Dear Alessa: I am looking forward to read and reply to your recent post tomorrow.

anita

It’s amazing- to give space to my love for her without panicking, without getting overwhelmed, without needing to suppress and minimize this love. To hold it within my awareness, within my heart, without instinctively trying to get rid of it… without trying to hate her back so to keep her away from me.

This is something I can do only from a distance, a physical distance of half the world apart. Yet, an emotional, spiritual closeness is possible as long as the physical distance is maintained.

When someone you love (your mother) hurts you too much and for too long, and at least at times, she genuinely enjoyed hurting you- – well, speaking for myself- no way that I can trust her, nor should I. But I can trust her soul. I always loved the core of her, that which existed before the severe neglect and abuse she experienced as a child, the core will be freed to be- after her death.

anita

Dear Alessa:

Thank you so much for your kind words! It truly means a lot that my poem resonated with you. Writing it was a way to express my emotions in a way that feels safe and meaningful, and knowing that it was received with warmth makes it even more special. ❤️

anita

The most difficult thing for me to understand has been my decades-long enmeshment with my mother- the two were one, in my brain. I wasn’t able to understand the concept until I got some distance between me and her, and I mean more than physical distance. Enmeshment kept me stuck in a land of .. the living dead, so to speak: minimally alive.

In that suffocating enmeshment, I felt/ believed that she loved me, when the truth was- I loved her. I couldn’t tell the difference between me loving her and.. she loving me.

With some mental separation, I can now distinguish between her and me: two different people. I loved her (would have done ANYTHING to make her happy, would neve, didn’t ever try to hurt her; she tried to hurt me and enjoyed hurting me. Big difference!

But I couldn’t tell this difference for as long as I was terribly enmeshed with her. Because of hat enmeshment I suspected that I was the evil one, the one trying to hurt her.

Because of that crazy-making enmeshment, I thought of her as the innocent child, and of me- as the evil, abusive adult.

Haling from that horrible, sickening enmeshment is such a relief: seeing who is who. Here I am; there she is. Totally distinct, separate people.

anita

There is a new feeling in me, a… how can describe it: a feeling of a long-sought independence, a passion, a rage because this has been lost to me for more than a half of a century, a life wasted in enmeshment. And here I am this Wed night, not too late to feel this Newness, a Freedom from Enmeshment-Enslavement-

This is me, Me, the one that was lost to me, never fully identified until tonight: anita, or Anita with a capital A.

There was always a mother stuck to me, an unwanted sticky substance that wouldn’t let me be ME, wouldn’t let me live as me. Always HER voice, HER criticisms, HER pain, her perceptions, HER interpretations, HER lies, HER truths.. … HER everything- and me- nowhere to be found, suffocated by her overwhelming, loud presence. Enmeshed. Lost.

And tonight, here I am. just me. “Here I am on the road again. Here I am on the stage” (Bob Seger in the background)-

“Here I am, on the road I am. here I am, up on the stage. Here I go playing star again. Here I go, turn the page… Here I go” (Turn the Page/ Bob Seger).

Anita

Shadow work: All of my emotions have and always had a positive message: to help me survive ad even thrive. No valid shame for me feeling any which way, throughout my life. Even my tics, they have a positive message: it’s my muscles stuck in a flight-or-fight response to perceived danger, that which my mother posed to me. My muscles keep running away or fighting with nowhere to go, the results: tics.

Shadow work is about accepting all emotions, all energy-in-motion, like tics, accepting these as my friends, friends who have done their best for my benefit, and for what is right and just.

It is about making peace with.. me, with what moves through me.

It is about accepting and expressing the suppressed and repressed emotions and energy running through my body- tics and the tension involved- with no judgment but with gratitude and respect.

