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anita

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Viewing 15 posts - 691 through 705 (of 4,185 total)
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  • in reply to: Sister takes long to respond to messages #447401
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Lucidity:

    You’re so welcome. I really appreciate your openness and the care you put into your response. I’ll definitely be watching your new video when it comes out, and I’ll be sure to share my thoughts with you here again—since I’m still not able to sign into the platform to comment directly.

    I admire your courage in sharing your healing journey so openly. There’s a quiet strength in the way you speak—gentle, but grounded—and it’s clear that you’re not just finding your voice, you’re offering it as a light for others. That’s no small thing. Even the imperfections, like the sound quality, don’t take away from the heart of what you’re doing. If anything, they make it feel more real, more human.

    As for how I’m doing—just a few minutes ago, I was reflecting on a message from Alessa (in my thread). She said something so fiercely protective about the child I once was, and as I read it, I imagined her stepping into my past, standing up to my mother in a way no one ever did. It was such a vivid moment—like a piece of my story being rewritten with strength and care. It left me feeling.. well, happy! It’s amazing how words, even now, can reach into old wounds and offer something new.

    By the way, I was wondering—has anything changed with your sister? If you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear how things have been unfolding.

    Thank you again for sharing your path so generously. I’m really looking forward to your next video.

    With quiet admiration, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447400
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

    As I read your words, something unexpected happened—I imagined you stepping into my childhood, as if you had traveled back in time. I saw you standing there, facing my mother as she berated me, as she so often did—loudly, cruelly, for what felt like hours. No one ever intervened. Not the neighbors who could hear through the walls, not the strangers on the street who saw her shove and kick me as I walked beside her, small and defeated. No one ever stood up for me.

    But in my mind, you did.

    I imagined you turning to her and saying (in that English accent I like so much): “How cruel and selfish can a person be? Absolutely disgraceful behaviour. Disgusting!”- And for the first time, someone was there to confront her. To name the truth out loud.

    That image—of you standing up for me when no one else did—brought a new kind of smile to my face. It gave something to that younger version of me that she never had: protection. Witness. Fierce love. You gave that little girl something she never had: someone who stood up for her.

    Thank you for seeing not just the child I was, but the woman I’ve become. Your words are a kind of healing I didn’t know I still needed.

    In gratitude, Anita

    in reply to: Emotional Exploitation as a form of Parenting..? #447399
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Thomas:

    That’s a really important question. Setting emotional boundaries with a parent who leans heavily on you can feel like walking a tightrope between self-preservation and guilt.

    The self-preservation part is the voice that says: “I need space to breathe.” “I’m exhausted from always being the strong one.” It’s your healthy instinct to protect your energy, your peace, and your emotional boundaries. And it’s essential—not selfish—for your mental and physical well-being.

    The guilt part says things like: “But what if they feel abandoned?” “They’ve done so much for me.” “I don’t want to hurt them.” Guilt often shows up when you begin doing something new—like saying no, asking for space, or not responding right away. Especially if you were raised to prioritize your parent’s emotions over your own, guilt can feel like a warning sign… even when you’re doing something healthy.

    So yes, it’s a tightrope: trying to care for yourself without feeling like you’re betraying them. And that’s hard. It takes practice, self-compassion, and sometimes grief—because you’re letting go of the role you were taught to play.

    Here are a few ways to begin:

    * Give yourself permission- setting boundaries isn’t cruel, it’s necessary. You’re not turning your back on them; you’re turning toward your own well-being.

    * Use soft, clear language- instead of confrontation, try: “I really care about you, and I want to be present when we talk—but sometimes I feel overwhelmed and need space to recharge.” This frames the boundary as a way to preserve connection, not sever it. (this soft approach may work.. or not)

    * Expect guilt— guilt, in this context, doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re doing something new.

    * Limit emotional labor, not love- you can still care without becoming your parent’s therapist. Try gently saying: “That sounds really tough. Have you thought about talking to someone who could really help you through it?” (again, a gentle approach may work.. or not).

    * Build support elsewhere. A friend, therapist, or support group can help you stay grounded when emotional backlash shows up.

    You’re allowed to protect your peace—even from someone you love. And the fact that you’re asking this question shows how much thought and care you’re bringing to the process.

