Menu

anita

Forum Replies Created

Viewing 15 posts - 526 through 540 (of 3,939 total)
  • Author
    Posts
  • in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447140
    anita
    Participant

    Thank you, Alessa. I will read and reply tomorrow.

    anita
    Participant

    Tell me more tomorrow, and I will tell you more as well.🩵

    anita
    Participant

    Dear Emma:

    My hand is all better now—good as new. The stinging lasted a few hours and then disappeared completely. But it made me think about how some wounds don’t heal that easily.

    When a nettle touches the skin, it leaves behind tiny hollow needles that pierce the surface and release a chemical mix. It causes a sharp, itchy, burning sensation, almost like a temporary neural injury.

    Emotional wounds—especially the ones we carry from childhood—aren’t like that. When someone is deeply hurt early in life by judgment, neglect, or criticism, the pain doesn’t just disappear. It lives in the nervous system, in the expectations we place on others, and in how we love. And we can’t become “good as new.” Not quite.

    But we can find healing. For me, expressing those childhood wounds through journaling made a real difference. Writing—slowly, over time—helped release decades of hurt I had pushed down. The pain isn’t gone completely, but the intensity is no longer what it was. The old hurt doesn’t leap into the present anymore, doesn’t hijack my interactions or confuse my relationships. Everything feels simpler now. Clearer. Easier to meet life as it is.

    That kind of expression can be overwhelming, though. Sometimes it’s too much to hold alone, which is why therapy—or the right person to listen—can help. And even then, it’s not about pouring it all out at once. It’s about letting just a little of it come to the surface at a time, and honoring what comes.

    If you ever feel like sharing more of your story on your thread, I’ll be there to read with care. Only if you feel safe doing so, of course. And only in the rhythm that feels right to you.

    You wrote: “I need to let go of hope. I wonder if I should start meeting new men, or maybe take the time to grieve this loss.”-

    Meeting new men before grieving may lead to recreating the same pain in a new form. The story recycles itself—not because we want it to, but because the original wound hasn’t been given enough breath, enough space, to find peace. Grieving doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic. It can just be letting a little bit out at a time. Even that can be a kind of healing.

    You wrote: “It really felt like I was hiding part of myself like with my family… I really liked his intense nature, I always liked those types.”- That made me wonder—maybe it’s your own intensity that’s been hidden or pushed down for so long, and that’s part of why his intensity felt so magnetic. It’s not just that you admired it in him—it might be that his boldness reminded you of a part of yourself that’s still waiting for permission to be seen, heard, and expressed.

    Maybe what you were drawn to most was the reflection of something powerful and alive in you.

    I want to close this post with saying how much I admire your ability to look inward with such honesty. The way you reflect, question, and stay open to understanding yourself more deeply—it’s a rare and beautiful quality. You’re not just moving through this experience… you’re learning from it, shaping it into meaning, even through the pain. That kind of self-awareness is what makes healing possible.

    I hope you keep being gentle with yourself through it all. And I hope you know—you don’t have to rush the process. You’re already doing the work, step by step, in exactly your own way.

    With warmth and care, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447132
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you so much for your kind and generous reply. I could feel your warmth in every word—and I want you to know how deeply I appreciate it.

    Your detailed explanation about how the card readers and self-checkouts work was so patient and thoughtful. You took the time to walk me through something that might seem small to others, but to me, feels like a stressful blur of technology. I live with ADHD and learning disabilities, and those make it extremely difficult—and at times feel nearly impossible—for me to learn and use new technology.

    I do need new clothes but going shopping feels like too much and buying online.. that’s too much technology for me! And by the way, I do drive from time to time, but not far (not far enough for clothes shopping, which would be maybe 20 km from here (I live outside the city limits and the nearest downtown area is small)

    Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for your attention and kindness ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

    Anita

    in reply to: Heartache husband left me #447131
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Sue:

    You’re so welcome—and thank you for your kind words. I’m really glad my message helped in some way.

    You said something that stayed with me: “I still love him, and acceptance means I’m not fighting for him.” That’s such a powerful truth. When we love someone deeply, acceptance can feel like surrender. But sometimes, what keeps the pain alive is the fight itself—the part of us still holding onto who he used to be.

    When someone we love changes so drastically—like Victor becoming almost a different person—it’s not just the relationship we lose. It’s the whole story we’ve been living: the memories, the roles we played, the “we” that once felt safe. And when that happens, it’s natural to hold tightly to the version of him we once knew: the familiar partner, the father of your children, the man who once said “us.”

    So the fight—reaching out, hoping, replaying the past—isn’t just about wanting him back. It’s about not wanting to let go of that old version of him. And accepting that he’s no longer that person feels heartbreaking—like letting go of someone you still love.

