You only need to honor what their actions have shown you. That’s how we protect ourselves—not by being perfect, but by refusing to abandon our own truth.

With care, Anita

Dear Dafne: You are very welcome! Please take all the time you need to reply, be it hours or days. And you are right, replying separately will be easier for me to read and have more clarity.

🤗 Anita

Hello Alecsee:

I’m guessing she didn’t reach out to wish you a happy birthday…?

You did very well not reaching out to her after she set that boundary on July 19th—congratulations. That takes strength and self-respect.

And congratulations as well on all the self-improvement and socializing you’ve been doing. That’s no small thing.

“Mind’s racing a bit but tbh it’s not in my control 😞”- I understand, Alecsee. When my mind starts racing, I use something I call NPARR:

Notice that it’s racing.

Pause—press the internal “pause” button.

Address the situation by identifying the problem and asking: Can I provide all or part of the solution?

Respond—take action if possible, or accept if not.

Redirect my attention elsewhere.

Have you tried anything like that, Alecsee?

With care, Anita 🤍✨