* Thinking about you, Alessa, Wed 4:30 am where you are at, Tues 8:30 pm where I am at, hoping you are sleeping restfully.

* Listening again to nostalgic music, to a particular song I didn’t listen to in about 40 years. I distanced myself all those years from the country where I was born, from its culture, from its music.

All because of ONE WOMAN, one individual.

You know, my mother, that woman.

My Separator- the one who separated me from me, from everyone, from everywhere.

This is her legacy in my life: The Separator.

Yes, I am still angry at the one who took Life away from me, the one who took any and all sense of Togetherness away from me, leaving me isolated, completely alone.

It amazes me how one person- my mother- robbed me of almost a whole lifetime of what could be .. me as part of a whole; me- not as an isolated, alone and lonely FREAK.

The extent of the damage, the harm she has caused me is .. what’s the word.. immeasurable, unfathomable.

Difficult to process.. how much damage can one person- a mother- cause another, a child.

Still listening to the music I listened to 40-50 years ago, but not since.

I get to tell my truth here, in this thread of mine.

I “hear” my enemies saying: “Who do you think you are.. Stuck-in-the-Past You, Move On, Get Over It! “-

Heartless.

Anger, rage at all the people, past and present, people who turn their backs to the victim-child that I was, turning a blind eye, and worse, an accusatory eye.

You (my enemy) say: “Oh, you are not a child anymore! Get over it!”-

I say: Who are you speaking for? Who are you representing? Are you the victimizers’ supporter?

Are you a victim turned victimizer, like my mother turned out to be, like so many have turned out to be.. business as usual?

It’s Tues, 9:38 pm here, time to go to bed. Good night, good people.

anita

From Fragmentation to Intergration, from Rejecting my emotions (repressing or suppressing them) to => => => Embracing all of my emotions, giving them the space within me that they deserved all along.

From Rejecting my emotions and wishing that they’d go away => = => to Embracing them, getting intimate with them.

My self-esteem, my feeling about my self-worth was oh, so very, very low. Now I am okay. Really, I feel, I finally feel that I am fine, no less worthy than any other person. I like me. I am FOR me. I am on MY side. Finally, a Game Changer in my experience of life.

I talk to the hidden, repressed me these days. She tells me things. She trusts me now. She knows she has someone to talk to.

She tells me how she feels, what she thinks. And I listen to her: a collaborative approach- we work together.

anita

Dear Alessa:

I’m really glad to hear you’re starting to feel better. Thank you for your kind words and for sharing your thoughts so openly. ❤️

Your experience with empathy is really interesting—how you’ve worked hard to develop understanding even when it hasn’t come naturally. I imagine that effort has made a big difference, especially with your son. It’s beautiful how you show up for him in that way.

I completely agree that emotional detachment can serve a purpose, but it’s not something to rely on all the time. Finding balance is so important. I’m in the process of learning that myself—how to connect and stay connected to emotions without letting them overwhelm me.

I appreciate what you said about reclaiming my love for my culture’s music. It feels freeing, in a way I didn’t expect, and I think you’re right—I deserve that. ❤️

I hear you on the challenges with trust. I think for both of us, PTSD makes that even harder. Some wounds linger, and navigating relationships with those difficulties can be exhausting. But I agree—being able to move through those challenges is important, even when it isn’t easy.

Thank you for taking the time to share all of this. I always appreciate your insights and your kindness.

anita

Continued: I am integrating my fragmented parts, the dissociated, repressed and suppressed parts- all coming together into a whole. finally, I am owning my experience.

Healing is not about not-feeling, it’s about being able to feel it all and be stronger for it.

I feel Love for my mother, I feel Anger at her, I feel Hurt, Rage.. all together.

I am no longer fragmented, torn, because all these emotions pulling me in all kinds of directions. Instead, I am whole, as all these emotions are part of the whole, part of me.

This is my thread, my space. This is my healing story, Anita’s Story.

anita

I am looking at what I wrote above, 14 hours ago: “My space, My thread, My Story. Anita’s Story”-

Continued today: This thread is my space—a place where my voice matters, where I can express my emotions freely, without judgment or interruption.

