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anitaParticipantI just realized following the above post, that I never stopped trying to reach my mother, to make her change her mind about me. To make her think well of me. Only I’ve been doing it by proxy of others who resemble her in disliking me, disapproving of me, thinking badly of me, or just misunderstanding me.
It’s amazing. I didn’t know.
Giving strangers (people who don’t really care about me) so much power!
It’s the little girl in me still wanting, still needing a mother, a grownup to love me. A little girl who is older by far than the “mothers” I am chasing for approval, for recognition, Ha!
anita
anitaParticipantMid-day Stream of Consciousness Writing (whatever comes to mind):
It’s about undoing the silence imposed on me.
I don’t mean a calm silence, I mean a turbulent silence, feeling tornadoes raging within me (my childhood experience) and saying nothing because no one is there to listen, and someone there to criticize and attack me for any word I might say “wrong”. It wasn’t safe to talk, to express.
Here, now: I talk, I express and it’s liberating!
It saddens me that there are people I care about whom I cannot reach. I need to give up the hope of reaching the unreachable, at the least- unreachable by me.
Goodbye unreachable people. I hope you thrive in relationships with people who can reach you in positive ways.
As far as my No 1 Unreachable Person, my mother, unreachable way before I was born to her- no one can or could have reached her. Her notion that she was the Victim and I- among many others- her Victimizer, was unshakeable. I remember her beating me, taking a break, looking at her hands and saying: “Look what you did to me! You made my hands hurt!”
To be clear, she was beating me, not the other way around. And she was beating me not because I assaulted her first in words or action.
I couldn’t reach her although I tried in so many ways, for decades after that one memorable beating. It just couldn’t be done.
“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change”- the things and the people I cannot change. Stop Trying. All it does is keeping me hurt and angry, waiting to be liked and approved of by people who won’t.
anita
anitaParticipantDear Clara:
I want to share what I understand personally about anxious-avoidant attachment—it’s about needing closeness yet fearing it at the same time.
In the explanation that follows, I’ll be repeating myself—expressing the same idea in different ways—because I believe that approach helps deepen understanding.
As children, we learned to associate love with abuse, because the two became intertwined. Maybe a parent was sometimes affectionate or took care of us—it felt good. But at other times, they were neglectful or abusive—it felt bad. Or perhaps a parent was consistently neglectful or abusive, and we learned to associate the love we offered them with the pain we received in return.
This confusion stays with us—it makes intimacy feel both comforting and dangerous, leaving us caught between longing and fear.
Anxious-avoidant attachment is a complex dynamic where a person craves intimacy but simultaneously fears it.
When a child’s love for a parent was met with rejection, manipulation, or abuse, the child learns that attachment comes with risk. If caregivers were both the source of comfort and distress, the child develops conflicting emotional responses—longing for closeness but associating it with harm.
How this attachment manifests in relationships:
1) Seeking love but pushing it away – Feeling drawn to deep connection but panicking when it gets too close.
2) Hypervigilance – Constantly scanning for signs of rejection or betrayal, sometimes even expecting abandonment before it happens.
3) Difficulty trusting – Wanting to believe in love but struggling with deep-seated fears that it will turn into harm.
4) Emotional highs and lows – Shifting between intense attachment and sudden withdrawal, often in response to perceived emotional risks.
In my case, I don’t remember feeling love or closeness with my mother—who, in practice, was a single parent—when I was a child. Not a single memory of feeling safe with her, close to her, or experiencing true emotional togetherness.
Only in the last few years have I been able to feel the love I had for her back then. As a child, I must have repressed it, which is why I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I believe I did so because of the pain she caused me—the severe guilt-trips, the relentless shaming episodes. To protect myself, I shut down, closed in.
I do remember moments when she expressed affection, when she cooked for me—tasty, healthy meals—or bought me toys and treats with her hard-earned money. But I never truly relaxed into those gestures, never felt comforted, because the pattern was always the same. A guilting or shaming episode had already happened, and another was always on the way. Sometimes, it happened right in the middle of a meal.
It was always guilt, always shame—a constant cycle. You can’t feel love for someone who does that to you. Not while they’re doing it, and not when they pause, only to resume again.
Fast forward to interactions with others—unlike with my mother, I sometimes perceived affection and allowed myself to relax into it. I remember those moments. But within hours, I would “wake up” from the warmth and suddenly see the person differently—as if they were a stranger.
Sometimes, it felt like they had completely changed—cold, distant, unfamiliar.