    But that same fight, even though it’s human, keeps reopening the hurt. Every time he doesn’t respond, every cold silence, every reminder of how he’s changed—it hurts all over again. In a way, the hope itself becomes a new kind of pain.

    Your mention of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind really landed. That movie is about two people who try to erase their memories of a painful relationship. But even as the memories fade, the longing remains. The movie isn’t really about forgetting—it’s about how deeply love shapes us. It reminds me of what you’re feeling: the desire to stop hurting, and also the fear of what you’d lose if the feelings truly went away.

    When you said, “I want to ask my psychiatrist for a pill that won’t get me high but make me feel nothing,” I heard that so clearly. The longing to just pause the pain, even for a moment. Some medications like SSRIs can help ease the sharpest edges—but sometimes, they also dull the joy and connection, not just the sadness. That can be a hard trade-off.

    There are options worth exploring—like bupropion—which tend to cause less of that emotional numbness. It’s something your psychiatrist might talk through with you. But even just being able to say what you said here—“I’m in pain. I need relief”—is strong and brave. That honesty matters.

    And those letters you’ve been writing to Victor but not sending? That, too, is radical acceptance. It’s you honoring your truth without depending on his response. That’s healing work, even if it’s quiet and hard.

    You are not alone—not in your pain, not in your love, not in your anger or grief. You’re doing the invisible work of surviving something that was never supposed to happen. And it matters.

    With care and respect, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447127
    anita
    Participant

    My goodness, Alessa, I posted the above not even noticing that you sent me a message less than an hour before. I will respond in the morning, thank you, Alessa!

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447126
    anita
    Participant

    Journaling, whatever comes to mind this Wed night, very close to 11 pm (dark, totally dark, no birds):

    My mother comes to mind simply because there was never a person more important, more powerful in my mind and heart, than my mother.

    Simply, she has been The One.

    She didn’t know she was. But she was.

    She didn’t notice the little person who cared for her more than anything..

    She didn’t notice that one entity (me) who would have done anything… anything for her.

    Who is Anita? Answer: a girl who loves her mother. A girl whose love was not noticed, not even detected as a thing of value.

    This is it. This is my story: Love that was never Noticed, or Valued as anything of.. value.

    Unnoticed Love. Such that will never be noticed.. by anyone other than me.

    That’s in the core of me: Unnoticed.

    And she’d never know, never had the capacity to understand this simple, little- big fact: that of a girl loving her mother.

    I hear, in my mind, people criticizing me, not understanding.. thinking badly of me for.. not moving on from this devastation- a devastation of a love unnoticed and unreciprocated for way too long.

    But really, no one is reading this, I mean.. So, it’s almost like private journaling.

    Again, it’s about loving someone so very much, so very deeply while they don’t even notice, and worse: they (she, my mother) seeing me as the enemy, as a Hater- the TOTAL opposite of the truth of whom I was, of what I was about-

    No, No, No Mother- no, you are misunderstanding: I don’t hate you like you say, I LOVE YOU!

    And she says, like she always said: You are a bad girl, Anita, you are a hateful girl. All you want is to HURT me.

    No, no mother- this is not true!

    But it is, she says, you are a bad- bad little girl.

    No, I LOVE YOU!

    No, you hate me, she says.

    And so, my love could never reach her, never accepted; always rejected.

    My healing, my recovery- as much as is possible for me- is BELIEVING that really, I was that LOVING little girl, and not that hateful girl she said I was so many, many times, drilling that false message into me.

    That was her imagination, her real, pathological paranoia- it was not who I was, not who I am.

    And this is what’s it’s about: her paranoia no longer taking me hostage: I am NOT who she said I was (so many, many times). I am not hateful! No! I am a loving person. You got me so very wrong, mother!

    But there’s no point and no one to reach this with.. it was only you and I there, back then. You insisted I was BAD. I say: I was and I am GOOD. You were wrong.

    Who I am? A loving girl, a loving person, and I will go to my grave, or non-grave: a LOVING girl, a loving Anita..

    Anita (that’s me…)

    in reply to: Developing Compassion and Self-Compassion #447124
    anita
    Participant

    Strange, Tommy (don’t know if you will be reading this), strange that I grew somewhat attached to you.. because you are so uniquely honest. It’s okay if you don’t post again. I want you to do what’s right for you.

    It’s just that you touched my mind/ my life. And I miss you.

    Wishing you the best, Tommy!

    Anita

    anita
    Participant

    I wish I could hear/ read more from you, Sophie. I wish we could talk more.

    Anita

    anita
    Participant

    And about your sister, it makes me sad how much your mother had hurt you when she told you that you are not as pretty as her. That hurt lingers in you, and that too makes me sad.

