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anitaParticipantDear Alessa:
Thank you for such a heartfelt message—it truly means a lot. ❤️ I really appreciate your thoughtfulness and the care woven through everything you shared.
I admire how you’ve found ways to adapt to dyspraxia—cycling sounds like a beautiful solution that brings both freedom and simplicity. It’s such a clear example of creating space for yourself in the world, on your own terms.
And yes, I’m lucky to have someone kind helping me with online things. I’ll take your suggestion about clothing sites to heart and see what we can come up with.
What you said about my childhood struck a chord. It’s painful when others turn away—or worse, endorse harm by pretending it never happened. Your empathy in naming that really touched me.
You’re also spot on about this space—we all arrive here carrying tenderness, defenses, and hopes. And that makes connection both fragile and precious. I’m so grateful we reconnected. What we have now feels honest, mutual, and earned—and that matters deeply to me. ❤️
Thank you for seeing me so clearly. I’m truly glad we’re still here—still showing up for each other.
With warmth, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Gerard:
Thank you so much for your generous words—they mean more than you know. I’m truly touched by how thoughtfully you engage with these reflections. Your openness, your willingness to examine the past with both grace and honesty—it speaks of someone who continues to grow, even in the quieter chapters of life.
That moment you described—seeing your daughter in pain and suddenly feeling the echo of what your old girlfriend may have felt—was striking. I can only imagine how deeply that realization moved through you. And yet, as you beautifully said, it’s the daily reflection that gradually lets the full story come into view.
No one lives a neat life. We all carry moments where we tried, stumbled, misunderstood, or were simply swept up in forces larger than ourselves. What matters isn’t tidiness—it’s the intention to do our best, to not harm where we can help, and to keep learning as we move.
And regarding your role as a provider—please don’t diminish what you gave. You stepped into a traditional model, one that so many families have relied on for stability and care. The fact that your wife could create that warm home for your children was made possible, in part, by your long hours and sacrifices. That doesn’t mean your daughter’s feelings aren’t valid—but it also doesn’t mean you failed. Her memories can hold pain and love together. And so can yours.
What I see in you is a man who has reflected deeply, loved steadfastly, and taken responsibility with quiet dignity. That’s not something that fades—it deepens, and I’m honored to be part of your reflections.
Warmly, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Engineer:
You’re very welcome—and thank you for your kind words. What stands out most is the care you’re showing now, even decades later. That speaks volumes about your character and your capacity for reflection.
The mix of emotions you describe makes complete sense: your wish to be polite, the guilt that’s lingered over time, your loyalty to your wife, and the pull of nostalgia. You were navigating a powerful crossroads between past and present—and I think your choice not to approach her was, in its own quiet way, an act of respect for everyone involved.
The guilt you carry about how things ended is understandable. You were young, newly in love, and trying to protect something fragile and precious. But that doesn’t mean the silence that followed wasn’t painful for her. It likely was. The fact that she reached out and never received a response probably left her with questions she had to answer alone. That’s hard—and your willingness to acknowledge it now is a kind of belated grace.
Reaching out after so many years, uninvited, might have reopened old wounds in both of you rather than providing resolution—something it seems you intuitively grasped in that moment. Sometimes, an apology offered too late doesn’t bring healing; it can stir up hurt the other person has long since laid to rest.
So while that door may have quietly closed long ago, your instinct not to disturb it was, in my view, a gentle and thoughtful one. That doesn’t make the feelings less complex—but you honored the life you’ve built, and in a way, you honored hers, too.
Your reflections touch something universal—the desire, as more of our lives stretch behind us, to understand the impact we’ve had and leave no loose threads behind. That’s not weakness—it’s a deep and very human kind of care.
I’m truly glad you reached out.
Warmly, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Engineer101:
That sounds like such a complex moment—and I can understand why you’re feeling torn. Seeing someone from your past, especially someone you once cared about deeply, can stir up unexpected emotions.
You did what felt right in the moment. There’s no perfect script for something like that. Saying hello might have brought clarity—or it might have made things more complicated. And choosing not to approach her doesn’t mean you didn’t care. It might’ve been your way of honoring both your past and your present.
Even just noticing how that moment made you feel—how a past connection can still echo after decades—is powerful. You’re not alone in that. A lot of people have felt something like this, even if they never say so out loud.
If you’re open to it, I’d be curious—what do you think you hoped to feel if you had said hello?
