Dear Alessa:

Thank you for your kindness and support—it truly means a lot ❤️

I absolutely understand what you mean about loneliness, and it makes perfect sense to me. For as long as we struggle with low self-worth, rejecting our own emotions, or lacking self-compassion, loneliness becomes an internal reality. Even if others accept and value us, that inner disconnect persists, extending into relationships and making it difficult to truly feel seen and connected.

Your experience with enmeshment sounds incredibly difficult. It’s heartbreaking how intentional it was, how deeply ingrained the expectation was for you to be her mirror. I can understand why that fear of becoming like her weighed so heavily on you. But the fact that you recognized it, stepped back, and reclaimed your own identity is truly powerful.

That saying does ring painfully true. My mother rejected herself so completely that she physically cut off her own head in every picture. As a child, flipping through the photo album and seeing her missing face was profoundly disturbing.

In a way, her ‘love’ for me mirrored that act—she figuratively cut my head off, imposing her shame onto me in a way that harmed my mind, my sense of self, my very ability to think clearly, severing my connection to my own worth, leaving me to reject and feel ashamed of myself, my identity dismantled before I even had the chance to form it.

Thank you for sharing your experience so openly, Alessa. Your insight and reflection mean so much to me, and I deeply admire the strength you’ve shown in reclaiming your own identity. Healing from enmeshment isn’t easy, but the fact that we can have these conversations and support each other is truly powerful.

You are seen. You are valued. You are whole. And I hope you always remember that. 💜

anita

Trigger Warning-very emotional post to follow-

As part of my Shadow Work, I pay attention to when I am triggered by people, particularly when I am angry with someone for no discernable reason, and figure out what part of my own self is trying to speak to me, a part projected to the other person. This morning I had a horrifying moment: I am angry at my own vulnerability, my own weakness, my own desperation, angry at the little-girl-that I was. I am angry at her for having been weak, and being weak- deserving the mistreatment she got.

I wrote the above without censorship, without commenting about how.. inappropriate it is to feel that way.

Oh, but there are no inappropriate feelings. There are inappropriate actions, but not inappropriate emotions. All emotions have a positive motivation behind them, to somehow help the individual and to help others.

So, what is this anger about?

What comes to mind is this image/ memory of my mother looking at me with hate and condemnation in her eyes. I see her face: she is in her thirties perhaps, looking down at me as something despicable.

I say “something” and not “someone” because saying “someone” would give me more value than what she expressed in her eyes, and in that mild smile of hers, the upward angle of her lips.

My weakness was something to punish, in her mind and heart.

I took in her anger as something valid. And why wouldn’t I? There were no other options presented to me from which to choose.

I took in her anger, her condemnation- as if it was mine. It became mine.

There was no thought processing involved: she hated me for being vulnerable=> I hated myself for being vulnerable. She hated me for being an imperfect something=> I hated myself for the same.

But I ama not a something- what a concept! The title of a book comes to mind, “A child called It”, I think is the title. It caught my eye decades ago because it resonated.

Looking at the title of this thread: “The Betrayal We Buried..”- I find myself just now in the process of intellectualizing, trying to rationalize, to explain, but I don’t want to take that familiar route because that’s not where the child that I was can be found.

Back to the image, typing as I think-feel: I see the face of a monster. No, there is no “I” to see the face of a monster. There is a monster. A monster looking at me with hate. Correction: a monster looking at “it” with hate. “It” is not me. It is a stranger out there.

Hate that stranger is what I am taught. hate that stranger is what a daughter is taught to do. And daughter follows suit with what (it) is taught.

Still resisting rationalization: “It”- that’s me. But it isn’t. There is a person in there. There is depth in there. there is nuance.

But don’t tell that to the mother-monster.

Child within me says: oh, my beautiful mother, oh, my beautiful mother-god.

I see. I feel that reverence to the mother, why.. she is god. There is no other god, no other option for the child.

A vengeful god though. “Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them.” (Deuteronomy 32:35), impending things hastening upon me. “leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19), “A jealous and avenging God is the Lord; The Lord is avenging and wrathful. The Lord takes vengeance on His adversaries, And He reserves wrath for His enemies.” (Nahum 1:2)- I was my mother’s adversary, I was her enemy- in her own mind.

Obviously the experience is not particular to me, it’s been many people’s stories for thousands of years.

It’s just after noon here. the sun is shining, the leaves on the trees are gently moving to a gentle wind.

Gentle, that’s a good word, a good experience.

In my mind’s ear I hear a thousand people screaming at me: MOVE ON! Why are you making A BIG DEAL out of nothing, why wasting our time?

