Typing as I am thinking: first, I intend to have my image- a recent photo of me dancing- show up above my name for the first time in 10 years I’ve been on tiny buddha. I want people to see me. I tried to make this happen this evening, but am having technical difficulties. Hopefully tomorrow.

I don’t want to hide anymore, don’t want to minimize myself. So, my photo is next ✨

It no longer has to be ME or MY MOTHER, empathy for her OR empathy for myself. It can be both- empathy for her (from afar) and empathy for me.

I’ve been alone for so long, terribly alone, socially isolated, that I have to learn the ABC of positive human interactions. It’s like in that movie where people’s lives stopped in their youths and resumed in their middle age, a big gap in between… Awakening is the name of it.

anita

Dear Jana 🌸

I deeply admire your independence and the way you have embraced your inner world and nature as your anchor—it’s truly inspiring. Before I dive into my response, I want to explain why I’ll be quoting parts of your post and reflecting on them in relation to my own experiences. Private journaling doesn’t motivate me, but responding to thoughtful posts like yours sparks meaningful reflections about my story. What you have shared serves as a powerful catalyst for deeper introspection and helps me process my thoughts in a way that feels authentic and connected.

You wrote: “When you are released into the world as a child, like an animal into the wild (😄), there is nothing left to do but rely on yourself.”- That is so beautifully said. For me, it felt as though I was released into the world with a tight leash around my neck, held firmly by my mother, preventing me from exploring freely or embracing the wildness of being myself. Reading your words, it feels like you didn’t experience that restraint and were able to embrace true freedom when in nature. I’m happy for you.

“I was happy to be free.”- I always dreamed of being free, but that freedom only existed in my daydreams. Mentally, I was confined within a prison, unable to experience the freedom I so deeply longed for.

“And I had a lot of space to become myself. 🐛 -> 🦋”- Jana the butterfly 😊! Interestingly, I was reflecting on this metaphor just yesterday. I thought about how I had been stuck in a cocoon for over half a century, and how, only recently, I began the transformation into a butterfly. The joy and freedom captured in my photo reflect this transformative process.

“I didn’t see my mom as my ‘center’. My center was the world outside in nature and my inner world. And it still is.”- Unfortunately for me, my mother—through her combination of personality disorders—crushed my center, leaving me to rebuild it piece by piece now.

“She is a completely different person with a different mindset. I respect it but I don’t allow it to define me.”- There has to be an “I” to define or not define oneself, and that “I” was taken away from me for a long time.

“I mean her criticism, for example, doesn’t affect me at all. It is only her opinion, nothing else. I don’t need her approval… I can only help her a little, with compassion and nice words, but it is all up to her in the end.”- You have achieved such a healthy balance between maintaining your boundaries and expressing compassion for your mother—it’s truly admirable. In my case, my compassion for my mother was often misused. She used it to hurt my feelings, shame me, and guilt-trip me at great lengths.

“It’s great to read that you are happy and ready to become more open to others. ☀️ ❤️”- Thank you, Jana. When I wrote my post to you yesterday, I made sure to focus on connection rather than theory or intellectualizing. Despite that, I was afraid you might be upset with it, find fault, or even attack me in your response. I had to remind myself that this isn’t who you are. I kept reassuring myself, “It’s not likely,” but doubt lingered.

This fear reflects how much—and how often—my mother attacked me. If I didn’t say things exactly as she thought I should, if my wording didn’t suit her, if I failed to say something she expected, or even if my facial expression displeased her, she would lash out. There was no way for me to predict her reactions or figure out what to say to avoid them. This left me doubting myself constantly, second-guessing and revising my thoughts—rephrasing, rearranging, trying to get it “right.”

Being criticized for non-offenses, like unintended expressions or word choices, deeply affected me. It undermined my self-confidence and created persistent self-doubt. I became hyper-vigilant and anxious, monitoring my words, facial expressions, and behaviors to avoid disapproval. It made it difficult to trust my own instincts and emotions. Over time, this led to people-pleasing tendencies and the suppression of my personal needs, to the point where I couldn’t identify them anymore. It fostered a fear of rejection and left me overanalyzing interactions.

I hope it’s okay with you that I quoted parts of your post and shared my story in relation to what you’ve written. Please let me know if this way of interacting feels right to you—I deeply value our dialogue and your insight.

Thank you so much for sharing so openly, Jana. I’m grateful for the meaningful exchange we have, and for the positive impact your words continue to have on my reflections. ❤️

anita

Dear Peter:

As I read your profound insights and the quotes you included, I find myself- as i often do- developing my own thoughts alongside them.

“I can hear myself saying ‘family can’t help family.’ I do not recall the events leading up to that realization… or maybe I do…” — Perhaps the mind shields itself from painful or complicated memories, hesitating to fully confront and process the events.