About my mother, I must say, my goodness! I was never able to accept the tragic truth that somewhere along the way, she lost the ability or inclination to love-and-be-loved. This was no longer an option for her sometime before I was born. Her shows of “love”, as I remember them, were largely- or wholly- performative. In reality, she was Teflon to love. My love for her didn’t permeate her skin, so to speak. My love for her, and my sister’s love for her, was like oil to her Teflon heart. Not that it was her fault that it came to be this way- her suffering as a child and adolescent was intense and unjust. I was a victim of her victimizers. I was her victim.

She was unreachable. And.. but- it wasn’t my fault that my child- love didn’t reach her. It was an impossible feat.

It is as if- by the time I was born to her- she was no longer human, meaning, she was no longer receptive to love, no longer loving. It is as if she learned how loving looks like, and at times, she faked it with people, with guests.. and at times, with me.

I feel the tension and pain in my left soldier tight now: it’s little-anita running away, running away from a loveless, and sometimes hateful mother. RUNNING, RUNNING away with nowhere to go.

How strange, how not strange it is- to naturally react to unnatural circumstances, unnatural being an unloving, and way too often- a hateful mother, one who wanted to hurt me and enjoying hurting me, looking at me with a mild but undeniable smile of joy, to see the pain register on my face.

No wonder I got stuck running, running with nowhere to go, aka tics.

anita

Dear Yana:

I want to take a moment to truly appreciate the depth of thought and care in your response to me. Over time, I’ve learned to refine the way I engage with others, recognizing the value of thoughtful replies that acknowledge emotions and encourage meaningful conversation. Because of that, I can fully appreciate the strengths in your message—the warmth, self-reflection, and openness you shared.

The way you offered reassurance, invited reflection, and shared your personal experience with healing through love was truly beautiful. It wasn’t just supportive; it created space for deeper dialogue, allowing the conversation to unfold naturally. Your ability to reflect on your own journey and extend that reflection to me is a meaningful skill, and I want to encourage more of it.

Sometimes, a response that validates someone’s feelings rather than dismissing them can be the difference between feeling heard and feeling shut out. I deeply appreciate seeing this side of you, and I hope it’s something you continue to bring to your conversations with others.

It’s powerful that you’ve been able to create something for yourself—a family built on genuine care and understanding, something that contrasts with your early experiences. The realization that you may have allowed yourself to be loved is such an important one. Love isn’t just given—it’s also something we must learn to accept, and it seems like you’ve found a way to do that.

You asked me, “What could help you finally feel whole?”—an excellent question. It was only recently that I was introduced to the concept of Shadow Work, which has been deeply insightful for me. If you’re interested, Lais Stephan’s article “Dancing with Darkness: How to Reclaim Your Whole Self” on the Tiny Buddha homepage explores it beautifully.

The answer to your question is found within the article’s title—dancing with darkness—or, as Stephan writes:

“I realized I had spent years treating my emotions as something to get rid of. But healing isn’t about eliminating pain; it’s about becoming intimate with it. So instead of suppressing my darkness, I started getting to know it… The more I embraced my pain, the less power it had over me… I learned that healing isn’t about reaching some perfect, pain-free version of yourself. It’s about integrating every part of you—even the ones you used to reject.”

Throughout the years on tiny buddha, I’ve shared my feelings, yet at the same time, I unknowingly rejected some of them and failed to acknowledge others—trying to push them away, often feeling shame for experiencing them at all. The shame, judgment, and fear I carried kept them largely repressed or suppressed, preventing them from being truly acknowledged and processed.

But yesterday, when I shared about my childhood and lifelong loneliness, something shifted. For the first time, I felt a sense of acceptance and appreciation for it—no longer rejecting it as something bad. It was like welcoming someone who had long been cast aside into my home. The once-rejected part of me, angry and demanding attention, finally felt seen and accepted—and in that acceptance, the desperate need for validation faded.

Jana, as you reflect on your own journey of healing and self-acceptance, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this approach. Do the principles of Shadow Work resonate with you? Have you experienced moments where embracing your pain rather than rejecting it led to a sense of peace or clarity?

anita