Dear Emma:

Thank you again for opening up so honestly. There’s so much tenderness and courage in how you speak about your patterns, and I deeply admire your willingness to look inward and to keep looking forward, even when it hurts.

What you describe—reaching out to people, then pulling away when conflict or discomfort arises—is something I understand closely. I’ve found myself doing the same: staying quiet, letting feelings build, and only speaking up once things have reached a breaking point. Your friend’s advice really resonates—naming our needs early, even imperfectly, might be the gentlest way to protect the connection before it begins to break. Boundaries don’t have to be rigid; they can be ways of creating honesty and care.

When it comes to your father and his views on therapy (“he does not like therapy… bc it makes me stuck in the past according to him,”- from your previous message), I hear that strong voice—one that says reflection is being stuck. But healing isn’t about staying in the past. It’s about understanding how the past shaped us, so that our future doesn’t repeat the past. Without that reflection, the same wounds keep showing up—just in different relationships, in different forms.

And I can’t help but feel that his forceful opinions—his tendency to overpower emotional space and dismiss inner work—are tied to enmeshment. When a parent dominates our inner world, it’s like our space is already occupied by someone else. There’s no room left for us—within ourselves, for ourselves. It feels suffocating. For someone still untangling from that dynamic, limiting or even ending contact isn’t cruelty—it can be a form of survival. A way of remembering where you begin.

When a parent takes up emotional space in this way—especially one who dismisses self-reflection or overwhelms with forceful views— it leaves very little room for the child’s own identity to form. It’s a kind of emotional invasion. Limiting contact can become necessary in order to reclaim that space, to hear our own voice again, to trust our emotions, and to build real agency in our lives.

Agency is the ability to make choices and act on them in a way that reflects your true self. It’s about having the space—and the inner clarity—to decide what’s right for you, instead of being pulled by others’ expectations, demands, or fears.

You asked me: “That is tough for you too, that the enmeshment with your mum makes you doubt your instincts and make you over-explain yourself—it feels like there is no ground underneath your feet, right? How does that come up for you?”-

Yes, enmeshment with my mother has been deeply difficult for me. It really felt like there was no ground beneath me. I didn’t feel strong enough—or safe enough—to stand tall with confidence and move through life. Instead, I crawled. I was unsure, fearful. Sometimes I’ve described it as being a ship lost at sea—without direction, carried wherever people and circumstances took me. No agency.

Even now, I see traces. I’m generous and kind with people, but part of that is driven by a deep urge to be liked. I put parts of myself aside to please… and then those parts rise back up, often in painful ways. I withdraw. I feel anger I hadn’t expressed earlier. And because my mother carried so much paranoia and distrust, I catch myself viewing others through her lens. I become suspicious of people I genuinely care about—and push them away. That shift—from warmth to distance—has hurt people who only wanted closeness.

I became fully aware of this dynamic just yesterday, after my mother re-invaded my inner space, filling me with suspicion, and I got angry—expressing that anger toward someone I’ve been feeling close to, someone who is genuinely kind and trustworthy. I apologized profusely, and I’m still hurting from what happened. I don’t know if the relationship can be salvaged. Time will tell. But regardless, I intend to keep working on this kind of invasion every day.

It just occurred to me a few seconds ago, as I was rereading the above, that there may be a factor of… I’d call it inappropriate loyalty on my part—loyalty to my mother. As in, if I trust anyone in real life, it feels like a betrayal of her. Because what she stood for, what she consistently expressed, her message—paraphrased—was: “Trust no one.” And a good little girl listens to her mother… (or father), doesn’t she?

.. I wonder if it might help to try expressing, in just one sentence, what your father’s message has been in your life—and your mother’s.

And I’m also wondering, how did your visit with your mother go?

Warmest hugs to you 🤍