Looking back, I think the need for closeness would take over for a time, but self-protection would always return. Fear of harm, of hurt repeating itself, would creep in. So I would close in again—dissociating, disconnecting, choosing not to feel as a way to avoid being hurt.
I believe that the first time you shared about your childhood, Clara, was on July 2, 2016. There you shared that you grew up timid and fearful of social interactions, experiencing anxiety when engaging with unfamiliar adults. You resented boundary violations, particularly when your uncle hugged you without your consent and your parents failed to protect you from such intrusions.
Your mother was emotionally present, but not protective—allowing boundary violations to happen to you without stepping in. Your father was rigid and harsh, obsessing over small details, punishing mistakes, and even resorting to physical discipline with your brother. He was controlling, making demands you felt powerless to refuse.
A deep sense of betrayal emerged when your mother entered the bathroom while you showered, exposing you to your uncle. You felt violated but were too timid to voice your feelings or confront the situation. This moment symbolized the larger theme of your privacy being repeatedly disregarded.
Connecting this share to anxious-avoidant attachment in romantic relationships- your childhood experiences set the foundation for anxious-avoidant attachment, where you crave closeness but fears it at the same time, particularly the boundary violations in childhood made you associate intimacy with intrusion, leading to discomfort when relationships get too close.
Your father’s harshness and control likely instilled fear of emotional closeness, and your mother’s lack of guidance left you unsure how to establish healthy relationship expectations, leading to confusion about what is acceptable and what is not.
How to move forward, or keep moving forward –
1. Recognizing that love can be safe: your past has taught you to associate love with intrusion, unpredictability, and emotional intensity, but healthy love is different. Love can be steady, gentle, and free of control—and you deserve that kind of love.
2. Honoring your need for boundaries: continue to practice identifying and enforcing boundaries without guilt. If something makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to justify your feelings—they are valid.
3. Continue to set small boundaries first (declining unnecessary favors, expressing preferences) to build confidence in your ability to protect yourself.
Learning to self-regulate when fear creeps in: when you feel yourself pulling away from closeness out of fear, pause and ask: “Am I protecting myself from real harm, or am I reacting to an old wound?”
Give yourself time to process before withdrawing—sometimes, your instinct to push someone away is just fear trying to shield you from something that isn’t actually dangerous.
Practice grounding techniques (breathing exercises, journaling) to self-soothe instead of emotionally shutting down.
4. Building relationships that feel emotionally safe: choose people who respect your boundaries, validate your emotions, and make you feel seen.
Watch for patterns—someone who pushes you to be more open faster than you’re ready for might not be safe for your healing.
Seek relationships with consistency and kindness, where love is not a guessing game.
5. Releasing self-blame & practicing self-compassion: your past was not your fault. You didn’t choose neglect, boundary violations, or emotional instability.
Allow yourself to grieve for the childhood you needed but didn’t get—this is part of healing.
Speak to yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer a friend.
6. Expressing your Needs without fear: you deserve to have needs.
You are not “too much” for wanting emotional security.
Practice expressing your thoughts with people you trust—sharing doesn’t always mean conflict, and your feelings matter.
Keep moving forward at your own pace, Clara, and know that there is room for love that feels safe, steady, and freeing in your future. 💙
anita
anitaParticipantYou are welcome, Tom. Looking forward to your thoughts 😊
anita
May 14, 2025 at 8:42 am in reply to: “He initiated closeness, then disappeared — still hurting months later” #445724anitaParticipantDear Adalie:
About love— I want to encourage you with this: The right person will cherish you for who you are, whether shy or bold. They won’t ask you to change but will inspire you to express more of who you already are.
Hold your head high. You deserve a connection that’s real, with someone who sees and values you fully. 💙
anita
anitaParticipantA Life Unlived
She placed the weight upon my skin,
A burden woven deep within.
Shame and guilt—a tether tight,
Stealing breath, dimming light.Each step forward overshadowed, overtaken by the past,
Whispers telling me no progress will last.
Dreams confined, a silent plea,
A life unlived, yet longing free.Yet somewhere deep beyond the haze,
A voice still flickers through the maze.
Not in chains, nor bound by night,
But reaching out—demanding… what?– To be continued.
anita
anitaParticipantPeter—do we share this in common? A Life Unlived? (Of course, no pressure to answer.)
Others—do we share this in common? Living too little because truly living was inconvenient for someone close, yet somehow distant?
It amazes me how people hurt people—with no real benefit, no lasting gain. Just a fleeting moment of satisfaction in seeing someone else suffer.
