The emotions I repressed and suppressed are more than anything, way more- is Love for her, Love for my mother who was- to me- the MOST IMPORTANT person in the world, would have done anything, EVERYTHING for her. That dedication was No 1 in my psyche.

I would still do anything, everything for her if there was a chance that I could make a difference, a positive difference for her.

Okay, so that’s the LOVE for her, everlasting.

That she hated me in return for my love, well, that’s unfortunate. I can’t change it.

I don’t want to resist this truth, to fight it. it is what it is.

That she placed no value for my love, that she did not consider my love for her as something of any significance, that’s her thing. Unfortunately she just didn’t consider me anything of significance. Not her fault: she just couldn’t see me- little anita- as anything that was of any worth for her.

From her point of view, I was a thing, a thing of no consequence, of no purpose. Just a thing.

And so, I lived my life as a thing of no consequence, of no purpose, A thing of no worth.

But I am a creature of worth, of consequence, of purpose: I am!

I can make a positive difference in people’s lives.

anita

Dear Alessa:

Thank you so much for your thoughtful words. Your support means a lot.🙏

Your reflections on parenting are so insightful. The way you consider your words and their impact on your son shows just how much you care about shaping his future in a mindful way.

I’ve been reflecting on your words: “With love I say it is the nature of children to disobey their parents.”- It made me consider my own experience as a child, and how vastly different it was from natural exploration and boundary-testing.

I understand that children typically push limits, challenge authority, and test boundaries—it’s how they learn, how they shape their identities. But in my case, I have no memory of testing boundaries with my mother. I wouldn’t have dared. Instead of exploring, or asserting independence, I withdrew. I didn’t grow outward—I grew inward, folding into myself, retreating rather than expanding.

Stagnation replaced development, and instead of flourishing, I felt as if I was sinking deeper and deeper, trapped in an emotional sickness and social isolation. I minimized myself and autonomy was exchanged for compliance so to avoid her criticisms, histrionics, shaming, etc. For instance, I didn’t dress myself until much later than what’s appropriate—maybe ten, maybe older. She dressed me, and I let her. She continued to shower me well into puberty—a deeply shameful experience for me—yet I didn’t resist. Resistance was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

This reflection makes me realize how much of my childhood wasn’t about discovery, but survival. As I look back, I don’t feel like I “grew up.” Growth implies expansion, progress—but my experience felt more like entrapment. I grew inward.

Your idea of gradually teaching a child (” It takes training little by little, so as not to overwhelm”) makes so much sense. It reminds me that growth, whether in childhood or adulthood, is a series of small steps rather than instant change. And patience, both with others and ourselves, is key.

Sending you warmth and appreciation 🌺.

anita

Dear Alessa:

As I concluded reading your post, I thought to myself: This is the best post addressed to me that I ever read on tiny buddha, in all those years!

The washing me (and other experiences with her) sure felt like sexual abuse, considering the deep shame involved on my part. Regardless of her intent (she said she has to wash me because I didn’t have what it took to do a good job at it), it was a definitely inappropriate physical contact given my age (a teenager) and my realo ability to wash myself. It was also a violation of autonomy and it caused great emotional harm.

I appreciate you acknowledging the abuse I endured—it’s validating to hear someone recognize how deeply it affected me. The idea that even young children have a drive for autonomy resonates with me, especially when I think about how heavily controlled I was. It’s true that I stopped trying to assert myself out of fear, and survival became my focus instead of growth.

Your reflections on your son’s independence are so heartwarming. It’s inspiring to see how you nurture his autonomy and let him explore the world in his own way.

Thank you for seeing the good in me and for your support. You’ve given me a lot to think about, and I’m grateful for your kindness ❤️

I read your post on Jana’s thread and I want to support you in attending to your own needs first and give yourself the compassion you deserve.

anita

I didn’t see my mother since 2011, didn’t talk to her since 2013. I know she is likely to die any day, any hour, and for the first time in my life, there will be a world for me where there is no mother for me, forevermore.

One would say (I would say), why not contact her in her last days, let her know, let her know I love her so-

Oh, the dream.

The dream that she will finally know that I love her so.

But she won’t know, she can’t know. It will be another waste of my time, decades-long waste of me.

My love for her is like oil and she is like Teflon. My love doesn’t stick, it floats and off the pan it goes, unacknowledged, unrecognized, unregistered.

So, who am I telling this to? Is anyone hearing/ reading me? Who am I talking to?

Myself, I suppose. is there anyone else hearing me on this Wednesday night?

I think that I am trying to make her hear me, trying to reach her one last time, yet I am absolutely sure my effort is fruitless because my life is a testimony of this fruitlessness. So, I am telling you- someone who may be reading this, or not- I love, loved my mother with all of my heart, with all of my soul, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t take it in. So, I drowned in unacknowledged love turned to hate turned back to love.

Goodbye, mother. May you rest in peace as you take your last breath. Mother, unreachable, unapproachable. I love you so, I always did.

anita

Thank you, Jana. Your words truly mean a lot. I appreciate your kindness and empathy. It’s comforting to have my love for my mother recognized and appreciated—even if not by her.

anita