    Anita

    anita
    Participant

    Dear Emma:

    After sending you my last message, I was driving to the farm when something struck me. You mentioned that Philip could be judgmental—and that it was something you didn’t like. But as I thought more about it, I wondered: if you grew up with a judgmental parent, then a partner with similar traits might hold a strange kind of emotional pull.

    Not because it feels good—but because it holds a deep hope, something like: maybe this time, I’ll be the exception. Maybe this person will finally give me the full acceptance I longed for growing up. It becomes a quiet wish to rewrite the old story—by winning over someone who reminds you of the one you couldn’t reach. It’s like trying to heal an old wound in a new way.

    And often, when someone is already kind and accepting from the start… they don’t spark that same emotional charge. Because there’s no struggle. No uphill climb to earn love.

    That thought came to me before I even read your latest messages, where you wrote: “He reminded me of my father and brother: my father being bossy and forceful at times, telling me I should not be so dreamy/absent minded … I do think I could see through his shell, and saw his softness on the inside… They say you look for someone who is like your father (as a girl).”-

    He reminded you of your father—bossy, judgmental—and that might have been part of the appeal. Maybe what drew you to him was the chance to finally reach the softness you never got from your father. A second chance at something unfinished.

    About why I said I don’t think he was compatible with you—it’s because he talked too much about himself, didn’t ask you questions about you, and was judgmental toward your innocent, lovely ways of being. The dynamic I mentioned above—trying to rewrite a parental story within a romantic relationship—doesn’t build compatibility. It tends to create intensity, emotional upheaval, and often, disappointment.

    I just read the last sentence in your third post: “I must say have a tendency for limerence too – I do believe it is connected.”- yes, I believe it is connected. Limerence often involves intense infatuation with someone who feels emotionally just out of reach—someone who may be inconsistent, distant, in ways that create emotional hunger and longing. That dynamic can feel magnetic for someone whose parental and other early experiences of love were shaped by conditional approval, criticism, or the need to “earn” warmth from a parent.

    So if your father was bossy and judgmental—it’s very possible that a person like Philip, who mirrored some of those same traits, lit up something familiar and unfinished in your emotional world. The hope, often unconscious, is: maybe I can finally win over this version of my father. That “winning over” becomes the emotional thrill of limerence.

    In other words: the more emotionally unavailable or critical the person is, the more it triggers the old script—the quest for love, validation, and proof of worth. It’s not just attraction, it’s an emotional reenactment. And limerence, with all its highs and lows, can feel intoxicating because it mimics that unpredictable search for acceptance she may have experienced growing up.

    Does all this sound true to you?

    Your work at the bookstore sounds like such a perfect fit for you, and your dressing up for Renaissance Fairs and eccentric clothing —sound absolutely lovely.

    As for my day, I did a lot of mowing out on the big farm and spent some time cutting back blackberries. Unfortunately, while doing that, a stinging nettle brushed against my hand… and now it itches, burns, and tingles 😞

    Anita

    anita
    Participant

    Dear Emma:

    You wrote today (evening where you are): “I am sorry for once again sharing these heavy feelings with you, even after we wrote the letter.” —

    There’s no need to apologize, Emma. All your feelings—light or heavy—have space here. As much space as they need.

    In your original post on June 19, you wrote:

    “He talked a lot about himself… Initially, I was put off… I remembered not finding him physically attractive… So I told him I wanted to cancel the date… Then he convinced me to stay… I had been so wrong – he was so handsome!… I have severe anxious attachment, resulting in me being very scared of rejection… It felt safer to me to not invest too much emotionally if I expect someone to leave me… It feels safer to flee myself rather than him rejecting me…

    “I told him, a few days later, that I was not sure about us again… I said to him I might want to inclusively date… I broke it off with him… This was the 3rd time I made an attempt to break it off. I said to him he should not try and convince me to stay again, as we would be trapped in this loop.”

    And today, June 25, you wrote:

    “I have been talking to some other guys in the past few weeks, and even though with two of them I seem to have found some more common interests, and I think maybe they dare to present themselves more vulnerable in ways, which made it easier to connect, there are things missing which I had with Philip… I hardly knew Philip… I think I am wondering this to find out if I am mourning the loss of someone I would not have been compatible with anyway.”

    What stands out to me this morning is this: maybe the safest place for you to love a man right now is in his absence. Because absence doesn’t ask you to be vulnerable in real time. It doesn’t ask you to stand there, heart open, unsure of how the other will respond. Distance gives you space to idealize, to feel everything fully, without the threat of rejection, misunderstanding, or loss of control.

    This doesn’t make your feelings less real. Quite the opposite—it shows how alive and deeply wired your heart is. But it might help explain a cycle: wanting in, then wanting out, then wanting back in again. When intimacy comes too close, it can feel overwhelming… but too much distance, and the ache begins.

