Dear Dafne:

Thank you for seeing not just the words, but the heart behind them. It means so much to feel received with such kindness and openness.

You’re right—sometimes even with those closest to us, there can be a quiet ache of loneliness. That’s why exchanges like ours feel so meaningful. They remind me that connection can be found in unexpected places, and that compassion doesn’t need physical proximity to be felt.

Your words especially moved me: “What you offered wasn’t just an answer, it was a moment of connection.”- Answers are plentiful in spaces like these, but connection—that’s something different. It’s rarer, more precious than any clinical understanding of things, no matter how accurate (or not) that understanding may be.

We are not puzzles to be solved intellectually. We’re living, breathing beings who need—sometimes desperately—empathy. An emotional hug, if not a physical one.

That reminds me of something I wanted to share with you this morning, just before getting out of bed. Only recently—perhaps a couple of weeks ago—I had an image of myself as a young girl, somewhere in the first decade of life. I saw her scared. And for the first time, I felt something new: empathy for her. I was struck by how unfamiliar that feeling was.

All this time, I had been dissociated from her—split off. I think I kept telling her story here, again and again, because I was trying to connect with her. Trying to believe that what I was sharing had truly happened.

The dissociation ran deep and began so early. I suppose it was an instinctive response to acute emotional pain and fear—a way of saying, this isn’t really happening… I’m not really here.

I’m grateful for your presence, Dafne, and for the way you hold space with such grace. Thank you for meeting me in this place with warmth and humanity.

With appreciation and tenderness, Anita 💖💫