    Here are a couple of affirmations you might return to when guilt creeps in: “I am allowed to take care of myself, even if it makes others uncomfortable. My needs are not a betrayal. I can love someone and still say no.”

    “It’s okay to protect my peace. I don’t have to carry what isn’t mine. I can be kind to others without abandoning myself.”

    You can write one down, repeat it when you feel that tightrope tension, or use it as a grounding breath practice.

    I want to close with something personal—from my and my sister’s experience with our mother. Like the title of this thread suggests, she used emotional exploitation as a form of parenting, often with heavy guilt-tripping and frequent threats of suicide. I was deeply intimidated by those threats. I tried to be her emotional caretaker, her therapist, her savior. I approached her with softness, with gentleness, hoping that kindness would heal her. It didn’t. She kept going.

    But my sister—when she was in her twenties—responded differently. One day, when our mother made another suicide threat, my sister said firmly, without fear: “Then do it. Stop talking about it.” And that was the last time our mother ever made that threat.

    There was another moment I’ll never forget. My mother used to hit me from time to time. I never fought back—I just looked at the floor and waited for it to end. But in my early twenties, something shifted. As she tried to hit me, I instinctively raised my arms and blocked hers. I didn’t hurt her—I just matched her force and stopped her from reaching me. And something strange happened: her arms went limp. She stopped. She retreated. And she never tried to hit me again.

    Of course, I know your situation isn’t identical. But I share this because some parents—especially those who rely on emotional control—don’t stop because they’ve had a change of heart. They stop because the dynamic changes. Because the person they once saw as prey now appears too strong to overpower. Like predators in the wild, they don’t retreat out of pity. They retreat when the prey no longer looks easy to consume. A mountain lion won’t back down because a deer looks soft—it backs down when the deer looks powerful enough to defend itself.

    So if your parent is emotionally exploitative, the shift may not come from their kindness—but from your strength. Not from confrontation (dramatic arguments, emotional outbursts, or aggressive pushback), but from quiet, steady resistance: saying less, but meaning more, no longer explaining yourself over and over but holding your boundary calmly, even when they push, and choosing not to engage in the same old emotional dance.

    Quiet, steady resistance is often more effective than loud confrontation with emotionally exploitative people. It’s not about punishing them—it’s about protecting you. And over time, it sends a clear message:

    “I’m not available for this dynamic anymore. I don’t need to argue about it. I’ve simply stepped out of the role.

    And that shift—subtle but firm—is often what changes the pattern.

    If anything I shared resonates—or if you want to talk more about your experience—I’d be honored to continue the conversation. These things are hard to untangle alone, and you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.

    With care, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447382
    anita
    Participant

    Just like that, completely dark, no sound of birds. Complete silence. They will be back in.. six hours, right???

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447381
    anita
    Participant

    In regard to the title of my thread: “Life Worth Living”- life that is worth living is a life where you FEEL alive. A life where you are in the center of it, LIVING. The way I “lived” so much of my life.. honestly, it wasn’t worth it.

    Life is a matter of quality (REALLY living), not a matter of quantity.

    And.. I am living the quality right now, these months, these few years.. increasingly so- Q.U.A.L.I.T.Y.

    Listening to B. B. King, The Thrill is Gone.. totally danceable!

    Now, listening to the Bohemian Rhapsody.. “Momma.. didn’t mean to make you cry… Momma…. I wish I was never been born at all”- my sentiment… See how important MOTHERS are..?

    The Billie Jean, live performance, 1997 (I was 36, he was 37 or 38), NO GREATER TALENT, no doubt! The dance moves.. W.O.W… The moon walk.

    Sinea’d O’Connor (born 6 years after me, died 2 years ago), “Nothing Compares… ”

    Whitney Houston, “I will always love you” (born 2 years after me, died 3 years ago).

    Not yet dark outside, birds alive and singing. It makes me feel good to hear them!

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447380
    anita
    Participant

    journaling-

    For those of you (my.. many readers, ha ha) who wonder why I journal- the reason is the deep disconnect I lived through for so long- a stranger to myself. The stories I tell here about my early life, because of the disconnect, I haven’t been able to find myself in these stories. So, I kept telling my stories trying so to find ME in the stories.