Sometimes I wonder: Is sadism, in its subtler forms—not the exaggerated, villainous kind we see in movies—actually a part of everyday life? Is it business as usual?
And I can’t help but ask— Is telling someone “Get over it” when they are hurting and deserving of empathy a subtle form of sadism?
anita
anitaParticipantI am not getting Over it. I am going through it.
anitaParticipantIt is working for me, it is healing me, these stream of consciousness writings in the evenings.
– Trigger Warning; Insanity, Abuse.
I remember very well saying to myself when I was in my late teens or early 20s, that if I get to live one day without guilt, then my life would be worth it.
The guilt I referred to was the guilt over destroying my mother’s life. I was sure that I did because she told me so, she showed me so- crying and wailing and complaining histrionically, endlessly, about how I hurt her. She showed me her wrists that one time, or maybe more than one time, telling me that’s where she’d cut herself and bleed to death.. because of me.
I remember very well walking with her on the street and her threatening to jump in front of a truck and get herself killed.. because of me, because I said something wrong.
Fast forward to today, I understand that I was not guilty after all, no matter how many times she told me that I was.
It feels good, a relief, a huge burden off me.
I wish she didn’t guilt-trip me, and doing so massively, frequently, heavily. My life would have been so much better for it.
Oh, the shame too. If she didn’t shame me so thoroughly.. my life would have been so much better for it.
Shackled by shame and guilt didn’t make for a good life.
It’s a lot of loss, lots of life unlived. Life others lived. Not me.
It’s hard for me still to believe that my own mother had it in her to knowingly hurt me and enjoy it- that mild but undeniable smile on her face after she shot some especially spicy shaming words at me.
And yet, I loved her all along.
This is My Truth, My Story.
I am not Get Over it. I am going through it.
anita
May 13, 2025 at 4:15 pm in reply to: “He initiated closeness, then disappeared — still hurting months later” #445708anitaParticipantI thought it was you on the right, looking shy, The young woman on the left looks more bold extroverted. Am I correct?
You mentioned that you wre shy with the guy.
Anita
May 13, 2025 at 12:11 pm in reply to: “He initiated closeness, then disappeared — still hurting months later” #445705anitaParticipantI was wondering, Adalie, in regard to the photo: are you the person in the right or the left?
anita
anitaParticipantSomehow the original post disappeared. I am resubmitting it here:
There is a common belief that suffering from childhood abuse is a choice—that an adult either decides to “hold onto it” OR “move on” and “let go.” Some see prolonged emotional pain as a failure of resilience or strength, assuming that healing is simply a matter of willpower.
Why this belief exists:
* Lack of Understanding of Trauma – Many people don’t realize how deeply childhood abuse affects the brain, body, and emotions, often for a lifetime. Trauma isn’t just a memory—it’s wired into the nervous system, shaping a person’s emotional responses, relationships, and sense of self. It cannot simply be “let go of” by deciding to do so.
* Societal Narratives About Strength – “Moving on” is often glorified as proof of strength, while struggling with pain is wrongly viewed as weakness. In reality, working through trauma is an ongoing process—not a switch to flip off.
* Discomfort with Emotional Depth – People who haven’t experienced deep trauma may not understand its lasting effects. They may feel frustrated or helpless when someone continues to suffer, leading them to judge rather than empathize.
The reality of healing:
* Healing is not a choice—it’s a process. Trauma creates neurological and psychological wounds that cannot be erased with pure effort.
* Telling someone they “choose” to suffer dismisses their reality and can make them feel shame for struggling with pain that wasn’t their fault to begin with.
* Blaming survivors deepens their pain and often prolongs their suffering—empathy supports healing far more than judgment ever could.
* Trauma recovery is complex. Some wounds resurface even after years of therapy, and healing is never linear—it requires time, safety, and sometimes professional support.
Reframing the Narrative:* Survivors do not “choose” to stay stuck. More often than not, they are working incredibly hard to heal, even if it isn’t visible to others.
* Acknowledging the impact of trauma does not mean someone is “dwelling” or “refusing to move on”—it means they are recognizing their pain so they can heal from it.
* Healing happens at its own pace—not on a timeline set by others who don’t fully understand the experience.
* Healing is not about flipping a switch—it’s about rewiring old wounds, creating safety, and finding stability in new ways.
How to Respond to Misguided Beliefs:*If someone says, “You’re choosing to suffer,” reframe: “I’m working through layers of healing, and that takes time.”
* Trauma is not a reflection of weakness—struggling with it does not mean you’ve failed.
