Another stream of consciousness journaling:

It’s 7:08 pm and yet, no sound of birds. On the other hand, there’s a loud thunder sound every once in a while. I suppose the birds are settling in little safe areas, preparing for a storm.

It’s been hot and dry here for a long time, so long that the thunder sounded- to me- like a military bombing- it’s been too long since the last thunder. So, I forgot.

I just heard a bird. Refreshing cooler air through the open windows (7:43 pm).

8:32, no more thunders, birds are singing. Light outside. An airplane in a distance.

The hum of traffic in a distance.

Maybe there will be no storm, no rain (8:39 pm)

“Life Worth Living- what is it like?”- a life free of toxic shame, free of unbearable guilt.

A life where I stand tall, feeling confident, carrying myself- not with toxic shame and unbearable guilt- but with pride (not the biblical condemnable pride), shoulders back, head up.. on top of the world, not below.

How deep and pervasive the shame (the toxic shame kind).. doesn’t let me LIVE a LIFE WORTH LIVING- always something I’m doing wrong.. so the message goes. So many mistakes. Here’s another.. and another.. oh, how WRONG I .. am.. wrong again, am I?

Seems like the only way for me to not be Wrong, is.. to not be Alive.

My brain has been programmed from a very early age .. every step I take.. is the wrong, WRONG step.. Wrong me doing wrong, Wrong.

9:06 pm, a bit of darkness, cool air, no thunder.

To undo the programming, it takes courage, a leap of faith.

As in, I am not necessarily Wrong, not always Guilty?

My mother’s legacy in my life is that of Shame and Guilt, heavy duty, drilled-in.. over and over and over.. and over again.

9:12 pm, Mon.. birds are singing, bold and strong.. They give me hope.

9:22 pm, darker, no sounds of birds.

9:30 pm, almost completely dark. No bird sounds, It makes me sad.. Another goodbye from my best friends, the birds.

I so very, very.. very much want to let the shame and guilt pass and be gone.. for good.

Peter.. ?

9:40 pm, just a bit of light when I look to my right, otherwise.. totally dark.

I am aware of how pervasive, how dominant the message has been, the message my mother cared-so-MUCH to instill in me: that I am BAD and GUILTY.

How it took hold.

It’s almost completely dark now, 9:52 pm.

A light plane in the air. No thunders for a long time.

Will Ada, or Confused.. or Emma will ever post again..?

10 pm- now, completely dark.

Goodnight, dear birds.. hear you in the morning.

Anita

Journaling, stream of consciousness (Trigger Warning, as always):

TOXIC shame imprinted into my brain, killing my heart.. making it bleed.

Putting my life in a half-century hold.

Not here (alive), not there (dead).

Neurological, psychiatric afflictions to follow the not-here, nor-there existence:

Diagnosed OCD, Tourette’s, Major Depression.. and more diagnoses (I am embarrassed about naming them all)

All because I was.. (so my mother said, and society echoed her): You, Anita, are wrong to get hurt. Wrong to react negatively to being (mercilessly shamed and guilt-tripped).

Wrong to take her threats seriously.. her threats to kill herself and to (her word), to murder me… Why.. that’s nothing.. What’s wrong with you, Anita, to even remember these nothing-to-it words.

Wrong to perceive these as anything other than business-as-usual in the context of parenting.. why everyone..

Don’t know.. how should I have taken her threats..?

They (society as I have known it) says I overreacted.

And this very message, as I have known it.. How widespread is it in the middle east where I was born?

This abuse being normalized- is this.. isn’t it what’s behind the-never-ending revenge and violence in the middle east?

My mother with her big brown, dark.. dark brown eyes and the corners of her mouth always slightly turned up, as in a smile.

But.. no, it was not a smile.

I hear voices criticizing me.. that voice saying: Get Over it, Anita, SHAME on YOU!.

But then I hear the reasonable voice saying (Peter’s): Transform it.

And yet, in the inside of me is still, always, a little girl looking up to Ima (mother)- seeking her forgiveness (for not being what she needed me to be).. needing her to tell me that I am a good girl.

I will never hear those words from her.. that I was/ am a good little girl.

Oh, what a difference it would have made for me.. to hear those precious words: You Are a Good Little Girl, Anita!

Fast forward, I didn’t hear those words from anyone.. until I did, just a bit, here and there.. couldn’t take them in..

Couldn’t really hear.

All I could see was that little smile on my mother’s face.. that little joy seeing me hurt.

Her Pleasure.

Transform this kind of maternal pleasure at witnessing my pain.. A mother’s REVENGE (that middle east revenge).

To love someone who takes revenge for what I didn’t cause.. not my doing-

The story of middle east ongoing revenge.

Anita

I see so much good in people, such that I didn’t see before.. so much good I missed, good intention, goodwill..

There’s a lot to build on.. to unite, not divide; to forgive, not revenge.

9:11 pm, Wed night, July 23.. light outside. Birds chirping.. all is good.

Anita

Hi Gerard 🙂

Thank you for sharing this—it reads like a heartfelt reflection, and I admire how thoughtful you are in considering not just your own feelings, but the feelings of your guests. Your empathy shines through.

It seems that your care for others—the desire to make people feel welcome and valued—is at the core of your discomfort. You gave generously years ago, and likely hoped that same spirit would continue now. Watching your daughter act more distantly feels out of sync with that legacy, and it’s natural you’d feel disappointed, maybe even confused.

I also sense that part of what’s bothering you is not just the visitors’ experience, but your own: feeling constrained, unable to express your full hospitality because of your daughter’s boundaries. You want to make it right, and yet you’re being asked to step back.

It’s wise of you to acknowledge that there may be dynamics you don’t fully see. People change, relationships evolve, and what might seem cold from the outside could reflect personal shifts, emotional distance, or even boundaries your daughter feels she needs to hold.

What stands out to me most is your compassion—the way you place yourself in the shoes of others, even when it stings. That’s not something to roll past, but to honor. You feel deeply. And yes, sometimes imagined disappointment is still real for the person imagining it.

Maybe the kindest path forward is to trust that you did offer warmth, and to let your daughter guide the rest. Sometimes loving someone means respecting the shape of their boundaries—even when they feel unlike our own.

Sending you understanding and encouragement. It’s clear your heart’s in the right place.

Warmly, Anita

* Better I reply in the morning, not focused now 😊

Good Morning, Gerard! (still morning here):

Thank you for reading my stream-of-consciousness journaling with such care. I appreciate your sentiment and the reference to Stephen Covey—it’s a thoughtful reminder about how language and labels can shape how we see ourselves.

At the same time, for me, naming my diagnoses has been a part of how I find help and direction. Responsible clinicians use these names not to reduce someone, but to guide treatment that fits what the person is actually experiencing. It’s not always easy, but having words for what’s happening gives me access to tools and approaches that have been studied and refined—ways to move forward, even when things feel tangled.

I guess both truths can live side by side: naming can feel heavy sometimes, but it can also open doors. Thank you again for reflecting with me—I value your presence and thoughtfulness.

In regard to your second post from yesterday: seeing those photos must have stirred something deep—a beautiful reminder that even moments from long ago can leave a lasting imprint.

Her gesture of recreating those scenes says so much. It’s clear that what you offered her 15 years ago wasn’t just a trip, but something meaningful and memorable. I’m so glad you plan to write to her—acknowledging her and that shared history feels just right, and I imagine it would mean a lot to her too.

It’s lovely how your care lives on in subtle, quiet ways. That’s a legacy of kindness that sticks around longer than we often realize.

Warmly, Anita