Dear Emma:

After sending you my last message, I was driving to the farm when something struck me. You mentioned that Philip could be judgmental—and that it was something you didn’t like. But as I thought more about it, I wondered: if you grew up with a judgmental parent, then a partner with similar traits might hold a strange kind of emotional pull.

Not because it feels good—but because it holds a deep hope, something like: maybe this time, I’ll be the exception. Maybe this person will finally give me the full acceptance I longed for growing up. It becomes a quiet wish to rewrite the old story—by winning over someone who reminds you of the one you couldn’t reach. It’s like trying to heal an old wound in a new way.

And often, when someone is already kind and accepting from the start… they don’t spark that same emotional charge. Because there’s no struggle. No uphill climb to earn love.

That thought came to me before I even read your latest messages, where you wrote: “He reminded me of my father and brother: my father being bossy and forceful at times, telling me I should not be so dreamy/absent minded … I do think I could see through his shell, and saw his softness on the inside… They say you look for someone who is like your father (as a girl).”-

He reminded you of your father—bossy, judgmental—and that might have been part of the appeal. Maybe what drew you to him was the chance to finally reach the softness you never got from your father. A second chance at something unfinished.

About why I said I don’t think he was compatible with you—it’s because he talked too much about himself, didn’t ask you questions about you, and was judgmental toward your innocent, lovely ways of being. The dynamic I mentioned above—trying to rewrite a parental story within a romantic relationship—doesn’t build compatibility. It tends to create intensity, emotional upheaval, and often, disappointment.

I just read the last sentence in your third post: “I must say have a tendency for limerence too – I do believe it is connected.”- yes, I believe it is connected. Limerence often involves intense infatuation with someone who feels emotionally just out of reach—someone who may be inconsistent, distant, in ways that create emotional hunger and longing. That dynamic can feel magnetic for someone whose parental and other early experiences of love were shaped by conditional approval, criticism, or the need to “earn” warmth from a parent.

So if your father was bossy and judgmental—it’s very possible that a person like Philip, who mirrored some of those same traits, lit up something familiar and unfinished in your emotional world. The hope, often unconscious, is: maybe I can finally win over this version of my father. That “winning over” becomes the emotional thrill of limerence.

In other words: the more emotionally unavailable or critical the person is, the more it triggers the old script—the quest for love, validation, and proof of worth. It’s not just attraction, it’s an emotional reenactment. And limerence, with all its highs and lows, can feel intoxicating because it mimics that unpredictable search for acceptance she may have experienced growing up.

Does all this sound true to you?

Your work at the bookstore sounds like such a perfect fit for you, and your dressing up for Renaissance Fairs and eccentric clothing —sound absolutely lovely.

As for my day, I did a lot of mowing out on the big farm and spent some time cutting back blackberries. Unfortunately, while doing that, a stinging nettle brushed against my hand… and now it itches, burns, and tingles 😞

Anita

Dear Emma:

In the following, I will quote parts of what you shared and gently offer my thoughts about each one.

“He can be (like Philip) very clear in the things he likes… and the people he does not like.”- This tells me that his four children probably tried very hard—at least for a time—to land on the “right” side of his approval before perhaps giving up on the pursuit altogether.

“He used to hug us kind of awkwardly.”- That kind of hug can leave a child anxious, unsure. It doesn’t soothe or ground; instead, it prompts questions like: Is there something wrong with me? Is it difficult to love me?

“Never sent me a heart emoji or kiss emoji even while I always do that. Somehow that hurt me a bit.”- That “bit” of hurt might actually hold many years’ worth of pain that’s been pushed down. It can seem like a small thing, but repeated emotional disappointment has a way of accumulating quietly.

“He told us he loved my mum the most, then his mother, then us.”- To be in third place like that—even if said in jest—can lodge itself in a child’s self-worth, as in: being worthy only of the leftovers of love, after the more “deserving” people are loved first.

“My mum always was very open in showing her love, but this often came down to helping us with everything, making sure we would not fail.”- That kind of love can carry the message that failure is dangerous or shameful—something to avoid at any cost.

“And listening to us if we were sad or worried. Same for my father btw!”- That’s a positive and important piece to acknowledge.

“But I feel like they always pushed us, not acknowledging our feelings deeply, or taking them seriously.”- This is emotional neglect. It’s not always loud, but it’s deeply felt. It’s the ache of not being known in your feelings, even when love is technically “present.”

“We always had to push ourselves.”- And to push oneself without enough emotional support is very, very difficult.

“What strikes me is that both my sister and I have a strange relationship with men—as soon as we feel some of them likes us, we tend to neglect ourselves.”- Here is that word—neglect. When love is paired with emotional neglect early in life, we can internalize the idea that neglect is a normal part of love. That to love someone means to disappear.

“Right now, a few of my friends, and my uncle, have said they suspect perhaps they might have narcissistic traits: my father in his very strict judgments of people and things… dismissing them or thinking less of them if they are not to his liking.”- It sounds like he may operate with what’s called black-and-white thinking, or all-or-nothing thinking—where people are either perfect or deeply flawed, with no room for in-between.

“My mum can handle criticism very badly. The other day I told her she hurt me by constantly commenting on my weight… She said her father once told her he could see she gained weight, and that almost got her into an eating disorder. Then she told me that that was her own responsibility.”- You told her how you felt, and she made it about herself. She wasn’t able to hold space for your feelings. Her own old wound—criticism from her father—rose to the surface and she was not able to be present with your hurt.

“I never stood up for myself enough, my mum did tell me this.”- But a child needs emotional support from a parent or someone else while growing up in order to stand up for themselves. You didn’t get enough of that support to build that foundation.

“He has been through a lot as a kid: his brother was very difficult and I believe it was him who had to protect his siblings and counsel his parents.”- That explains so much. A child who has to counsel their own parents learns to lead with control, not vulnerability. To be the protector and advisor at such a young age, he would have had to put his own feelings aside. And when trying to make sense of complex situations too early, the only available lens is often rigid, black-and-white thinking—the kind he may still carry.

Emma, I don’t see your parents as narcissists. I see them as wounded people. But what matters even more than labels is this: they weren’t able to meet your emotional needs adequately, even if they were trying in the ways they knew how.

And now, those needs—the ones that didn’t get met—deserve attention. They deserve air and light and space. Not to be pushed down like your mother’s were. Not to be overlooked like your father’s. Your feelings deserve to be held with gentleness and respect—especially by you.

You’re already doing this. By writing. By noticing. By daring to ask, “Do you recognize any of these things.. maybe?” You’re giving your inner world the attention it’s long been craving. That’s the work of healing—not pretending everything is okay, but staying present with what was missed and making room for it now.

Yesterday, I told you I would share about my own childhood. But I’ve decided not to do that on your thread right now (I’ve shared plenty on my own threads) because I wouldn’t want to confuse the space that’s so clearly becoming your own.

With care and deep respect, Anita