Who is screaming this in my mind’s ear? Is that you, a person reading this?

Oh, the fear of condemnation.

No pressure in this process, in this post, no intended destination. Only the relaxing into the truth, which is..

I can’t help it, I will always love my mother. Not because I want to, but because I know no other way. I should say.. love the version of my mother I have to keep: for if she didn’t love me, who would?

It’s a deep, deep need to be loved by one’s mother, my mother, a non-negotiable need.

Sure, I can say: oh, she didn’t love me, she was incapable, her past, her childhood, etc.-

– But it doesn’t change the fact that she was the only mother I had and there was no other discernable source of love.

So, of course, the child’s mind had to twist any and everything to accommodate that need for love, including joining her in .. her hate of me.

anita

Dear Alessa:

Thank you for your thoughtful and deeply compassionate message. I truly appreciate your kindness and the sincerity with which you express yourself—it makes a difference.

Your reflection on parental love resonates with me. The idea that love from others can be just as valid is something I am open to, and it’s helpful to hear that acknowledging this was healing for you.

I was particularly intrigued by what you shared about identity. When you say, “I don’t have much in the way of an identity. I’m a creature of circumstance,” what do you mean? I’d love to hear more about how that feels for you, if you’re comfortable sharing.

Your offer to accommodate my communication preferences means a lot. I deeply value thoughtful exchanges, especially when there’s openness and mutual understanding. I also appreciate your reassurance about honesty—I welcome honesty, and I also believe in sensitivity, as words carry weight. Your awareness of this speaks to your emotional intelligence.

You asked, “I wonder what helps you to accept and value yourself?”- For most of my life, my emotions were largely repressed or suppressed, along with many of my childhood memories. This suppression led to lifelong motor and vocal tics, creating an ongoing physical tension that kept me from genuinely engaging with life and with people. I was stuck in survival mode.

Recently, inspired by Lais Stephan’s article on Shadow Work, Dancing with Darkness: How to Reclaim Your Whole Self (published five days ago), I’ve made significant progress in shifting from suppression to expression—without judgment or shame. I’m learning to truly value my emotions as my allies because each one has a positive motivation—to help me. Even my tics had a protective purpose at their inception: they were an attempt to run away from my mother and protect myself from further harm. Since there was nowhere to physically escape, the running happened within me, manifesting as tics. Instead of feeling shame about them, I now feel gratitude for the intention behind them.

So, like the article’s title suggests, I am learning to dance with darkness—to embrace and engage intimately with all of my emotions, including the painful ones: hurt, anger, fear, envy, and more. If I don’t value my emotions enough to embrace them fully and compassionately, then I don’t truly value myself.

You asked, “Does your face bear any resemblance to your mother’s face at all?”- Yes, it does, and I hadn’t fully considered the significance of that until I read your question. Interestingly, my mother never once said I resembled her. Instead, she always pointed out that unlike her, that I looked European (my father was European, while she was from Northern Africa, with darker skin). At times, when she praised me, it was for looking European, reinforcing the idea in my mind that I didn’t look like her. But in reality, I now see that I do share her facial features and coloring. What are your thoughts on this, Alessa?

“Would it be okay if I say a prayer for your mother?” Yes, 🙏

“I was wondering if there are any things that you enjoy or don’t enjoy in communication with others?” Due to my ADHD and Auditory Processing Disorder (which makes it difficult to process fast-spoken or unstructured verbal information), I enjoy when people speak slowly and clearly. Fast, pressured speech can be distressing, and I often struggle to follow what is being said. I also find figurative language—like jokes and sarcasm—difficult to process, so I appreciate conversations where language is used literally.

Most of my communication with people happens here in the forums, which allows me the time I need to research, reflect, and process information before submitting posts—something I can’t do in real-time conversations.

Thank you for sharing your email with me. Based on past experiences, I generally prefer communicating in the forums rather than by email, but if the forums ever become unavailable, I’d be glad to reach out via email.

I truly appreciate your presence, your kindness, and your support. I look forward to continuing this conversation ❤️

anita

More: It is no longer about you, Ima. it is about me: someone has to be here for me, and I am that person here-for-me.

There is no anger at you, Ima, only compassion as always. Only I don’t drown in my empathy for you: there is me here, and I matter.

I matter, Ima. I matter.

anita

Being a good person is very, very important to me. And in that intent, in that commitment to be a good person, to be the best person I can be- I must be good to me, first and foremost.

“The Betrayal We Buried”- no longer accommodating those who betray me.

No longer betray myself.

anita