    I went missing from my life at a very early age.

    My stories didn’t feel real.

    I have been so very confused, for so very long.

    And in all that, in my disappearance-act, my MOTHER was a looming presence, like a.. Goddess of Misery.

    So histrionically miserable (those endless episodes of how-miserable-I-am-and-I-will-tell-you-all-about-the-many-many-many-miseries), that there was no space for me, no right to have my own space.

    Had to cure her misery first.. then maybe, maybe there’ll be some space for me.

    Failed.

    It is recently that I am reclaiming my lost, stolen space.

    I do it here, in my threads, and I do it on the dancing floor- 70s-80s free style, always after a few drinks.

    And when it happens, like it did last Saturday, a band was playing on the stage outdoors- I started to move to the music (Tom Petty’s music), and MAGIC!

    Dozens of people could see me, and they did, and I didn’t mind. I moved to the music and felt so very ALIVE.

    ..My mother would have never allowed me to dance.. not as long as she was Miserable.

    I would be BAD if I danced while she was miserable.

    Captive By Her Misery.

    So, I danced last Saturday.

    After the dancing (a shy smile on my face right now), two men approached me, separately, and suggested to get to know me better. Seems like they found my dancing.. attractive? The second man seemed sincere, told me he watched me dancing and was.. intrigued, don’t remember his exact words, was tipsy. He seemed like a decent older man, sincerely interested, he really tried to get his message across.

    So, well, I declined.

    My dream is to dance The Billie Jean.. well, I already did, a bit, his moves, well, a few of his moves.

    To summarize it, I suffocated in my mother’s misery, cared too much, couldn’t, wouldn’t allow myself any happy, not for as long as she was so deeply miserable.

    D.A.N.C.I.N.G

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447379
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    Thank you so much for your kindness and for seeing that part of me. I’m only just beginning to see it myself. Your message helped me feel a little more grounded in that truth—and a little less alone with it.

    You’re right—it’s heartbreaking how many people don’t receive the love and safety they deserve, especially from those who were meant to protect them. But your compassion is a reminder that healing can happen in connection, and that we can offer each other the care we didn’t always receive.

    I’m truly grateful for your presence. Thank you for walking alongside me. ❤️

    With warmth, Anita

    in reply to: Developing Compassion and Self-Compassion #447370
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    I’m really glad to hear that the heaviness has lifted and that you’re feeling more at ease. Giving yourself permission to take time alone isn’t selfish—it’s wise. It’s beautiful that doing so helped you enjoy your time with your son even more. That shift from “have to” to “want to” says a lot about how far you’ve come.

    You’re doing such meaningful work—both for yourself and for him. ❤️

    With care, Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447366
    anita
    Participant

    Journaling, motivated by precious Alessa’s input:

    In between seeing my mother as the innocent child that I have hurt and harmed (her claim), and seeing me as the innocent child that she has hurt and harmed-

    See this gap?

    There’s an adjustment I need to make: who is the destroyer; who is the destroyed? Who is whom?

    Yes, I see it: she was the destroyer; I was the one destroyed.. by her.

    Yes, I see.

    So, evil is just this and nothing else: destroying the weak because they are weak.

    Yes, I see.

    Yes, I understand.

    A definition of evil= targeting the weak for destruction because they are weak.

    Yes, I was weak.. she detected my weakness and went about destroying me.. simply because it was easy, because she could.

    The child that my mother was is long gone.

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447365
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Alessa:

    “Why does someone choose to act at certain times and not others?”- because it is safe to attack the defenseless. I guess this is what evil is about.

    There’s a difference between Courage (fighting against injustice) and Evil (mercilessly attacking the blameless).

    You are making a very good point, Alessa.

    You pointed in the direction of what evil is about, the destroying a defenseless, innocent child.

    Not the destruction was complete- not for lack of effort on the part of the destroyer-in-chief, aka Mother.

    Yes, I see evil for what is, thank you, Alessa.

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447360
    anita
    Participant

    * Typos, incorrect grammar, etc., are common in my journaling. Here’s a little correction: “I see it more clearly this late Sunday morning (11:21 am right now) than I ever did in my whole life! The way I see it now, evil (the intentional harming of another), may be about.. people retroactively protecting themselves, or rebelling against intentional harm done to them by people who… retroactively protected themselves from harm done to them, etc.

