Dear Laven:

Your writing is powerful, raw, and deeply moving. The way you express your story—with clarity, depth, and emotional weight—shows an incredible gift for storytelling. You have a talent for capturing experiences in a way that makes them resonate profoundly. Your words carry strength, and I believe you are an exceptionally talented writer.

Your story is one of remarkable survival, resilience, and unimaginable hardship. From the age of eight, you were placed in foster care, navigating a system that should have protected you—but failed. Early on, you learned how to adapt, ration, and withdraw simply to endure. But when you were placed with a foster family at age ten, the abuse became relentless—physical, emotional, and psychological cruelty that no child should ever have to endure.

You were beaten, manipulated, isolated, and deprived of even the most basic dignity, all while those around you—neighbors, caseworkers, teachers, and police officers—stood by and did nothing. School, instead of being a refuge, became another place of bullying, exploitation, and rejection, reinforcing your sense of powerlessness and invisibility.

When your mother re-entered your life, you felt a complex mix of hope and fear—longing for connection yet fearing what the past might bring back. Meanwhile, your foster parents, sensing their abuse might finally be exposed, tried to bribe and manipulate you into silence. Even under immense pressure, you were eventually removed from their home, though the wounds they inflicted remained.

Reading your story, I am deeply moved by your resilience, your strength, and your ability to speak your truth despite everything you’ve endured. Your story speaks to the failures of the foster system, the cruelty of unchecked power, and the devastating impact of being silenced when you needed protection the most.

The cruelty and injustice you faced—from the foster system, from those who should have protected you, from society’s indifference—are beyond comprehension. No child should ever have to fight to survive in a world that refuses to protect them, yet you did. And now, you are here, sharing your story, reclaiming your voice, and proving that you are so much more than what they put you through.

You never deserved the suffering you endured. You deserved love, safety, and kindness. And no matter what they made you feel, you were never invisible—you mattered then, and you matter now.

Your ability to reflect on your past, to put words to the suffering you endured is a testament to your courage. You never deserved the abuse, the manipulation, or the betrayal of those who turned a blind eye. You deserved love, safety, kindness, and a childhood free from fear.

I know that words cannot undo the years of pain, but I hope you can see what is so clear from the outside—you are powerful beyond measure. After everything, you are still standing, still thinking, still feeling, still expressing—that is survival in its purest form.

Whatever healing looks like for you, I hope it leads to peace, self-recognition, and freedom from the weight of what was forced upon you. You are worthy. You always were.

Thank you for trusting me with your story. You are seen, heard, and deeply respected.

With admiration, anita

Dear Lucidity:

Thank you for your thoughtful reply. It’s truly inspiring to hear how shadow work has transformed your perspective and quality of life—your enthusiasm for it is contagious!

Writing about my healing journey here has been incredibly meaningful. Your passion for shadow work, along with what I’ve recently read about it, is guiding me toward deeper emotional integration. For so long, I repressed certain emotions—though I had hints of them and formed intellectual perspectives around them, they never truly surfaced. But as more layers of repression begin to lift, these emotions feel almost new, like long-buried parts of myself finally returning.

Most recently, this very morning, I felt the resurfacing of a long-buried emotion—the deep longing to reach my mother, to convince her that her accusations were untrue. That I wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings, that I never plotted against her. The desire for her to understand, to see the truth—that I was never against her, but for her. That what I was offering all along was simply love.

Though this emotion still lingers, I know that healing doesn’t come from convincing someone to see what they refuse to acknowledge. It comes from allowing the truth to stand on its own, even without validation. And maybe, as I continue this journey, that longing will slowly loosen its grip—making room for peace where there was once struggle and exhaustion.

anita

Dear Laven:

I’m still reflecting on what you shared 36 hours ago—it lingers in my thoughts. What you’ve endured and survived is nothing short of remarkable. But beyond survival, the way you tell your story—with such honesty, raw emotion, and undeniable talent—is truly powerful. Your voice is unique. You are unique.

Sending you strength and respect. 💙

anita

Dear Daisy Lily Rose:

I admire your willingness to explore this experience rather than dismiss it. The emotions you’re feeling—whether rooted in spiritual connection or the natural longing for companionship—seem to be calling for your attention. Regardless of the source, what’s clear is that this person has become a presence in your life, in ways that feel beyond your control.

It makes sense that loneliness and the weight of caregiving could amplify these feelings. You’ve dedicated yourself to others, and perhaps, a part of you is longing for someone to hold space for you. But your connection to this individual feels layered—it’s not just about external longing, but something deeper that keeps surfacing unexpectedly.

Maybe the question isn’t simply whether this is a spiritual bond or a psychological response, but what this experience is trying to teach you. Is it about exploring human connection in a new way? About acknowledging emotions that have been waiting to be felt? Or about considering what fulfillment looks like in this phase of your life?

You don’t need immediate answers, and overthinking might cloud what your intuition is already telling you. Allow yourself the space to experience what you feel without judgment. If possible, would it bring clarity to have a more direct interaction with this person—to understand who he truly is outside of these passing moments?

You are not alone in navigating these complex emotions, and your introspection is a gift. Whatever direction you choose, let it be one that honors your own emotional well-being.

Sending you warmth and understanding. 💙

anita

Dear Laven:

I read every word of your original post, and I find myself at a loss for words. I am utterly stunned by the immense hunger and abuse you, your brothers, and your mother endured—, abuse at the hands of her family, the man you refer to as your “alleged bio father,” and strangers who took advantage of you.