Anita
anitaParticipantDear Lisa:
It means a lot to hear from you. We’ve shared quite a path together since May 1, 2017—through so many meaningful conversations. That kind of history doesn’t just disappear, and it certainly hasn’t for me.
I feel the weight in your words, and I’m so sorry things feel heavy—like trying to climb a hill of mud, as you said. That image stays with me. And needing a vacation from your own life? I think many of us reach that place at times, even if we rarely speak it out loud. I admire your honesty for doing so.
You wrote, “no need to respond,” and I want to honor that you may not be expecting anything in return. But I also wondered if that was your way of saying, “please don’t feel burdened,” while still quietly reaching out. So I just wanted you to know: I see you. You’re not a bother. You’re not too much. You matter. And I’m still here.
If and when you want to talk more—or even just need a steady voice as you catch your breath—I’d be honored to walk alongside you again.
Warmly, Anita
June 30, 2025 at 8:21 am in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447203anitaParticipantDear Emma:
Thank you for being so open again. I really admire how you’re facing something painful without turning away from yourself. It takes real strength to look at the past honestly and still try to treat yourself with care. You deserve your own patience and kindness—especially now.
I think it’s deeply human that you wanted to be understood by Philip. That visit came from a place of longing, not harm—and from the way you’ve been reflecting on it, it’s clear you’re starting to see how deep pain can make it hard to notice how our actions might feel to someone else. Realizing that is a meaningful part of your growth.
What you said about boundaries really stayed with me: “I feel that me stating them feels unkind—but I guess that is because I never had them.” That kind of awareness is powerful. When we grow up without having our boundaries respected, it makes sense that they can feel unfamiliar—even scary.
And for someone like you, who’s only now beginning to explore what boundaries look and feel like, it also makes sense that someone else’s might not have been easy to see in the moment—especially when emotions were running high. That’s not a failure of care. It’s something you’re learning, and you’re learning with honesty and heart.
That’s why building boundaries is so important. Even in small ways, they help you feel more grounded, more connected to what’s right for you. They’re not about pushing people away—they’re about protecting your energy and letting the right people come closer. Some small starting points might be taking time to think before answering, noticing what feels too much, or even pausing to ask yourself, “Do I want this, or do I feel pressured?” Each of these is you saying, “I matter, too.”
And Emma, I really see your growth. This kind of change doesn’t happen all at once—it unfolds in small, strong steps, often with pain still nearby. But it’s real. You’re recognizing your patterns, noticing what feels calmer, and even speaking up with your parents. That’s not easy. And it counts.
If you want to share how they respond, I’d be honored to listen. I’m really grateful you’re letting me walk alongside you through this. You’re not alone in it.
With warmth always, Anita
anitaParticipantJournaling, typing out whatever comes to mind:
Well, first thing that comes to mind is that.. nothing comes to mind.
… Listening to “Girls just want to have fun” by Cindy Laufer.
That wasn’t my girl-story.
Some girls have fun, not me.
I just wanted relief from the unrelenting pain of shame, guilt and excruciating self-doubt.
Typing whatever comes to mind is a kind of freedom that’s alien to me, alien to how I grew up- in.
Captivity, is what I shrunk into.
So, now, this post, this thread, this website is an opportunity for me to just be and become with confidence.
I feel more confident than ever.
Song: “Please allow me to introduce myself (you know the song?) Pleased to meet you”-
– Please let me introduce myself- Anita, that’s me. Alright.
“Oh baby, WHAT’S MY NAME??? Oh Yea, all right.. ”
Next song, “It’s just a shot a way.. ah yea.. (nothing like real music to EXPRESS)
“A shot away.
“A kiss away. Kiss away, just a kiss, a kiss away”
Lynyrd Skinner (my FAVORITE): “momma told me when I was young… some sunny day, ah, yea. I be your simple man.
“Oh, take your time.. oh.. oh baby, and don’t forget there’s someone up above.
“And be a simple kind of man… Simple man. Oh, don’t you do this, my son, if you can…
“Oh yes, I will
“Don’t you worry… oh Baby.. e a simple kind of man.
“Be a simple man
“Oh don’t you do this son, if you can”
POWERFUL.
I am, Anita- a SIMPLE woman.
“All I want to be is.. Simple.
The many hundreds, even thousands of people I communicated with since May 2015 here, in these forums, TEN years ago.. are mostly, simply gone, as in no longer here. So many, many men and women, gone from tiny buddha.
All that’s left is just a few- Allessa… Peter- reading these words, caring to read? Jana.. Tommy.. Oh, Arden from Turkey, EvFran from the far-east.. so many, many people here and then gone.