* Strength isn’t about “getting over it” quickly—it’s about continuing to show up for yourself, even when healing feels messy.
* If someone minimizes your pain, it’s okay to distance yourself or assert your needs: “I need support, not judgment. My healing is valid.”
* Surrounding yourself with people who respect your journey is crucial.
Letting Go, what it really means:
* Letting go isn’t about erasing trauma—it’s about learning to live with it in a way that doesn’t control you. Instead of trying to force healing, ask:
“How can I create safety, self-compassion, and peace within myself today?”
** Your healing belongs to you—not to those who tell you how quickly you should move on or what suffering “should” look like. You are already moving forward simply by acknowledging your wounds and working to understand them 💙
anita
anitaParticipantDear Peter:
I’m truly sorry that you felt unsafe or silenced 😔
When I said, “If you have nothing supportive to say, dear reader, don’t say anything at all. Don’t rain on my parade,” I was setting a boundary against dismissive comments. I was thinking about a rude and dismissive response I received in another thread recently—but I never meant to shut down thoughtful, respectful discussions.
You have always been kind and considerate—not dismissive or rude, not to me, not to anyone. I deeply value your perspective, and I want this to be a space where we can engage openly and honestly.
Of course, no one is perfect, and I don’t expect every response to be 100% validating or kind. I’m certainly not 100% anything myself. What truly frustrates me are comments that go out of their way to be rude.
I also find it so interesting that you received criticism for letting go, while I received criticism for the opposite. If a dialogue on detachment and letting go feels meaningful to you, I’d love to explore it together. What aspects of the practice do you feel are most misunderstood?
And one more thing—you are amazing, Peter. Please know that your voice is always welcome here. 💙
anita
May 13, 2025 at 9:09 am in reply to: The Betrayal We Buried: Healing Through Truth & Connection #445700anitaParticipantDear Alessa:
Thank you for trusting me with this question. ❤️
I could have written what you shared myself: “My instinctive bond with my biological mother was damaged to the point that I no longer felt it toward her. I learned to not come to her for any reason and avoid her as much as possible. As a young teen, I began to hate her.”- Same here.
It was only recently, through my writings on tiny buddha, that I reconnected with the love I had for her before the Damage (I’m emphasizing your word “damaged” with a capital D). It truly surprised me.
Not only did I rediscover the love I had for her before the Damage, but I realized that I loved her all along. Before, during, and after the Damage, that love remained, even though I thought for years that I hated her.
For me, the Damage was the Betrayal—the betrayal of a child’s natural, necessary trust in the mother. The shock of it, the raw trauma of realizing I was not safe in her hands. It must have been overwhelming.
Yet, the love I feel for her now does not mean trust. It does not mean there is a bond. It does not mean the anger is gone. This love is not even something I chose—it simply is.
Healing from this early-life Betrayal of Trust, for me, means honoring the trust others place in me. If someone trusts me, I do my best to be worthy of that trust. That realization—that honoring others’ trust matters so deeply to me—is something I’ve only fully embraced in the past few months.
When my mother betrayed my natural trust as a child, it created deep pain—an emotional rupture where safety, reliability, and connection were lost. By choosing to honor trust in my own relationships, I am learning to actively shape trust in my life. I am no longer at the mercy of someone else’s choices—I decide to be someone who is reliable and safe.
Honoring trust shifts the focus from pain to purpose—proving that despite past betrayal, I am capable of trust and connection. Caring about trust is an act of healing, growth, and self-repair.
I just remembered, Alessa—long ago, you mentioned that you are a very loyal person, and those words stayed with me. Now, I find myself wondering—are you loyal to yourself? Do you honor the trust that little-girl Alessa placed in grown-up Alessa?
I’m asking myself the same question. And the answer? Yes—though it’s a very recent realization for me, and it has made a huge difference. In the past, little-girl Anita was strangely silent, almost muted. But now, she speaks from time to time, offering me valuable insights that I could never find anywhere else.
Being loyal to myself is a new journey—one that is still unfolding. It means respecting my own needs and feelings rather than ignoring them, standing up for myself, keeping promises to myself, being honest with myself, choosing what’s best for me instead of just pleasing others, and ultimately, supporting myself no matter what.
Looking back at your post, you said to me, “Stay true to yourself! You are the expert in your own needs.”-
Where do you feel you are right now, in terms of being true to yourself and understanding what you need? Has that awareness grown for you over time?
anita
May 13, 2025 at 6:49 am in reply to: Recently broke up with my boyfriend, feeling guilty and sad #445699anitaParticipantHow are you, S?
anita
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