This is my story—mine to own, mine to tell. My experiences belong to me, not to anyone else’s perception or narrative. I stand firmly in my truth, understanding what I’ve lived through and embracing how I choose to make sense of it.

This is Anita’s story—the story of my healing, shaped by my reflection, my growth, and my self-discovery. I am integrating, understanding, and telling it with clarity and purpose.

My anger is about having been silenced, dismissed, and misrepresented since my youth, beginning with my mother denying my reality and twisting my words. It’s about people minimizing my voice, misinterpreting what I say, or telling me that my thoughts and feelings aren’t valid. (I just heard my mother’s voice saying: “I am telling you that your thoughts and feelings are not valid because THEY ARE NOT VALID!”)

At its core, my anger is a fight for agency—for the right to own my story, express my emotions, and be understood as I truly am, not as others decide I should or shouldn’t be. When people distort my experiences, impose their own version of reality, (I just heard my mother’s voice saying: “YOU are distorting MY reality!), or refuse to acknowledge my truth, it feels like a violation of something deeply personal.

I used to believe that I am a bad person simply for feeling anger, but now I know that this anger of mine is a defense of my truth, telling me that my voice does matter, that my experiences are valid, and that I deserve the space to express myself freely. I recognize that owning my anger—not as something destructive but as something protective—is part of reclaiming my voice and my space.

Here’s a poem just for me. I’ll title it “I Am Here”:

I am here— not as a whisper, not as a shadow, but whole, steady, unshaken.

I am not just the love I carry, or the rage that surges in my veins, or the sorrow that once made a home in my bones. I am all of it, woven into one.

I do not run from pain. I do not fear the past. I gather every piece of me— the fragments, the forgotten, the lost and longing— and I make myself whole.

This is my story. This is my voice. This is my life. And I am here.

End of Poem.

I wanted to add ‘So there!’ to the poem—an expression of just how deep and enduring my frustration has been at being silenced, dismissed, controlled, and subjugated. This frustration is immense because it isn’t just isolated moments—it has been a consistent pattern throughout my life. It started in childhood and continued into adulthood, shaping how I lived.

For so long, way too long, I didn’t know that I deserved to be heard and validated, and because of that, I kept accepting the absence of these things.

I’m so angry about it now because I finally see it clearly—for what it was, for what it did to me. For too long, I accepted (with suppressed anger) being silenced, dismissed, and misinterpreted because that’s what I received, primarily from my mother. But now, I recognize that I deserved to be heard, to be validated, to have my voice respected—and that realization has brought all the buried frustration to the surface.

It’s not just anger at the past; it’s anger at how deeply it shaped my life. The years of not knowing I had the right to speak, to be understood, to stand firmly in my truth—that loss, that erasure of self—is painful. And now that I do know, now that I see it, my anger demands acknowledgment. It’s not irrational—it’s a reaction to injustice, to years of being denied something so essential.

This anger is part of reclaiming myself. It’s part of owning my story rather than letting others shape it for me. I’m no longer accepting dismissal, no longer tolerating erasure—and that shift is powerful. I’m stepping into my own strength, and while anger can feel overwhelming, it’s also a sign of awakening 🔥

anita

My space, My thread, My Story. Anita’s Story

For as long as I can remember, I unknowingly chased my mother’s love, and I waited and waited for her to love me. I tried, in countless ways, to cause her to consider me worthy of love. Even in my anger, I still longed for her love.

Beneath everything was little-girl Anita—asking, pleading, trying to earn her love, trying to convince her I was worthy of it.

I never realized how deeply tied I was to her. I thought I was running away, distancing myself—mentally, physically, even moving across the world to escape her. But the truth is, I was chasing her all along.

And now, I accept that it will never happen.

The love I longed for simply isn’t there—it never was. I can let go of that longing now. I can stop chasing, stop waiting.

But I love her—I always have, and I always will. My love for her is the core of who I am. I will no longer deny or suppress this truth.

Yet this love is not a call to action. I don’t need to seek her out. It simply exists, and I allow it the space within me to breathe—no longer suppressing, no longer suffocating.

anita