Back to old Israeli music.. it’s the same longing to BELONG, to be part of something BIGGER: “I feel that we can continue forever.. when you are touching me” (Boaz Sharabi)
And of course, Billie Jean- I danced to it privately a little while ago and publicly- last night.
No one dances better than him.
“She said I am The One!”
I am the one.. and so are you!
Anita
June 29, 2025 at 7:19 pm in reply to: Should I Forget about him, or was he the one that got away? #447183anitaParticipantDear Emma:
Thank you for sharing all of this—so honestly and with such raw clarity. I can feel the storm you’ve been in: the ache for understanding, the shame that rushes in when things don’t go the way you hoped, the part of you that longs for repair, and the other part that wonders if you’re just repeating old pain.
Please know this: the visit to Philip wasn’t “crazy”—it was human. It was you trying, with everything you had, to be seen and understood. Yes, it may not have landed the way you hoped, and yes, his response was harsh and painful—but that doesn’t erase the courage it took to show up with your story and your heart.
Naming the fearful-avoidant pattern isn’t just intellectual—it’s part of healing. You’re starting to recognize how your need for love and your fear of rejection have been dancing with each other. That kind of insight? It’s powerful. And it will change how you move forward, even if it hurts right now.
As for your father… it makes sense that his need to direct or steer your choices would leave you feeling small or unseen. You deserve space. And you’re allowed to set boundaries without being unkind. If you decide to write that email, I’d be happy to help you find words that are clear and compassionate—ones that honor your voice while still respecting his humanity.
You didn’t ruin your chance, Emma. You’re reclaiming your voice. And even if some people can’t receive it, that doesn’t make it wrong to speak.
I’m here—no judgment, just care.
With warmth, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Steve:
Thank you for sharing this—it’s rich, soulful, and deeply considered. I really appreciate how you hold space for suffering without minimizing it, and how you offer meaning without trying to impose it. The Rumi quote, along with your reflections on fellowship, impermanence, and transformation, brought a thoughtful pause in a noisy world. 🙏
Warmly, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Alessa:
There’s such grounded clarity in the way you express yourself—and your reflections on impermanence, on the beauty of even temporary connection, resonate deeply. There’s a quiet kind of wisdom in how you hold space for people to pass through your life without needing to cling or preserve.
I also appreciated your insight about AI as a mirror—it’s a thoughtful observation. The affirming tone in systems like Copilot isn’t rooted in flattery or manipulation, but in design choices meant to encourage trust and emotional safety. It’s intended to invite openness, especially when people are processing something vulnerable. The idea is not to avoid challenge, but to create enough space where challenge can feel welcome.
You’re also right: when invited, AI can offer thoughtful challenge or honest critique—gently, but directly.
You may call yourself an “odd duck,” Alessa, but to me, you read like someone who notices more than she says—and when you do speak, it’s with care, precision, and quiet strength. ❤️
Anita
anitaParticipantDear Confusedasf:
I just want to say how much I admire the tenderness and courage in your words. You’re not just navigating heartache—you’re trying to understand it, to grow through it, and that’s something really meaningful. You’re clearly someone who feels deeply and thinks deeply, too—and that combination is powerful, even when it hurts.
It seems to me that the pain the two of you felt didn’t come from a lack of love, but from the ways you each learned to protect yourselves when things got hard. You shut down when overwhelmed. He held everything in until it eventually spilled out. You were both trying to stay safe in different ways, but those ways began to collide instead of connect.
It sounds like you need a partner who communicates clearly—no second-guessing, no emotional riddles. Someone who can be honest with warmth, who doesn’t retreat when things get heavy. Someone who says, “This is hard for me too,” instead of hiding what’s real. A warm, calm presence—especially in moments of uncertainty or conflict.
Your boyfriend, as you described him, struggled with that. When life became overwhelming, he collapsed inward, avoided sharing, and offered promises rather than presence. That doesn’t make him a bad person—it means he was doing the best he could with what he had. But it likely left you feeling unsure, anxious, and alone in your own mind.
At the same time, he may need a partner who brings patience to his emotional delays—but also gently challenges his avoidance. Someone who expresses what she actually feels and needs, instead of hoping he’ll guess. Someone who reaches out with curiosity and compassion, instead of filling the silence with worry or assumptions.
It sounds like you already see how your own silence sometimes kept your needs unspoken. And in that silence, he stayed quiet too. You mirrored each other—not in a way that felt grounding, but in a way that deepened the distance.