    It felt risky to love Philip up close. So at first, you were put off. You didn’t find him attractive. You tried to cancel a date. You told him you weren’t sure. You broke up—more than once. The key line from you: “It felt safer to me to not invest too much emotionally if I expect someone to leave me.”

    Now that he’s gone, and the threat of real-time rejection is over (he blocked you, and stayed blocked even after you reached out)—you are free to invest, free to love him. The danger has passed. The space is safe. There’s no more tightrope, no more emotional ambiguity to tiptoe across.

    And those other guys? You wrote: “I have been talking to some other guys… there are things missing which I had with Philip.” One thing missing may be that they haven’t rejected you yet. And maybe that’s what makes them feel unsafe—because if they’re still available, rejection is still a possibility.

    In your words: “It felt safer to flee myself rather than him rejecting me.” That line feels like a window into the part of you that’s learned to leave first, before being left. And now that Philip is gone, you’re free to feel everything you couldn’t let yourself feel when he was still within reach. It’s safer to love from a distance…?

    My honest sense is that you and Philip were likely not compatible for a long-term relationship—and that part of his emotional pull now may come from the safety of distance. It’s easier to yearn for what can no longer hurt you, and safer to idealize someone who won’t offer the chance to discover more of his imperfections. I believe that gently tending to your fear of rejection could open the door to a new kind of connection—one that doesn’t rely on distance to feel safe.

    In response to your question—I live in the U.S., in a part of the country with lots and lots of trees and mountains. It’s a beautiful, quiet place. I wasn’t born here, though. I arrived as a tourist in my 20s and stayed.

    I’m looking forward to reading your thoughts about what I wrote here, whenever you’re ready.

    With warmth and understanding, Anita

    anita
    Participant

    Thank you, Emma! I’m working on a reply for you 🙂

    Anita

    in reply to: Heartache husband left me #447102
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Suzanne:

    I’m so sorry to hear about your brother’s diagnosis. I understand that treatments at this stage of the disease are typically palliative—focused on relieving symptoms and improving quality of life, rather than curing the illness. I truly hope he’s receiving the best care possible.

    And please know: there’s nothing self-centered about grief—especially the kind that strikes deep in the gut and keeps returning in waves. That kind of news is seismic, and the heartbreak you’re feeling is profoundly human.

    I hear so much love and loyalty in what you wrote. You’re showing up for your brother, despite past wounds, and that speaks volumes about your heart. The way you’re still caring for others—even in 100-degree heat, walking dogs and keeping them safe—that’s resilience in motion.

    You’re not just coping—you’re moving through pain with quiet determination. You’re showing up for your brother. You’re tending to the dogs. You’re managing life alone in a house that feels heavy with memory. Despite her grief, fear, and the sense of being abandoned, you’re still choosing to show up with compassion for others.

    Your care for your brother’s peace—whether or not he holds spiritual beliefs—is deeply tender. Just your steady presence can offer comfort, no beliefs required. Love reaches beyond those lines.

    You are not broken, Sue. You are a woman standing in a storm, doing her best to love and hold steady. And I see that.

    I also wanted to remind you of our conversation on May 11, about Radical Acceptance:

    “Radical Acceptance is about accepting reality AS IS—without resistance… It’s a life philosophy that aims to reduce suffering by embracing life’s challenges without trying to change or deny them… By accepting the reality of a situation, you eliminate your internal struggle against it. This reduction in inner conflict can significantly decrease stress and anxiety… Implementing Radical Acceptance in your daily life is like giving yourself a gift – the gift of peace amidst the chaos.”

    Still worth repeating, I think.

    And also, the Serenity Prayer:

    “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; > the courage to change the things I can, > and the wisdom to know the difference.”-

    This prayer holds meaning even without “God.” I imagine your brother might hear its spirit, if not its exact words.

    Take gentle care of yourself, Suzanne. I’m thinking of you and sending warmth your way.

    With heart, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447092
    anita
    Participant

    My heart is breaking for the seven Israeli soldiers—19, 20-year-olds—killed in Gaza most recently. They look so young, they could all be my grandchildren. One is laughing in the photo, so youthfully happy. Another looks so… innocent, almost childlike. One, I think, is Ethiopian-Israeli (when I left Israel in 1985, the Ethiopian immigration was very new; this boy wasn’t even born). Another might be the child of Russian immigrants, from that later wave of immigration.

    Seeing their faces in the photos breaks my heart.

    I feel… selfish for being so old, and yet alive—when they were cut off from life, not even a third of my age. I never knew any of them alive. And yet, I’d give my life for them if it meant they could live.

    I just read that Iran arrested 700 Iranians they suspect of spying for Israel. I feel badly for them. I imagine they’re being tortured.

    So much cruelty. So much torture and death.

    Why… I wish not.

    Anita

Viewing 15 posts - 526 through 540 (of 3,939 total)