For the longest time, I didn’t remember that my mother found pleasure in seeing her shaming words register on my face. When that memory resurfaced about a year ago, I saw her more as a villain—a further shift from viewing her as a victim to seeing her as a victimizer. Over the past couple of days, as my anger seems to have untangled, I no longer view her solely as a victim or a victimizer. I see her as both. And now, instead of anger, I feel compassion for her.

“In trying to help family our ‘ghosts’ can’t help themselves from ‘playing’ and haunting, triggering old pains. Pain that only distance is capable of seeing…” — I am learning that recognizing and working through my own emotional pain is critical to ensuring that I don’t unintentionally complicate or hinder a family member’s healing process.

Acknowledging my emotional pain helps me differentiate my feelings from theirs, preventing projection. If my pain remains overwhelming or unresolved, it blurs boundaries—causing me to take their pain too deeply or feel drained in my attempts to help. Addressing my own pain makes it possible for me to be present without overextending myself.

Unresolved pain can cause me to dismiss, amplify, or misinterpret a family member’s feelings. By working on my healing, I can empathize genuinely, without reacting from my own hurt.

Demonstrating emotional resilience and awareness may create an example for loved ones—showing them the importance of personal growth and the value of addressing their own challenges.

Supporting someone doesn’t mean “fixing” their pain—it often means simply witnessing and validating their experience. When I work through my own emotional pain, I am better equipped to offer this kind of nonjudgmental support.

“I wonder if in such moments witnessing is the role left to us, perhaps to acknowledge the ‘tears in things’… doesn’t feel enough. The Hawaiian ritual Ho’oponopono coming to mind as memory of family, mother, father arise… I love you; I thank you; I forgive you, please forgive me…” — Witnessing their pain means being present, empathetic, and nonjudgmental—not trying to fix or change the situation, but simply acknowledging it.

“I recently came across a Youtube video – Like Stories of Old – ‘Why We Can’t Save Those We Love’ that explores this notion. That in the stories we tell and witness we are not alone… It’s worth watching.” — For some reason, I feel reluctant to watch it. Maybe I will. As to the question, “Why can’t we save those we love?” an answer that comes to mind is that we care too much. The saying, “anything in moderation,” seems relevant. How do I not care too much? By resolving further my own pain.

“It is true we can seldom help those closest to us.” — Our own unresolved issues and emotions—our “ghosts”—often resurface. These ghosts can unconsciously shape how we perceive and respond to their struggles, complicating the situation rather than helping it. In close relationships, blurred boundaries can make it difficult to differentiate between their pain and our own, leading to either overinvolvement or detachment—both of which are counterproductive.

Even with the best intentions, our ability to help is limited because no one can truly “fix” someone else’s inner struggles. We can offer support, but the work must be done by the individual themselves.

“Either we don’t know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.” — Even with the best intentions, the support we provide may not align with what the person actually needs or is ready to accept. For instance, offering advice when they only want someone to listen, expressing concern when they perceive it as judgment, or taking action when it feels patronizing. This makes me think that the most effective way to help is to simply be present—bearing witness to their experience and respecting their autonomy to heal in their own way.

“And so, it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them – we can love completely without complete understanding.” — This highlights the individuality of human beings. No matter how close we are, there will always be elements of mystery in relationships. While complete understanding may elude us, it doesn’t have to limit our ability to love fully. Love isn’t conditional on perfect comprehension; it is rooted in acceptance, empathy, and presence.

“What I saw might have been just another winter scene, although an impressive one. But what I knew was that the earth underneath was alive and that by tomorrow, certainly by the day after, it would be all green again. So, what I saw because of what I knew was a kind of death with the marvelous promise…” — Maclean beautifully reflects on the contrast between the apparent “death” of winter and the vibrant life hidden beneath it. By recognizing the earth’s cyclical transformation, he captures the promise of renewal.

The strangest thing just happened. I just felt something entirely new: a sadness, a goodbye to the winter of my life— a goodbye to the old me. I felt as though I will miss the old me, however painful my life has been, because it will soon be gone. This transformation—from anger to compassion, from duality (this OR that) to inclusiveness—marks the death of the self I’ve known and experienced until now. I will miss me. strange..?

anita

Thank you, Alessa ❤️and yes, I do love dancing- not structured dancing but free style. I will reply further tomorrow.

anita

Dear Jana:

I will reply further later, but for now, in regard to “I wanted to share some memories about anger, abuse… but I don’t know now if it is appropriate or useful. I’m glad there’s a happy atmosphere here and these topics could ruin it.”- please do share, it will ruin nothing for me and I am very interested in reading your thoughts about any topic, 🥲 or 😔 and all in between.

anita