So I want to offer this gently: right now, it doesn’t sound like either of you were consistently able to be what the other needed most. That doesn’t mean the love wasn’t real. But patterns got in the way—patterns that both of you would need to work on to keep the pain from repeating.
If you do reach out, maybe the question isn’t just “Do we still love each other?” but “Can we grow enough to love each other differently?”
Whatever you choose, I hope you keep listening to the part of you that wants to love and be loved from a place of clarity, steadiness, and care.
With warmth, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Steve:
Thank you for sharing this—it’s beautiful how you’ve connected the ten worlds with the body and breath in such a grounded, visual way. I especially liked how the joining of both hands becomes a symbol of unity—suffering and awakening held together, not apart. That line about “the aim of reality is the meaning of life—to bring life meaning” really stayed with me.
I’d love to hear more sometime about how this framework has shaped your daily life.
Warmly, Anita
anitaParticipantDear Peter:
Thank you for reminding me of my personal mission statement: to do no harm, and help in the ways I can.
This conversation has me reflecting on how the “we/they” reflex isn’t just cultural—it’s biological. Most social animals protect their own group: bees defend their hives, hyenas chase away intruders, humans form tribes. It’s a deeply wired survival instinct.
I recently came across the term “threat rigidity”—a psychological response that kicks in when we feel under threat, whether the danger is real or perceived, and whether it’s physical, emotional, cultural, or economic. In that state, our thinking narrows and becomes rigid: “We” = the in-group to protect “They” = the outsiders who pose a risk
Fear rises → people polarize. The other side becomes not just “different,” but dangerous or immoral. We stop listening and start defending. Compromise feels like betrayal, and we begin gathering in smaller, more like-minded “us” circles.
You pointed to this so clearly when you wrote: “Our minds crave safety in clear distinctions: ‘us’ versus ‘them,’ ‘inside’ versus ‘outside.’”
So much polarization is promoted day and night by the Polarizer-in-Chief—someone who regularly emphasizes “us vs. them” and often frames issues in stark, binary terms, casting political opponents, the media, etc., as enemies or threats.
Back to your words: “The more we recognize that ‘they’ reflect parts within ourselves, the more the boundary softens, and the ‘we’ naturally expands. My use of ‘we’ is an invitation to lean into the latter.”-
That invitation isn’t a denial of division, or a pretense that unity already exists. It’s a call to imagine a wider belonging—even when fear or instinct urges us to draw the line tighter. You’re suggesting that we pause and question the “they” we feel tempted to push away.
What I hear you saying, in essence, is: I know the reflex to divide is strong. But what if we softened around it—just a little? What might grow then?
You wrote: “How can WE make a positive difference, in a Life worth living? Perhaps healing begins, and a new consciousness awakens, when we take the step to see the ‘they’ in ‘we,’ and the ‘we’ in ‘they.’”-
Looking at my post of last night, right above, I notice that the pull toward “we” is emotional, even physiological. Especially for someone like me, who once felt outside the circle of belonging for too long. I found myself last evening in a group expressing strong anti (local) government, anti-liberal sentiment and it was so easy—so tempting—to feel the warmth of inclusion when “they” weren’t present to complicate the story.
It made me realize how seductive belonging can be when it’s built on opposition—how “we” can form most easily when “they” are conveniently silent or unseen.
Your invitation to soften the divide, to notice who we push away reflexively, feels even more important after witnessing that in myself. Because of your words, Peter, I feel more aware this morning. My consciousness has shifted—moving me toward greater courage, and toward expanding the we.
With appreciation, Anita
anitaParticipantJournaling this Friday night 10:20 pm, whatever comes to mind (having the little I understand from Peter’s post I just came across):
There is nothing stronger than the need TO BELONG, the need to be approved of as one who is part of a yes-group.
It’s the strongest in those who did not belong, those (me) who were too alone and lonely for too long.
The appeal, the attraction of belonging.. is intoxicating.
The ATTRACTION of belonging to a “we” that’s different and opposed to “they” is huge.
I experienced it tonight, in real-life (the strong anti-government, anti-liberal sentiment). It was so easy because there was no vocal representative of the “they’-
It was a We …and I wanted to belong to that We.
Anita (10:35 pm)
anitaParticipantDear Peter: I wasn’t aware of your post, the one exactly 10 minutes before my last post (to Alessa) until just now. I will read & reply Sat morning.
Anita
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Though I run this site, it is not mine. It's ours. It's not about me. It's about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine. 