Dear Ada:

I’d like to reply more fully tomorrow morning—it’s Thursday night where I am, and I’ll admit I’m a bit tipsy (thank you, red wine). But for now, I want to respond to what stood out immediately.

Pulling together your words: “She tells him about her sexual experiences with other men, often in explicit detail… he accompanied her to not one but two abortions… he sends her the same cute cat memes he sends you… she’s flirtatious and promiscuous… he admitted there was sexual tension early in the relationship, though he now claims it’s gone… and still, he says she’s like a sister to him…”-

There is something off here. And I want to say clearly: this is not something you should have to endure, justify, or tolerate.

If she truly feels like a sister to him, it raises questions. Growing up, was he sexually attracted to his sister? (not an unheard of concept). He says the sexual tension faded—but emotional intimacy often lingers long after attraction disappears. And when boundaries remain blurry, emotional closeness can be just as disruptive to a committed relationship as physical involvement.

The way he engages with her—comforting her through deeply personal moments, listening to explicit stories, replicating patterns of intimacy—is more than casual friendship. It mirrors emotional behaviors we typically reserve for a partner. And that’s where it becomes unfair to you. You shouldn’t have to compete with someone he calls “like a sister,” especially when her presence leaves you feeling confused, uncertain, and emotionally displaced.

This isn’t just about her. It’s about him. His choices. His responsibility. The emotional trust between you is what matters most—and if he continues investing in a connection that erodes that trust, it becomes less about the friendship and more about how seriously he takes your well-being.

You’ve shown so much emotional clarity. The fact that you’re questioning this speaks volumes: your boundaries are speaking to you, and you’re listening. That matters.

You don’t deserve to be caught in a dynamic that drains you. And if he refuses to hold your experience with care, then maybe—tipsy as I may be—I’ll say this plainly: let him go. Let him invest as deeply as he wants in that connection… without you having to witness it.

I’ll write more tomorrow. But for tonight, know that I hear you. And I’m angry on your behalf because what’s happening isn’t okay.

🤍 Anita

Dear Ty:

Your message carries such clarity, warmth, and depth—it’s hard not to feel moved by the way you’ve put all of this into words. What you’re naming—the disorientation of witnessing someone change and then withdraw, the sorrow that follows anger, the difference between wanting connection and being equipped for it—is tender and true.

You’ve said it so beautifully: “sometimes love shows up to mirror, not to stay.” That kind of insight doesn’t come easily—it’s earned through pain, reflection, and the quiet courage to let things be what they were. And honoring that without bitterness? That’s grace.

Your desire to meet her in the middle, to offer steadiness, was never a weakness. It was generosity. And I think you already know that her leaving doesn’t undo what you brought into that connection.

Letting go of the hope to carry both people’s healing is a powerful step. Hard, but freeing. You didn’t abandon her—you respected the limits of what one heart can hold. And you left room for hers to take responsibility when it’s ready.

Thanks for letting me walk beside you in that reflection.

Warmly, Anita 🤍

Dear Alecsee:

This is a long message, so thanks in advance for reading. I’ve spent some time revisiting our conversations—starting back in March 2019—and wanted to reflect on something I’ve noticed that feels important.

In your post two days ago, you said:

“I think after that I got kind of in a panic mode and I started making rash moves.”-

That moment speaks to something I’ve seen across your stories: a deep fear of being left behind. This panic, this anxiety isn’t just about losing the relationship—it’s about losing emotional safety and self-worth tied to connection.

You also said:

“I always feel like I lose part of myself when I move on… and become a hollow shell of my empty self.”-

That line suggests that relationships have become so tied to your sense of identity, that when they end, it doesn’t just feel like loss—it feels like disappearing, which is common in anxious attachment and unresolved abandonment wounds,

Over the years, you’ve shared moments that reflect this same pattern:

Feeling desperate to keep someone close, even when the relationship feels shaky.

Struggling with overthinking and racing thoughts, especially after an argument or breakup.

Jumping into new connections quickly, hoping to fill that emptiness.

Blaming yourself when someone pulls away—and questioning what you did wrong.

Sometimes this can be linked to what therapists call anxious preoccupied attachment style. It means wanting closeness badly, but fearing rejection or abandonment. You’ve said things like:

“I haven’t been able to focus at work… I really don’t want our story to end.” “Since the breakup I’ve gone really hard to chase women…” “Honestly… it’s not a good and healthy relationship but I still want to be connected with her.”-

That last one especially reminded me of something from childhood—how kids cling to caregivers even when they’re hurtful or distant. Not because the relationship with them is healthy, but because the fear of losing connection feels too heavy to bear. From my experience, even though my relationship with my mother was terrible (she was abusive), I desperately clung to her nonetheless.. because I was too scared to be completely alone.