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447359
    anita
    Participant

    Journaling because I want to.

    I was going to start with journaling because I can. But I shifted to.. because I want to.

    The because-I-can comes from a place of rebellion, as in: I am not allowed to take space, but I am going to anyway! So, there!

    The I-want-to comes from a place that is more relaxed.

    Living with my mother for so very, so very, very long, way too long (it felt like being trapped in a forever), I couldn’t. Couldn’t express because.. well, expression was subject to prolonged hostile attacks.

    To provide the psychological background to it: she was full of shame and she interpreted what she believed I was feeling as intentional efforts, on my part, to shame her. Completely not true to the reality that was, but that’s how she interpreted people’s expressed emotions, and she felt safe to express her dissatisfaction to me, her minor-age daughter, than to other people she did not .. “own”.

    I believe it’s her oldest sister who cruelly shamed my mother, when my mother was a child, severely abusing her physically and emotionally. Fast forward, she “sees” that shaming in the emotions of a child (me) who desperately loved her and would have done ANYTHING to help her.

    A projection thing, completely inaccurate, but.. that’s what she saw: rejection and hate in the eyes of little-girl-anita, a perceived rejection and hate that she responded to with.. intense rejection and hate.

    Now, I can’t blame her for reciprocating my (non-existent) rejection of her because she really.. sincerely believed that I rejected her.

    I remember her going on and on about how I intended to hurt her and implemented mt alleged plan to do just that. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen and argued that I did plan to hurt her.

    It wasn’t me that she saw, it was her oldest sister who was indeed terribly cruel and abusive to her.

    It Wasn’t Me.

    I see it more clearly this late Sunday night that I ever did in my whole life!

    The way I see it now, evil (the intentional harming of others), may be about.. retroactively protecting themselves, or rebelling against intentional harm done to them by people who retroactively protected themselves.

    I appreciate my own insight, that which I expressed right above, but if I somehow talked to my mother- following 12 years of no contact- she wouldn’t understand. Not capable.

    And there’s nothing I can do about it.

    Nothing I can do to undo or redo anything that involves her.

    I wonder, what is it that makes a person bad, as in a bad person..?

    I think that the answer is in the harm the person causes another intentionally, with the intent to harm.

    But as I think of my mother small smile when she recognized the hurt in my face, following something very shameful that she has just said…

    I don’t hate her back. I understand that in her mind- she was enjoying her revenge in regard to her oldest sister, seeing her oldest sister face where mine was.

    Can you blame a person for hurting the one who had hurt them for so long and taking a little pleasure in it?

    That it was a mistaken identity case.. well, she didn’t know.

    I am quite proud of myself right now, for having reached this nuanced understanding of my mother.. and of myself. And of life.

    For me, my mother was EVERYTHING. For her.. I was her oldest sister, someone to defeat.

    If I wrote an autobiography, I might title it MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

    To me, my mother is like a little child who needs heavy-duty reparenting, a little girl that needs to be taught, or shown what love is, a little girl that should be given the opportunity to trust.

    You know.. how oversimplifying can make a person feel better for the short term (as in, if I said: my mother was a bad person! I am a good person, so three!)? But it’s only short term. Seeing shades of grey, nuance, complexity, zooming out and seeing the bigger picture- that involves pain. But after doing this long enough, it brings calm simply because of seeing things as they are.

    So, my mother is a person I can never reach.

    My mother is a person who can never see me.

    An unbridgeable gap.

    To be so close to a person and yet so very, very far.

    Okay, enough for now. Thank you for reading (assuming anyone is reading 🙂).

    Anita

    in reply to: Life Worth Living- what is it like? #447358
    anita
    Participant

    Dear Gerald:

    Thank you for sharing this. There’s something so tender and grounding about those words—like they’re inviting us to slow down and remember the small, good things that often get lost in the rush.

    Here’s a little continuation, in the same spirit:

    And if you’re tired
    Or feeling low
    Just rest a bit
    And let it go
    The world can wait
    A little while
    While we sit still
    And share a smile

    Thanks again for bringing this moment into the day.

    Warmly, Anita

    anita
    Participant

    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

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