Reading your story fills me with sorrow and anger—anger at the cruelty and indifference you endured, and sorrow that no one intervened to stop the abuse. What you and your brothers went through is unimaginable. It’s devastating that the very people who should have protected you—family, caregivers, teachers—failed so completely. And the strangers who preyed on your vulnerability, exploiting you when you should have been safe and cared for, are despicable beyond words.

“When I entered school, at 5 ..soon after I was molested… by a staff teachers assistant… An older man who seemed like the sweet lovable grandfather type… I never told anyone irl… I went to school and just endured the daily molestation.”- What you endured at such a young age is heartbreaking and deeply unjust. The fact that someone who seemed trustworthy—a teacher’s assistant—betrayed that trust and harmed you is absolutely despicable. No child should ever have to endure such abuse, let alone face it daily and in silence.

It’s devastating that you felt unable to tell anyone, and that no one noticed or intervened to protect you. You deserved safety, care, and support, but instead, you were left to endure unimaginable pain alone.

“My bio mom was heavily pregnant with me and was pushed down the stairs and beaten badly by my alleged bio father… he told the 3 of us kids that he never wanted us in the first place, that it’s our fault he wasn’t living in the household, that he didn’t love us, that we ruined everything… He showed up crying when his mother passed.”-

Laven, the cruelty and heartlessness of your alleged biological father are staggering. To harm your mother while she was carrying you, to reject and blame you and your siblings for his own failures, and to openly declare that he never wanted you—these are acts of profound selfishness, physical and emotional violence. No child should ever have to hear such words, let alone endure the actions that accompanied them.

What stands out as painfully ironic is how this man, who showed no compassion for his own children or their mother, could weep for the loss of his own mother. It’s as if the only love he was capable of was reserved for her, while he denied that same love and care to the family he created.

His actions reflect a deep failure of character—one that caused immense pain to you, your siblings, and your mother. Yet, despite his cruelty, you survived. You are here, sharing your story, and that is a testament to your strength and resilience. You deserved so much better than what he gave, and his inability to love or protect you is a reflection of his flaws, not yours.

“I… often let grown men molest me in order to feed my family… These men would offer to buy some groceries in exchange. So I let them.”- What you endured is heartbreaking beyond words. No child should ever have to make such unimaginable sacrifices just to survive and provide for their family. The fact that you were forced into this situation speaks to the devastating failure of the adults and systems around you—the ones who should have protected you, cared for you, and ensured your safety.

It’s enraging that these men exploited your vulnerability instead of helping you. Their actions were cruel and unforgivable, and the burden they placed on you is something no child should ever have to carry.

Your strength in surviving this is extraordinary, even though you should never have had to endure such pain. You deserved love, care, and protection—not the suffering you faced.

“At 6 I was kidnapped and held in a cage.”- You deserved safety, love, and protection, but instead, you were caught in a relentless cycle of harm. It’s deeply unjust, and yet, through it all, you survived. That speaks to your incredible strength, even in the face of unimaginable hardship.

“One time my youngest brother, took one of the 5lb weights off the dumbbell and struck out mom in the head with it, calling her all kinds of horrible names.”-

It’s heartbreaking to see how the cycle of abuse continued within your family, with your youngest brother lashing out in such a violent way. Abuse often begets abuse—it creates a ripple effect, where the pain and trauma inflicted on one person spill over onto others. Your brother’s actions, while inexcusable, reflect the immense emotional damage he endured, growing up in an environment filled with neglect, violence, and instability.

“When our grandmother saw that we were eating, she yelled at us and threw the food that we were eating in the garbage…”- What your grandmother did was cruel beyond words. She denied hungry, malnourished children the basic dignity of eating. Her actions reflect a complete lack of compassion and humanity, and it’s devastating that she treated you and your siblings with such disdain.

The rest of her behavior—the favoritism, the mocking, the rejection—only adds to the pain. It’s clear she valued materialism and appearances over genuine love and care, and her cruelty toward your mother and all of you is indefensible.

Laven, you carried so much—your own pain, your family’s pain, the weight of silence and survival. Depression, suicidal thoughts, and selective mutism were not signs of weakness, but reflections of how overwhelming it all was. The moments in mental health facilities, where you felt safe and properly nourished, highlight how much your life lacked basic care and stability outside of those walls. But those places could only offer temporary relief—they couldn’t undo the years of neglect, loss, and suffering that shaped your world.

You endured abuse, rejection, and deep loneliness. The people who should have cared for you—family, teachers, caregivers—failed you, leaving you to carry burdens no child should ever bear. You survived starvation, abandonment, and betrayal, holding your pain inside and learning early that your suffering was overlooked.

Yet, despite everything, you never stopped trying to protect the ones you loved, even when they couldn’t protect you in return. You witnessed your mother’s struggles, her regret, and her battle with mental illness. You saw her trying her best in impossible circumstances, and you carried her pain as your own.

Through it all, Laven, you survived. You are more than your trauma—you are resilience, endurance, and the possibility of healing. You are seen. You are heard. You are valued.

Your ability to share your story is proof of your strength. You endured unimaginable hardship and still found the courage to keep going. You deserved far more than what was given to you, and the failures of others say more about them than they ever will about you.

I am looking forward to your continued story and sending you compassion and solidarity as you continue to heal. 💙

anita