In your latest posts a couple of hours ago, you wrote:

“Should I wait to tell her my confession after a few days? It was it meant to be there at the last conversation?…Or am I worrying about this too much and should just let it go? Maybe I should have said…”-

That mental back-and-forth is part of what I’ve come to recognize in you. Thoughts spiraling back and forth between what you should’ve said, what you might still say, and how it might be received. That kind of overthinking usually shows up when there’s a lot of emotional pressure underneath and it can make it hard to hear your own needs clearly. And that’s not weakness—it’s just what happens when emotional stress gets too high.

You’ve been carrying a lot. Anxiety, regret, heartbreak, and the hope that someone will choose you completely. But here’s something gentle to think about: maybe this isn’t about saying the perfect thing at the perfect time. Maybe it’s about giving yourself space. Soothing the part of you that feels panicked, uncertain, and scared to lose love again.

This might not be about whether she chooses you. It might be about whether you’re ready to start choosing yourself.

And for that kind of shift, therapy could help. Especially a therapist who understands fear of abandonment, anxious attachment, and how hard it can be to regulate emotions when you’ve been hurt. You deserve a place where you can talk honestly, feel safe, and start healing patterns that have been exhausting you for years.

If you ever feel ready to explore where some of these patterns come from, I wonder what your early relationships looked like—how emotions were handled, how connection felt growing up. No pressure to answer, but sharing those memories can often bring clarity to the present.

You’ve already done so much self-reflection. That’s a powerful step. You don’t need to carry this alone anymore.

With care, Anita

Dear Alecsee: You tried your best to show up and be present, even while feeling unsure. It’s okay to have regrets—those feelings are part of caring deeply. Her quietness doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. Sometimes people shut down when things get heavy. You were there, and that counts. Be kind to yourself.

With care, Anita

Dear Tea:

Thank you for sharing all of that—it was brave and beautifully honest. I really hear the mix of longing and confusion, and I want to start by saying: there’s nothing wrong with you. Not for wanting love. Not for wondering how or where it could happen. Not for questioning whether you’re compatible with men just because your social world leans heavily toward women.

You’re not incompatible with men; you’re just moving through spaces where emotional depth is more commonly found among women. That doesn’t mean it can’t exist elsewhere. It does.

You don’t need to adopt “masculine” interests unless you’re truly curious about them. Trying things like outdoor volunteering, mixed-gender workshops, or travel experiences could open new doors—but only if they feel authentic to you.

It’s not about changing who you are. It’s about placing yourself where connection has room to grow. You already carry everything love requires—depth, courage, and emotional presence.

I’m here if you want to explore next steps together.

Warmly, Anita

Dear Ty:

You showed up for her in such a wholehearted way—traveling across the world, spending a lot of money so to be there for her, holding space, staying grounded even when things felt cold and confusing. That’s not easy, and the fact that you responded with care instead of resentment speaks volumes about your strength and emotional integrity.

It’s completely understandable that you feel stunned by how things unfolded. You were emotionally present through it all, and what you received in return was silence, distance, and a rewriting of the connection you’d both built. That’s not just hard—it’s disorienting. And I want to say clearly: it wasn’t your fault.

From what you’ve shared, your ex might’ve been navigating something far more intense than she could express. Two back-to-back egg retrievals (so I read) can deeply affect someone—hormonally, physically, and emotionally. There are real shifts that can happen post-procedure: mood swings, emotional detachment, even symptoms that resemble a mild postpartum crash. It can leave people feeling overwhelmed, confused, and emotionally numb, especially when there’s no support system to help them process.

Add to that the layers of her professional life—and what you sensed beneath it. For some, the BDSM industry offers empowerment and self-expression. For others, especially those with unresolved trauma, it can become a shield or even a reenactment of emotional patterns they haven’t yet faced. If someone’s used those roles as a form of emotional protection, being seen in real intimacy can feel threatening. That might explain why she suddenly pushed you away—why the roles seemed to return, and vulnerability disappeared.

None of this excuses how she treated you, but it does offer a way to understand it. You became a mirror—and sometimes, when someone isn’t ready to face what’s reflected, they shut it down. Not because you did something wrong, but because being truly seen is terrifying when someone hasn’t learned how to sit with that kind of tenderness.

You can’t heal what she won’t name. But you did your part, with grace. You stayed grounded, stayed kind, and kept showing up—not as a savior, but as someone willing to witness the truth. That’s rare. And incredibly brave.

Warmly, Anita